Caught in a web

Sooo...last night was fun.

In Bubba's words, "Sooo much fun." And she's right.

You see, when it comes to the both of going out together for a night on the town, we always have fun. No matter if plans change or fail (which they did) we find alternatives. Because two bubbas together always figure out their shit.

A little background
Bubba wanted to go to Lavo on Thursday night. We have a promoter friend who thinks hipster is the new homeless and goes to many a different raging club every night of the week. He doesn't sleep, as he stated last night. But on this particular Thursday, Calvin Harris would be DJing at Lavo. I literally had an imaginary baby when I heard this. Bubba had no idea who CH was. So I told her to listen to some of his awesome jams.


We were both EXTREMELY excited because this was supposed to be what our night would look like...Calvin Harris @ Lavo NYC in 2010.

Instead, we ended up going to a gay guy gogo dancing bar across the street. 

Mind you, Lavo is owned by the same people who own Tao (yeah, that restaurant/club with the big Buddha in it), which is next to said gay bar. Not only did we show up on time at Lavo to meet Promoter, but we also kind of rushed getting there. We were standing outside while people were coming and going and walking all over the sidewalk thinking they were important. Limos were pulling up (excuse us for taking a cab) and people were getting in line for the club downstairs where CH would be spinning. Ugh, model city. And it's not like we can really say anything mean about them - we don't know them. And they're pretty. Like really pretty and tall and they know it and they're just...ugh. Fucking models, man!

We could tell something was up. Promoter kept pacing back and forth and walking away and smoking a cigarette and looking at his phone. Basically, he was doing everything but telling us what the deal was. So it's been like, I don't know, a half hour standing in our painful heels looking like clowns before he tells us, "Yo girls, we're goin across the street. C'mon." No dude, I wanted to see Calvin Harris at Lavo. Not go to Tao because that's a plan you can pull out of your ass. And clearly, everyone is in front of Lavo like spawn in front of a Toys R Us on Black Friday.

We stood out front and pondered about the little place next door called The Web. Promoter guy told us he jetted down in there to take a piss earlier that night and found out it was a go-go dancing man bar with lights, a bar over-looking a downstairs dancing area and lots of men who liked other men. To both Bubba and I that sounded like a wayyy better time than this whole let's-hang-out-in-front-of-clubs-looking-stupid-next-to-cool-models. Like no.

"I think we're gonna go down there and have a drink," I said after patiently wondering what the FUCK we're doing in front of Tao as we watch people wait in line across the street at Lavo.
"You're gonna go down there?" he asked.
"Yeah, just have a drink and stuff...like is everything okay?"
Promoter's other promoter guru twin friend was shaking his head looking annoyed at the situation over at Lavo. "Yeah, people are just...stupid."
And in my slight bitchy tone I ask, "Well, what's the issue?"
He half smiles and said basically the same thing he said before.
"K. Well, we'll be down there."

Gay man paradise. It was a way better choice. The people were friendly, the music was awesome, and the bartender even brought over a portable air conditioner for us and a chair for me to sit in. "Excuse me, sexy...here you go, beautiful" he said putting a chair behind me. Ugh, I fucking loved this place. We made new friends in an environment where we didn't have to be tall, good-looking model giants to get in. I mean, we are good-looking and Bubba is taller than me but you know what I mean. We were ourselves having a great time with great company. It's great going out not having to worry about skeevy guys hitting on you but you still get the attention you want. It's a win-win!

Promoter ran downstairs to get us for the "walk-in" but we just looked at him and stayed in our seats :)
Who needs bottle service when there's a bar with a flatscreen playing Sex & the City 2 AND The Devil Wears Prada? When I Googled the bar, the first result called it "NYC's only Asian dance club, bar, and cabaret." Then I visited the page, and died. It was pretty much spot on and the bartender who was working was on there! So cute.

