AN EVENING WITH TEGAN + SARA

Last month when I went to see Hanson at The Orange Peel, while I was traipsing around trying to seduce Taylor before the walk get out of the sun, I stumbled across one tiny, measly little flyer pinned to the wall, advertising a show exactly one month from the date of the Hanson show. it was for Tegan + Sara. WHAT. TEGAN +SARA? I nearly went through the ground. They are only one of my favorite bands ever!!
Years & years ago, the sassy Ms. Alex introduced me to the glory that is T+S, and I haven't looked back since! I have a huge emotional attachment to this band - taking the pilgrimage to see them five (FIVE?!) years ago in Atlanta was the first time I drove myself out of town EVER (my how times have changed!), the crowd from the aforementioned show taught me a lot about life, patchouli, and what not to wear, and some of these songs have been the only songs that got me through some of the more hellacious moments of my later teenage years. Hearing tracks off of "The Con" album (not to mention going all the way back to that ol tearjerker "Living Room") nearly broke my heart all over again, but it a good way. Being back in the eye of the patchouli storm again, however, nearly broke my heart all over again in a way that may require hospitalization. Anyway, yeah. LURB YOU, TEGAN & SARA.

MODEL THROUGH IT!!

SHOUT IT OUT

Well, I have reached the big one. 2-0, that is. My 20th Hanson show! What a joy and delight! I was joined by my partner in crime of Hanson tour past, Stephanie, and we hit the familiar open road to all that is Asheville. Here is really all that you need to know:

So basically, we came. We saw. We went to the mall walked. We Rooney-ied. We bitched. We whined. We Man From Milwaukee-ied. And most importantly, and in long standing tradition - we shopped.



a middle finger to all, and to all, a good night!

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.