TO MINX ... OR NOT TO MINX

Recently, I have been blue. This year has sucked, utterly and truly.
I must have worked some bayou hoodoo on myself at the end of 2009 - I look back now and see myself, all shiny faced and happy, THIS WAS THE BEST YEAR, OMG, 2009, GOOD TIMES - and I want to slap my mouth shut! I cursed myself into boredom and self realization and now I am trapped in revelry.
And what have I learned?
I've learned that I haven't learned anything, which is the greatest lesson to learn of them all (figure that out). I've also learned that I purposely don't learn anything, so that I can keep things interesting for a little bit longer.
But most importantly, I've also learned that at this point in my life, there is one thing & one thing only that I care about: being minxual.
You heard me.
Minxual.
Let me explain.
Minxual is a calculated, complicated blend, brewed by the patron saints of pussy control. An attitude that is more street than sweet, it is comprised of the richest of textures (polyester, gravel, and rhinestones) and conjures memories of costume jewelry, everclear, and teased hair. A witches brew, if you will - a dash of sexy, a pinch of demure, a dollop of trollop, a hint (and a half) of bitch, and, most importantly, an innate knowledge of the manipulation of liquid eyeliner (that last part is non-negotiable).
Minxual is the true definition of a free bitch, baby.
I would like to think that I've always been a bit minxual - but it happens. We all lose our swagger, at some point or another. Like I said, in the hoodoo haze of 2010, I've become more thinkual and less minxual - every girl does it. Admittedly, while not typically a chickadee to be usually swayed by thoughts of babies and marriages, I have suddenly found myself, unbeknownst & against my own free will, metaphorically rooted in the ground like a tree that isn't going anywhere until someone decides to come chop me down, and I felt, well, like exactly that. Where was my lumberjack prince? After oh, a week of waiting like a widow at sea, a thought dawned on me - why not just minx out and STOP IT? I mean, who is worth waiting for, anyway? Everyone around me is getting hitched and spawning like rabbits, and I may be bored - but I ain't that bored.
Besides. There are worse things in life than being the Marilyn, right?
So I picked myself up, put on my heels, and touched up my eyeliner - and a minx was re-born.
TIIIIIMMMMBBBERRRR.

For further writing mania of the minx variety, please run along to MINXUAL.net. For all circus life & celeb lovin, continue to make yourself at home right here where you belong.

THE GREAT DEBATE!

The best way I can think to describe it is if you were to compare zebra print with paisley print. 

I like paisley. There is absolutely nothing wrong with paisley - I myself have a lot of paisley things. Bags, shirts, headbands, tights - I like it, I really do. Paisley is comfortable, as shocking as a loaf of bread, and consistent. Paisley is muted pastels that make you feel relaxed and at ease- you have probably been friends with Paisley for ten years. You can't really ever go wrong with Paisley - but then again, you can't really go anywhere else with Paisley, either. Paisley is good about doing what you always know it will, in kind of the same way that a dog is. Paisley is beige walls and accent pillows, Saturday nights spent on the sofa watching Matlock. Paisley is loyal and the same forever, no matter which way you look at it.  Paisley is pretty from a distance, but doesn't really care about that kind of thing - and paisley can be molded to suit and fit any person because paisley requires nothing special. Paisley is anything you want it to be, because, after all, when all you are is amoeba like shapes and curlicues, you must be trying to make up for a lack of something.  Paisley is best with khakis and golf shorts, sweet tea in the summertime on the front porch in a town with a name that isn't worth remembering. 
Paisley probably wears patchouli and thinks it is a suitable perfume. 

Now zebra print - there is something special about the zebra print. You have to be a certain kind of person to get away with the zebra print . Zebra print can more often than not be found on the road - but make no mistake, zebra print is not for the faint of heart. The zebra has an extensive collection of music and sunglasses, and a very messy bedroom. Zebra print can stay in for a night watching old movies, or hold your hand while you walk through rainy city streets after too many drinks - or, in a scenario that is more likely, zebra print can be all you see as it stalks off after losing its temper, or as it gives you the silent treatment all six hours of the car ride home. Zebra print can tell exquisite lies and has a wild imagination. Zebra print has problems with money management and being on time, but most people don't seem to mind. 
Zebra print likes to laugh, and likes to make other people laugh - but mostly, zebra print is just worried about having the last laugh. Zebra print has tattoos, wild red hair and cat eyes, and wants to be a Disney princess. 
Zebra print gets along best with gay men and has probably had a few run ins with the law. Zebra print loves to dance (badly) and loves to sing (badly), but takes it all in stride. Zebra print believes in the healing power of a mix tape and cries over 60 something British musicians. 
Zebra print swears like a sailor, but smiles like a saint - and, nine times out of ten, zebra print doesn't think anal sex or blow jobs are gross. 

If you want a print that will wake you up in the middle of the night crying for no reason, that loves 12 hour drives and considers gas station cheeseburgers a delicacy, pick the zebra. 
If you want a print that will mimic every word that you say, is as spineless as a jellyfish, has chipped fingernails and will be your forever and ever Stepford sweetheart, pick paisley. 
After all, It's about a choice. 
It's about the rest of your life.

RUN JOEY RUN

summer is getting the best of us .... or are we getting the best of summer?

A REAL TOUGH COOKIE

(more @ flickr)



Pat Benatar is one of my very favorite car-angst goddesses. Many times I have wept, wailed, & warbled along to the righteous words of one of her empowering she-tunes as I sped down the highway, feeling like a candle in the wind - so while seeing Mizzz Benatar headline a Nascar festival in downtown Charlotte was not particularly the ideal setting for our first tango, it was totally worth it to get to see one of the original baddest bitches live & get to fist pump out all of my emotions! There are so many times that I wish I could see my life as an outsider, and I promise you that CiCi & I, iphones raised and swaying in the air as we screeched at the top of our lungs to "We Belong" (which Pat dedicated to the legend of space and time himself, Ricky Bobby) is DEFINITELY one of the top moments I'd love to see. TRUST. So although I was outsmarted by nascar fans, had the police called on me because of a minor umbrella infraction AND didn't get front rowsies, I still had an all around jolly good time - an important lesson, I'd say. And I learned a lot, too - like how bikinis in public don't have weight limits, and how prison tattoos and nascar fans seemingly go hand in hand. That's enough for now.

HAIRSTORY.

Dear self, the sole reader of this blog: What a boring year. So boring, in fact, that the only thing I can think of to post is a history of the changes of my hair. There have been many, I see now - so many that it is a wonder that I have hair left. Anyway, let's do this. Here is me. A tender 19 years old. With hair nearly down to my waist. I am about to start my first day of cosmetology school & have never met a flat iron & have only had my hair colored professionally once. PARTY ON!

So! There we have it. From the weave that lasted three days to my tragic mullet to some unfortunate highlighter colored traxx, I must say, some of these were painful to relive - but they all felt right at the time. On the plus side, it did give me about a half an hour intermission from obsessively re-watching Weeds and playing Guitar Hero, so you know, pros & cons.