Although the two Bubbas had an amazing time with new friends in a super, fun, non-judgmental environment, there's always that "Damn, we shoulda been there" moment. We heard one of the gay guys come downstairs and talk to friend sitting next to us at the bar...

"Guess who's at Lavo right now?...Jay-Z and Beyonce."

For Amy

Doing research at work, I came across a blog that featured a posting Russell Brand had written on his blog about the recent death of 27 year-old British singer-songwriter Amy Winehouse. There have been speculations of the singer's death being subject to a possible drug overdose. Brand being a recovering addict himself wrote on his blog about Winehouse. Quite touching and makes me love him even more...

When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.

Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.


I’ve known Amy Winehouse for years. When I first met her around Camden she was just some twit in a pink satin jacket shuffling round bars with mutual friends, most of whom were in cool Indie bands or peripheral Camden figures Withnail-ing their way through life on impotent charisma. Carl Barrat told me that “Winehouse” (which I usually called her and got a kick out of cos it’s kind of funny to call a girl by her surname) was a jazz singer, which struck me as bizarrely anomalous in that crowd. To me with my limited musical knowledge this information placed Amy beyond an invisible boundary of relevance; “Jazz singer? She must be some kind of eccentric” I thought. I chatted to her anyway though, she was after all, a girl, and she was sweet and peculiar but most of all vulnerable.

I was myself at that time barely out of rehab and was thirstily seeking less complicated women so I barely reflected on the now glaringly obvious fact that Winehouse and I shared an affliction, the disease of addiction. All addicts, regardless of the substance or their social status share a consistent and obvious symptom; they’re not quite present when you talk to them. They communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his “speedboat” there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they’re looking through you to somewhere else they’d rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.


From time to time I’d bump into Amy she had good banter so we could chat a bit and have a laugh, she was “a character” but that world was riddled with half cut, doped up chancers, I was one of them, even in early recovery I was kept afloat only by clinging to the bodies of strangers so Winehouse, but for her gentle quirks didn’t especially register.

Then she became massively famous and I was pleased to see her acknowledged but mostly baffled because I’d not experienced her work and this not being the 1950’s I wondered how a “jazz singer” had achieved such cultural prominence. I wasn’t curious enough to do anything so extreme as listen to her music or go to one of her gigs, I was becoming famous myself at the time and that was an all consuming experience. It was only by chance that I attended a Paul Weller gig at the Roundhouse that I ever saw her live.


I arrived late and as I made my way to the audience through the plastic smiles and plastic cups I heard the rolling, wondrous resonance of a female vocal. Entering the space I saw Amy on stage with Weller and his band; and then the awe. The awe that envelops when witnessing a genius. From her oddly dainty presence that voice, a voice that seemed not to come from her but from somewhere beyond even Billie and Ella, from the font of all greatness. A voice that was filled with such power and pain that it was at once entirely human yet laced with the divine. My ears, my mouth, my heart and mind all instantly opened. Winehouse. Winehouse? Winehouse! That twerp, all eyeliner and lager dithering up Chalk Farm Road under a back-combed barnet, the lips that I’d only seen clenching a fishwife fag and dribbling curses now a portal for this holy sound. So now I knew. She wasn’t just some hapless wannabe, yet another pissed up nit who was never gonna make it, nor was she even a ten-a-penny-chanteuse enjoying her fifteen minutes. She was a fucking genius.

Shallow fool that I am I now regarded her in a different light, the light that blazed down from heaven when she sang. That lit her up now and a new phase in our friendship began. She came on a few of my TV and radio shows, I still saw her about but now attended to her with a little more interest. Publicly though, Amy increasingly became defined by her addiction. Our media though is more interested in tragedy than talent, so the ink began to defect from praising her gift to chronicling her downfall. The destructive personal relationships, the blood soaked ballet slippers, the aborted shows, that youtube madness with the baby mice. In the public perception this ephemeral tittle-tattle replaced her timeless talent. This and her manner in our occasional meetings brought home to me the severity of her condition. Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death. I was 27 years old when through the friendship and help of Chip Somers of the treatment centre, Focus12 I found recovery, through Focus I was introduced to support fellowships for alcoholics and drug addicts which are very easy to find and open to anybody with a desire to stop drinking and without which I would not be alive.


Now Amy Winehouse is dead, like many others whose unnecessary deaths have been retrospectively romanticised, at 27 years old. Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy’s incredible talent. Or Kurt’s or Jimi’s or Janis’s, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care. We need to look at the way our government funds rehabilitation. It is cheaper to rehabilitate an addict than to send them to prison, so criminalisation doesn’t even make economic sense. Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there. All they have to do is pick up the phone and make the call. Or not. Either way, there will be a phone call.

10 days?!

Seriously...I have to get my shit together. So much that I haven't said on here in TEN DAYS. I'm sorry. But here's something that I think everyone should see...Oh, I also updated the Epic Sauce Reads (located to the right) of blogs that I find enjoyable.

I snagged this from Hipster Kitty, the feline friend blog to Hipster Puppy...so coot! http://www.hipsterkitty.com/

What I aspire to be.

Also, Portland-based company called Shwood makes sunglasses out of old skateboard decks. Yeah, how eco-friendly is that?! And they look uber cool and well, hipsterish. I totes want a pair because how many people are you going to come across wearing old wood on their faces? Yeah, probably me and only me. Check out their website and their on going project called Experiment with Nature.

Experiment No. 1 - Skateboard Shades from Shwood Eyewear on Vimeo.

Examples of my recklessness

Recently, I've been going through some changes. And no, I am not getting sexual reassignment surgery. I'm quite comfortable with my lady parts. Umm, eww, okay, anyways I've been feel reckless.

Huff. 

Okay, maybe not feeling reckless but I've been doing a lot of reckless things.

I just realized that when I conversed with my friends via bbm and text, I've been spelling reckless with a "w" in front...As so: wreckless. I'm fucking stoopid.

Anywho, for the past few weeks I've been doing a lot. Meeting a lot of new people, going out a lot, buying a lot of things, making spontaneous decisions, freaking out and getting excited about future spontaneous decisions, feeling manic depressive, you know...that sort of thing. I could make a list if you want. Actually, I think I'm going to make you a list right now...

1. Three weeks ago, I went out every single night of the week. No joke. I was the epitome of a social creature - gymed in the morning, worked 9-5, went out, went to bed, and did the same thing over and over again from Monday to Friday. Normally, I would have needed a day to just chill out at home and get things done around the house (i.e. blogging, sitting on the couch to watch television, eat something in my cubbard, socialize with my roommates, update my iPod...in other words, not much).

2. I bought a ukulele. I always wanted to learn how to play. So, I did something about it. I invested $30 into a bright green (with glitter!) ukulele that I ordered online. It came in a lovely box, in a zip-up case and with a tutorial DVD. The first song I learned was the 2-chord "He's Got the Whole World In His Hands." I'm still learning how to transition from chord to chord, along with how to "chuck." I also learned the four chords to Wheezer's "Island in the Sun." This instrument will add to my Hawaiian-like features and wavy beach hair so its kind of appropriate that I learn.

3. I've been posting more mobile uploads onto my Facebook. Clearly, I want the world to know what reckless behavior/random things I encounter day to day. This isn't really reckless but something I've been doing more frequently.

4. I spent a ridiculous amount of money two weekends ago on clothing when I went home. A small start to a not-so-heinous revamp of my wardrobe - just trying to embrace the hipster side of me. I bought a see-through lace shirt, some bandeau bras, random headbands, boob cream, skirts, dresses, shoes, and a new pair of sunglasses. This wardrobe will hopefully add some oomph to my current state and also be an added touch to the personality glasses I tend to frequent on my face. And I just want to see if the boob cream actually works.

5. Socially smoking cigarettes. I actually bought a pack of Parliaments just because. They have these really cool recessed filters. You'll have to look it up because I'm too reckless to want to explain it. But with all these activities that sometimes involve a few drinks, I kind of need a fag to hold me over. Again, I socially smoke - which means I smoke when I drink. Nothing I do too frequently. But I actually gave the pack, or what was left of it, to one of my roommates. He told me he sat on them. I wasn't upset. I've also grown to enjoy hookah, which isn't good because my roommate downstairs has a communal pipe. I've smoke out of it twice last week. The lightheaded feeling ain't that bad!

6. I threw up on my feet. Yeah. Completely missed the pavement and onto my jelly Michael Kors sandals. No worries though, they're plastic! And the vom was rinsed right off. On Friday of my reckless week out (go to example #1 above), I went out to a gay bar with a friend. I met her for happy hour and we thoroughly took advantage of the half-off drinks and great atmosphere. We made some new friends, we were offered complimentary pizza, and had some laughs. This took us to a second bar, where we were each given a free shot. This is when it hit me. I had to leave my friend, who wanted to stay, and make my way back to New Gross. I got into a cab, puked in said cab, lied to the driver when he asked me, "Did you just get sick in my cab?" "Uhh, no?" He proceeded to pull over, open my door and say, "What the fuck is this?!" "I'm sorry okay! I didn't mean to. I thought I made it outside of the window!" After refusing to pay him the $20 clean-up fee, I had to clean up what came out of my stomach, give him the $9 I agreed to pay him and then proceed to exit the cab. "Fucking bitch," he mumbled under his breath. I said, "Fuck you," and went to hail a second cab. This time, I made it out of the second cab before I threw up again, this time on my feet in a little corridor I found outside of Grand Central. I kept slipping in my sandals so I took them off, picked them up and walked barefoot (not my first time, mind you), to the terminal. I had 20 minutes until my train left so I went downstairs to the bathroom (I don't remember if I put my sandals back on or not), and threw up in the bathroom downstairs. Quietly of course. And then went onto the train. It was still early - I found a seat next to the bathroom and sat down in the empty train cart. I thought to myself, maybe I should go to the bathroom before the train starts moving and people start sitting down. I threw up one last time before passing the fuck out. I awoke to the conductor asking me where I was getting off. "Pelham," I said. "Uhh, that stop was a long time ago," he replied. "Uhh where are we now?" I asked. "We're on our way to Stamford." As in Stamford, Connecticut. I simply looked at his face and said, "Fuck!" I came to terms with this "oops" situation rather quickly. And besides, this was the first time ever missing my stop considering I've come home from the city plenty of times drunk off my rocker. An $80 cab ride later, and I was home. Good thing I got paid that week.

I think people should read these (along as my blog as well)

I always have this need to retweet, repost, reiterate the awesomeness of certain blog posts or articles that I come across. So on top of the random bullshit that I write, read this schtuff that makes up for my random bullshit :) Mind you, these are recent articles. I'm sure there are old articles, if you decide to dig, that are probably worth being on this list.

Compliments of Thoughtcatalog...

The Different Kinds Of Hipsters There Are

I'm Getting Coffee With My Ex This Afternoon. No Big Deal

Things I Will Do If I Have A Crush On You

Stuff The Internet Likes

The One Who Broke Her Heart

This Week On Planet Internet: Bloggers

Understanding Your Opposite-Sex Roommate

(because I live with some)

The Secret Lives Of Girls (The Things I Do That You Don't Want To Know I Do)

(sorry boys)

5 Things You Should Know About People

Compliments of Betcheslovethissite...

69. Besties

61. Yoga

58. House Music

45. Graduation

34. BBM

31. Wine

3. Studying Abroad

To read all of the topics on The Betch List (especially if you are a true Betch, it would be essential to your lifestyle) click here.

And as I was updating the work blog, I found this one: Text me, I'll Over Analyze It.

That's all for now. Shit, that's a lot.

Washed Out - Within and Without.

Such an ethereal and surf-like state is how this album leaves me after I listen to it. So fucking good and mellow and chill and wavy and sexual. Even the album art sends you good vibes.

I think I know her?

So hot. Like a sex trance. Candy for my ears. And my pet iPod is utterly happy with this being the current obsession on the Recently Added playlist. Washed Out is the stage name for Georgia-bred Ernest Greene who created this one-man wonder show back in 2009. This is Greene's first album, preceding his EPs and singles, some of my favorites being "Feel It All Around," "New Theory," and "You'll See It." 

Basically when you listen to Within and Without, just let it play. Let the whole fucking thing play. Each song basically takes you to the next. "Echoes," "Soft," & his bonus track "Call It Off" (being quite different and slightly upbeat from the latter) are epic good musical sauces to try/listen to/soak up/have sex to. Shit, the whole album is sexual. Just enjoy it ;) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arfauoVF6aM

Party Monster

Great film based on a true story of club kids, drugs, and glamour. If only I lived back then, I'd be fabulous too. Just minus the drugs, murder, and tape around my mouth and tits.

Here are some tips from James St. James, the "original club kid," on how to be fabulous.

Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aThxBOmGxOk
Watch the movie and save yourself from straight-edge boredom.

Monday music

The sun is shining on this glorious Monday morning (totes sounds like I'm a radio host for a Top 40 countdown or commercial-free hour). Got back from the First State late last night - traffic wasn't bad! It kept moving and more importantly, I didn't get pulled over when I was speeding :)

Needless to say I was a little tired this morning but this song, and his voice, put me in great spirits. I think today will be a good day :)


Trouble - Ray LaMontagne

4th of July Recap

Now onto a recap from last weekend's relaxing getaway from the hustle and bustle of the city and even the suburbs. Off to the mountains we went, particularly to the Andes in upstate New York. It's part of the Catskills in a really cool county: Delaware County :) Representin' the First State in the Empire State - hell yeahhh.

Hung overly, I drove with the company of my roommate Jordo (nickname) and our friends Chelsea & Courtney. We hit some traffic going up north, probably some people going to Lake George even further north. We saw a car accident happen - at least I did. Some guy totes rear ended some other guy and stopped in the middle of traffic and checked out what happened. That definitely caused some further back up - I-87 N was certainly constipated that day.

We made a pit stop for some gas at some over crowded and diversified rest stop. I usually get weirded out by rest stops and try not to stay in them long. But we got some grub and sat down and I was bugging out. There was an Asian baby crying and flailing in his mother's arms while we were in line for some food. "Aww, he's probably upset that there isn't a Panda Express here," I said. I was probably right too.

We sat near a table full of Indian people checking other people out and judging them. A European couple walked by us a few times speaking in tongues. This rest stop was poppin' and it was scaring the shit out of me. We got outta there, tried samples of dried veggie snacks a local farmer's market was giving out (again, at least I did), filled up the car with gas and went on our way. About 2 hours later we were in mountainous, slim-to-none-phone-service land. Tor drove her 4-wheel drive vehicle down to my rear-wheel drive vehicle that wasn't going to make it up the rough unpaved path to get us and our belongings. It was like a roller coaster ride driving up there and then the trees parted and we were greeted by her lovely house, pond, and beautiful view of the reservoir.

 With very little contact with the outside world, we drank, played games, sat outside by the fire, watched movies, ate shit, and drank some more the whole weekend. Most of us also chain smoked like chimneys. Parliaments are probably my new favorite social smoking device. Mind you, I only smoke when I drink occasionally and someone has some (also being generous enough to share with those, including myself, who smoke when they drink).

Considering I was hung over from an adventurous night out the night before, on top of a Thursday evening out at some techno event where I ended up staying out til 5am, I was running on about 10 hours of sleep. I was out like a light bulb when my head hit the pillow that Saturday night.

We awoke to torrential downpour, thunder, and lightning Sunday morning. But that didn't stop everyone, sans Tor and I, from playing a drunken wiffle ball game out in the rain after the thunder subsided. Tor and I got acquainted with Anna Faris in The House Bunny. "Can I just get the one mahi?" So funny.

Sunday was sunless but the boys put together a sad excuse for a fire - granted, we were up in the mountains living in a cloud that day...literally. The moisture from the cloud smothered all of us and everything on the top of the mountain we were staying on. It was actually kind of cool!

We did fireworks late Sunday night considering the 4th landed on a Monday and most of us had to work the next day and opted not to be sitting in traffic. Bryan, our designated firework master of ceremonies, supplied us with the entertainment. He even got us all a shit ton of sparklers to play with.


We also lit up some roman candles and shot them out toward the pond. Don't know what a roman candle is? Here:

Our roman candles that we lit weren't this intense. But they were colorful. And I do enjoy color just as much, if not more, than fire. Fireworks are a combination of both of them and they always fascinate me. Ugh, I love an excuse to set some off. 

Monday, I caught some rays. I woke up, putting my bathing suit on straight away. Not seeing any sun the day before made me seem like I was an opposite vampire trying to rush and get sun before we had to leave (and as an opposite vampire, I'd die slow and painfully if I didn't get enough sun in one day and therefore had to savagely eat vitamin C-induced fruits like oranges. Ugh, if only). 

The pond near Tor's house is full of newts and frogs. I wanted to bring a newt back and make it my pet. Sir Isaac NEWTon would've been his name. But I refrained considering I didn't have dry worms to feed it and the necessary essential pet gear to have it live more than a few hours. Next time though, I'm gettin' me a newt!

My new friend: Sir Isaac NEWTon :)

Great weekend away from reality with amazing company. I always know how to relax up in the Catskills. Who needs phone service? I honestly didn't mind not having any. 3 days of not being able to be reached by the outside world sounds scary (like what if something bad happens...God forbid. Besides there were some dry spots around the house that had phone service - one just couldn't move from that spot while they were using his/her cell phone) but at the same time it's like a cleanse from things we use daily. A detox from routine, of constantly having to check your phone for texts, bbms, e-mails, notifications, etc. Ugh, who needs it?! I'll gladly take 3 days of being unpopular over a being busy bee with a phone hit up by the world. I like things simple sometimes. Eh. Until next time. 

The colours you have, no need to be sad

Colours - Grouplove

Home again

Oh, the perks of being home, or haome as I pronounce it. Such a relaxing place. After being in New York, going out and being reckless, traveling to fun and adventurous places, I definitely needed a break. I still have to blog about DMB, 4th of July, my recent reckless behavior, new adventures, and the like. I've been updating this shiz with quick tunes and vids but haven't really found the time to really sit down and get back into it like I used to.

So, with being home, I think this is a great time to tune out the great Northeast and come back to my roots - sitting at my dining room table jamming to a mix of mashups, Mac Miller, and...Ray LaMontagne. He has suuuch a beautiful voice and after hearing him live at the Caravan two weeks ago, I fell in lurve with him even more.

With that said, I may just start off with a recap of two weeks ago...

There he is!

To kick off his 4-show Caravan as I've stated in this preview sort of post weeks ago, DMB performed along with an array of other artists for 3 days at Bader Field in Atlantic City, New Jersey.


The venue was an abandoned airfield that filled to the brim with fans, hippies, old folk DMB fans, kids, babies, and hoola-hooping hipster chicks. The weekend was sun-filled and wind-ridden. The dust from the abandoned field smothered everyone so even attempting to stay clean was out of the question.                                    
Dave played epic sets every night, with the rest of the day being filled with tunes from other artists. But during the day, we did water-based activities back at the Steinberg residence where we were staying. All 14 of us DMB fans were hitting the jet skis, soaking up some sun, wake boarding, tubing and hanging out. It was a relaxing 3 day weekend with friends, sun, and music. I give props to Bassnectar, who's set was sick and had every one dancing, swaying, bobbing to dubstep. Take note of the hoola-hooping/smoking hippie chick (mind you, she's doing two things at once - impressive). I went up to her after I took that picture and said how my friends and I were admiring her from afar of her awesome skillage. "Aww thanks! I have that shirt," she responds in a bubbly manner. Somewhat confused, I blurt out, "What?" "I have that shirt. Forever 21?" "Yeah!" And we part ways cordially. We made new friends like that. I'll miss the Caravan...a lot.

Determined to read the book by Christmas...

Ughhhhh can't wait. This shit looks mad crazy but so good at the same time. I guess I should have listened to the biffle nug about the book suggestion she recommended months ago. However, I don't think she even read it. She was probably just keeping up with #trendz. Oh, and Karen O's voice in the cover of "Immigrant Song", amaaaaaazinggggggg!

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo 2011 Trailer

Naturific music vid

Cillo's chill, vocal mix of Metric's "Help I'm Alive." Even though the title is called "Breathe." Thought it was Sia's "Breathe Me." But nope, still good :)


Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMqlqkQB000

I Don't Mind Marilyn Manson

I remember saying that during a conversation among friends on the topic of music. I think I just blurted it out. Well, c'mon now, if you haven't heard his cover of Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" than you certainly are...uhh...TAINTED. I haven't really heard much of him say for his appearance in Michael Moore's Bowling for Columbine, where, in a segment of the documentary, the artist has been criticized for his "satanic" performances, lyrics, and appearance. His video for his '09 hit "This is the New Shit" could probably best describe him...


Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kQMDSw3Aqo

Okay, the one contact thing scared me too. But he's an artist like anyone else just like that crackerjacknugget hearthrob singer Justin Biebz. If I was still in 8th grade (during my "dark" phase...shut up we all had one!) I would have preferred the version of "New Shit" as the one above but I'm digging this remix by Krool Kickz!

I cried today at work...

Okay, maybe not cry-cry but I certainly teared up. I think I'm PMSing but I can't be too sure. I'm irregular so Aunt Flow comes when she wants to but lately she's been rather consistent with her scheduled visits. She's probably around the bend. I'm waiting so she'll be my excuse for being...uhh...bitter?

I woke up this morning with this "Ah titty fuck, I don't wanna go to work! In fact, I don't wanna do anythingggg!" feeling. But I've been feeling like that for a few weeks now (for reasons that aren't even going to be explained because I'm tired of going over it - this goes to all of my great supporters out there. I'll be sure to thank you when I have my special on HBO in a few years. God, I'm destined for greatness and I don't even know it yet).

And I'll even consider thanking those who follow my blog. But what I don't get is dis: you read it, but don't follow me. People, I neeeeeeed followers. Need them. If I'm destined for this mysterious unexpected greatness I'm going to have, I need you to follow me on Twitter, on here, and on the streets. You know, like a posse of sorts. Have a Gmail account? Awesome! Follow me. Have a Twitter account? Even better. Follow me...because I have a Twitter button on this blog AND I have a Twitter account that takes you to this blog (bee tee dubbs...Follow me at Jules_allen on Twitter). SO FUCKING DO ITTTTTTT.

Shit, my roommate follows my blog and he's probably getting sick and tired of me venting about how my life is so utterly shitty (well, it's not shitty, but if you're a regular reader than I'm sure you've read about how my life at certain times was absolute fuckness). Bee tee dubbs: read his blog: http://bmckeon.blogspot.com/

I'm hoping he'll reimburse me somehow for that complimentary shoutout : D

Anyways, the two reasons I teared up at work:

The Idea of You - DMB


Lately - David Gray


Beth/Rest - Bon Iver