Ballet.Bulge. Boredom.

So staying up till 4 am didn't really suit me well today nor did the formerly mentioned daybed...it pretty much sucked and I CANNOT believe that both myself and my boyfriend slept on it together the last time I visited. We're not petite framed people and the bed is barely accommodating for one as well as having an extremely uncomfortable bar down the middle of it. Besides the roomed turned into a sweat lodge as the heat increased throughout the night (this can be helpful to sweat out toxins and avoid a hangover at times but I didn't really drink too hard last night so it was just annoying). I ended up waking up at a decent noon o'clock hour and as much as I can ever "roll out of bed" [meaning I got up within 15-35 minutes after being awoken, sat on the toilet long after the completion of my am pee, stared in the mirror and found ways to fiddle around with my cosmetics for a half an hour and then got dressed and accessorized] and went on a bagel buying trip with my good 'ol dad. There is nowhere else in the world, that I'm aware of, that has bagels comparable to NYC. They're just so fucking delicious, not only are the bagels a delight but the cream cheese options are on another level. If you have a freaky ass experimental taste palette you can get lox and if you're a fucking vegan (aka not a close personal friend of mine, unless you have a life threatening allergy that forces you to be one and again probably not my friend) you have an array of tofu based options (so not really cream cheese at all) or if you're more subtly adventurous like me scallion cream cheese...Mmmmm. So we had our little bagel fest and then it was off to the ballet with my step-mom and little sister. Now as a feminist (Nazi as my boyfriend likes to say, but that's an over exaggeration. I'm harmless and that's an offensive term. So feminist plain and simple) I don't like the term "tomboy" which is a term you would use to describe my little sister and anything else I can think of as a synonym for that just sounds super stupid (roughie toughie, dudette...and that's about all) so tomboy it is. So as a tomboy and an avid hockey player she had never been to a ballet and was very perturbed by the fact that she had to change out of her typical wardrobe (a puma track suit or some other brand variation) and into some more "appropriate clothing" to gain the approval for the outing from her mother (my step-mother). Now as an adult my style is very much revolved around lacey options, ruffles (they're different), florals and anything else of a very feminine nature yet I can still relate to her in her youthful frustration. As a child I had a very difficult time coming to an agreement with my step-mother over what was appropriate wear for certain occasions. In general I believed that anything made by Disney went together, meaning I didn't stick to one cartoon fairytale theme; I mixed and matched at my digression. This meant I would be wearing "Beauty & the Beast" velcro shoes, "Little Mermaid" tights and an "Aladdin" dress and think I was the epitome of kindergarten couture. I'm actually still not sure I see anything wrong with that picture. In the tween years when my parents decided that as a family of soon to be five we needed to attend church, a church in a very bourgeois neighborhood (at least for MN) where all the other guys and gals of my age group were able to gallivant around in their denim and casual wear. She insisted that I wear a non-denim pair of pants or a skirt/ dress option. So I primarily wore khakis and looked like I worked at target, I bowed my head in shame and anger. Not in prayer. So anyways my little sister is a lot more fly than me and wore gray skinny jeans and a velvet jacket that I can only categorize as a tuxedo or smoking jacket. She looked awesome. By the way she's 8.


So...we went to the NYC ballet at Lincoln Center. I have a passion for ballet and dance of all sorts because that was my extracurricular activity in my youth. I went to a ballet school that was training us to be professional dancers...clearly this did not pan out as a viable career option for me (I'm 5'3 with womanly curves, I can't stick my knee to my ear and I'm only so graceful. Passion just wasn't enough and even that wore out when I realized there were other exciting endeavors to be had that just  wouldn't coordinate with an intense dance regiment). It's possible that some of my fellow dancers are now members of the dance company I just went to see, that or they used their flexibility for the adult entertainment industry; either way I wish them the best even though 96% of them were total bitchasses.


The performance we saw was a series of three dances. The first was titled "Stars and Stripes" and yes it was a patriotic ballet, who the fuck knew that existed? It was so...well it was so fucking gay (and I DO NOT use that term in a derogatory way, that's what it was). Of course ballet is always beautiful, but this consisted of a red, white & blue background, brightly colored costumes, baton twirling and faux trumpet playing by dancing "soldiers". I basically just wrote it off as being a choreographed celebration for the repeal on "Don't Ask Don't Tell" a way to welcome the gays into the service with open, elegant arms!


The second performance "Outlier" was apparently wardrobed by American Apparel. The women wore nude leotards and neon colored leggings while the men wore either leggings with no shirt or a long sleeve shirt and nutsack covers...I would say that the choreography  had sexual undertones, but due to the wardrobe it was not an undertone it was boldly displayed. I actually had some concern for how the obvious bulges pirouetting around the stage would affect my sister psychologically. They also openly played around with same sex partnering. The dances were beautiful but the semi-nude dancers and overly obnoxious, super "modern" non-melodic violin music was extremely distracting. I found myself drifting off into thoughts of the lesbian sex scene from "Black Swan". Which I do from time to time regardless of weather I'm at the ballet or not and then I remember her crushing her mom's hand in the door and the excitement comes to a rapid halt.


Lastly a jazzy number "For the Love of Duke" performed to the music of Duke Ellington. It was beautiful and fun and directed by a Broadway director so it had a sense of humor. It had sort of a "Center Stage" meets "Dirty Dancing" feel to it, so clearly it was my personal favorite.


After having as much fun as three gals can possibly have at a matinee ballet we headed home where we proceeded to play a game of "Word Pirates" and eat some amazing cupcakes from "Crumbs" bake shop. The array consisted of mint grasshopper (orgasm comparable in richness), choc. & vanilla, cookies & cream (who can say no?), m&m (great), caramel apple pie (not my thing) and s'mores (over it for the week but still yum). If ever you're in NYC and you feel like putting yourself into a diabetic shock I highly recommend treating yourself to one of these exquisite desserts.


After all that fun was put to bed (literally my little sister had to go to bed) I found myself watching the Screen Actors Guild whatever the fuck you call it awards show...I'm in NYC raring to go!! And there's no one to go out and hit the town with!! Somehow none of my (few) social contacts are available for a Sunday evening extravaganza, even my father! He decided to stop drinking and woke up at 5am. I CANNOT believe that I am in the city that never sleeps, with amazing activities just a subway stop away and I'm in my family's living room wasting away into the couch. I've come to terms with it. I'm here to visit with my family and that's what I'm up to and still having a lovely time. But this also allowed me to go into full on judgement/clown mode for the awards show and here's some things I just had to share...

                          Here's a personal fave Natport rocking the hell out of maternity glam.

Now Angie Harmon is a handsome lady but this is just not appropriate. She's not in her 20's and therefore it is not appropriate to look like a little doll bird pink fluff muffin. She's just DTM. 

She was really giving away the goods (a crime I can be guilty of I love my breasts like they're my children)... but she's so fucking hot that I'm gonna let it slide. Plus sapphire blue is a dream color. 

Oh my Mila...again I go back to the lesbian sex scene. She fucking killed it in this dress. 

Although K Kardashian has no screen talents to speak of (besides wearing false eyelashes 24/7, talking in a perma-baby voice and looking air brushed level gorgeous) she is wearing elaborate bust detailing and mauve and a train. To qoute Rachel Zoe (even though I'd rather not) "I die". Its bordering on pageant queen but its just so whimsical and pretty. 

I love Sus Sarandon for the way she exudes that loving maternal quality that just makes you want to snuggle next to her on a love seat and have her give you life lessons but she is so cougar-liciously delish.

Tina Fey is worthy of celebrity worship. She's fucking hilarious and she's hot. I'm not sure about lipstick red but it's Oscar De La Renta and it's working. 

And that is all for the evening. "The Sweetest Thing is On" It's basically "There's Something About Mary" exclusively for girls.

do the creep

So I decided to start blogging...it's 2011...I'm 23...do I have a choice? I need something eternally on the web as my life's legacy in case I happen to die in a fiery crash of some sort/ I need something to occupy my time with (I'm a night owl). Plus someone else might give a shit about what I have to say. Maybe.

I'm extremely thrown off because I traveled through the time warp of going from the West coast to the East Coast, it's the closest I'm probably going to get to time travel besides watching a "Back to the Future" marathon... I sort of semi-conciously slept three hours before my flight and then did that awkward middle seat slumber on the board ...you know the drill...you're stuck between two strangers [one hipster chick who thought it was appropriate to have a garlic humus pita for breakfast on a 7 am flight, its not. It's totally disrespectful to your fellow passenger.] and your average white guy [who pretty much minds his own business, besides making you physically get up and stand in the aisle when he has to go pee just as you're getting comfortable] AND so you're forced into a slightly reclined position with a shitty neck pillow and in my case an absolutely amazing lavender filled eyemask, because yea I am that high maintanence (the situation requires you to be) AND you're trying not to fart on the person to your left while trying not to snore/drool to the person on your right BUT at the same time you don't really give a fuck because you're the MIDDLE seat. So you're in this less than ideal sleeping situation and just as you start to doze someone starts incessantly pressing their call button (and it better not be for a new vomit bag, I know they say don't use the bathroom to puke your guts out in but if you're on my flight YOU fucking BETTER! I do not want you to vomit into an elementary school sized lunch bag in my vicinity) and then you kind of just let that fade into the background and you're snoozing again and then your fucking hand falls asleep. Fuck you hand! There's not a lot I can do with you. I'm trying to keep it cute by clasping them together and one falls asleep and then the other and so on and so forth until the flight attendant is harassing you to turn off your ipod and brace for impact aka land.

So...LONG STORY kept long...I'm in NYC from SF...I'm watching a highly entertaining rerun of SNL and starting to get drowsy, which is alright since I have a decent (firm but decent) daybed to sleep on. So as I'm getting drowsy a very timely Lunesta sleep aid commercial comes on, now I know these commercials are nothing new but what is new to me is how creepy that toxic green glowing moth is that they use as their mascot. Maybe it's just me, but does anyone else want this weird ass creature to brush over them and put them to sleep? Aren't moths of that nature the basis of psychological thrillers (mothman prophecies anyone? You thought Richard Geere had issues in "Pretty Woman" you have to watch that shit). I prefer to take codene based medications, smoke a bowl or drink myself into a dreamy stupor...NOT use a potentially addictive moth branded sleep aid. And that's my little rant of the evening.

Besides that I had a thoroughly jampacked day in Manhattan, my dad is the perma-tourist, he's lived here for apx. 3 years but still treats it as though he only has limited time to visit all the cities museums. So we had the pleasure of going as a family to the Jewish museum (with all of our ghostly pale complexions, blonde hair and blue eyes they were probably hopeful for a large donation due to our German guilt, we have it even though our ancestors are quakers meaning they're down to fight anyone's cause. Got an injustice going on? we're your people) for the "Harry Houidini" Exhibit. It basically consisted of some photos and old timey circus posters but also a brilliant  art instillation by some jackass artist that re-created Houdinni's coffin in some sort of expenisve plastic, got a bunch of freaky ass looking pigeons that looked like they had feather boas* on [*see jacobin pigeon, they're weird as fuck] and let them run around and shit all over the faux coffin. This was apparently to show nature taking over when you are in a post-humous state, regardless of your fame in life...yeah okay but what I'd really like to know is how much that asshole got paid to come up with an instillation of a bunch of birds shitting and pecking at each other in a room for money?? We're not at the MOMA, I expect the good Jewish people to be a little more wise with who they hand out their cash to. But we're in New York so if you call it art, I suppose it is.

After a full day of family fun I topped off my evening with a trip to Brooklyn to enjoy some quality time with my dear friend Elah (I decided I'm going to take the safe approach and change names since it's highly likely that I will offend someone in the near future if I continue to blog for putting their ridiculous behavior on blast, even though Elah acted perfectly fine this evening). My lovely friend took me to a bar down the street from her spot called "Camp" it was basically my Grandma's basement from back home in MN. Don't get me wrong I LOVE my grandmas basement! Plus as Elah pointed out it wasn't a truly fair comparisson because good 'ol Grammy doesn't have Big Buck Hunter (unfortunately, she might get a kick out of it) and I suppose she doesn't have a fully stocked bar AND only occasionally does a mixed crowd of 20 somethings fill up her basement between the hours of 10 and 2. Long story short NYC has some romantic flirtation with the idea of theming their bars like cabins and homes of the greater midwest (all the while sticking their noses up at the idea of the good people who actually live their everyday life in this "theme" target/walmart). But really it was a great time. We had our drinks and bought an extremely overpriced tray of S'mores that you could roast at your own table. Yes a tray of s'mores like the ones you make at camp. It consists of your basic supplies and a little urn filled with a weird flamable gel, which I'm really wanting to purchase for personal use although I'm not sure why yet. So you roast your mallow over the presumably toxic gel and have no choice but to burn it, which is fine since burnt is best AND  it's a pretty great treat that gives two people something to do to make the rest of the bar partrons jealous (until they find it on the menu and realize it's not an exclusive VIP table thing).

So as you can see by my first ramblings I've pretty much worn myself out with all this action...but as I head off to bed I bestow upon you this gift: