Category Archives: FUCK YEAH

A Little’s Enough

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I wrote fan mail once and I mean like once in my whole life. 

I facebooked Tom Delonge from Angels & Airwaves (also Blink 182) and tried at first to NOT sound like a deranged teenager and then gave up because who cares?  I wrote about what his music had meant to me at an especially wounded time.  I went ahead and threw in a “you saved my life.”  I’d be more ashamed except I really truly meant it.

Secret Crowds

Everything’s Magic

Love Like Rockets

A Little’s Enough

 

As I was writing a chat window popped up and “Tom” asked me for my info to send me free tickets.  It was obviously a hacker, and I don’t recall whether I bothered to hit send on my email or not.

All that to say that as much as I like to think of myself as someone who holds her shit together around people who are celebrities, Tom Delonge was above and beyond.  If I met him?  Pregnant and out on rape charges.  That’s how that would go down.

This weekend I had a mild inner ear infection.  The kind that make you dizzy, really, really dizzy.  I spent my weekend on the couch crocheting.  I was feeling better today and in yoga pants I’d put on Friday night and never bothered to change, I took my bike up to the corner grocery store.  It’s important to have a visual of my wet hair, sequined tshirt with cat hair, and bike helmet.  I had about 18 items in my cart but since I’m in that store like every third day I know that the express lanes are often waiting and totally accepting of more items.  I have the decency to pretend to care when I start unloading my items onto the counter. 

“I hope they don’t count past 15,” I mutter to the tattooed elbow in the corner of my vision, just so I don’t seem like the bitch who ignores signs.  Rocket ship tattoos, it registers.  Really awesome rocke- HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

THIS IS HAPPENING.

HOLYSHIT.  I know who that is.  I glance at the clock beyond his head.  Yep, that’s Tom Delonge.  I pretend to consult my blank wrist to the time on the clock.  Still very Tom Delonge.  Stop looking at a blank wrist.  Tom is buying groceries with his daughter Ava.  I am melting down while wearing cat hair, sequins and a bike helmet.  He’s attempting to do normal people things.  I’M attempting to do normal people things while watching him do normal people things.  Do not touch him.  DO NOT BURY YOUR FACE IN HIS TSHIRT AND CRY, VJ.  STOP MUTTERING THESE INSTRUCTIONS TO YOURSELF  TO YOURSELF UNDER YOUR BREATH HE MIGHT HEAR YOU.

He turns and looks at me.  I hope I wasn’t making strange strangled noises, I don’t think I was, but who really fucking knows?  His eyes meet mine and my face splits in an enormous smile and there was a moment of I-know-you-know-that-I-know-and-I-know-that-you-know-that-I-know and Ava said “Daddy!  something I didn’t catch.”

.

.

The cashier said “cash back?” and I stopped blinking. 
“That was Tom Delonge from Blink-182, you know.”
“Was it?”
“He’s kind of the only person that I don’t know that I totally care about.”
“You should catch him in the parking lot.  I’ll hold your stuff.”
“No ……. I don’t think I could do any better with words.”

Tyransanity

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I already love this season of America’s Next Top Model, it’s got major crazy potential.  

Tangent, I heard a coworker mention me as liking “food and crazy people.”  I love that they’re beginning to really know me.

To start off, instead of showing the tape of the auditions, Tyra decided to dress up and reenact them herself.   No seriously, that happened.

Then.  Tyra has this big group of girls and they’re socializing and the judges are picking the girls to go on as contestants, from another room.  Then all the girls are given envelopes and told that if their picture is inside, they’ve been chosen to be a part of this cycle and if not they’ll be going home.  Half the girls get a photo, and are elated.  They’re led off and NEVER SEEN AGAIN.

The group of “rejects” are taken to collect their luggage and then Tyra informs them that SURPRISE, they’re going to the models’ apartment because they are in fact the contestants for this season.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who, witnessing the sea of delight and hugging that followed, wondered about the first group who thought they were the winners.  Did one of the Jays, or perhaps Tyra appear to break the JUST KIDDING YOU LOSE news themselves, or were they just poisoned or shot to avoid the trouble?

Ok so THEN, the girls go to their photo shoot/runway show and it’s them getting their picture taken during hair and makeup backstage at the photo shoot.  One girl (Brittani [whom we like]) has her eyelid folded up during makeup, a moment that is captured and makes second best photo for being, and I quote the judges, “so hot.”

THEN, the girls are carefully taped inside big inflatable hamster balls full of glitter and told to walk down a runway that is a balance beam.  That is floating in a pool.

Naturally two girls (only two!) fall off and are now in a big beach ball floating with no traction, and are expected to save themselves.  Before the oxygen in their bubble runs out.

 

One rather bubbleheaded girl muses that she is worried she’s “spend the rest of her life in that bubble” without being able to get out.  I don’t think she’s referring to the suffocation risk but in light of that it suddenly seems like a valid objection.

The girls that fall try to will their balls to the side of the pool by flopping around in them like dead fish.  No one in the audience or backstage makes the slightest move to help.

It’s a beautiful concept and no thanks to anyone but the models, no one dies

The girls then move into their first elimination panel and are understandably very nervous.  Tyra only wishes to discuss her tshirt, which has a giant picture of fellow judge (and Vogue editor) Andre Leon Talley.  Andre Leon Talley is wearing a top hat that has it’s own ponytail, bobbed and sticking straight up as if in indignation. 

I love this show more than ….. well more than most things.

So for who I like (“we” referring to the royal we of Aurora and I, as Aurora is too busy to watch regularly but likes to lustily cheer for my choices when she gets that rare moment [Aurora is the best best friend ever]), we like Hannah.  She’s so pretty!  with so much hair and energy and eyeliner!  and so far, not the slightest whiff of bitchcrazy!!

We also like Molly, Brittani, Dalya, Ondrei and Mikayla.

 

We like Sarah but we’re concerned about her potential.

Who do you like?  And can someone explain Andre Leon Talley’s hat to me, please?

Chapter …. Ah, screw it.

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I’ve decided not to try to tell you the long backstory of the man who is now my boyfriend.

I’ve been trying to tell you all along really, and the fact that he’s now my man doesn’t mean the story of his life is really mine to tell.  I think I’d rather tell you about the now stuff anyway, because now I’m allowed to stick my fingers in his hair, and write him sappy love letters.  (Not at the same time, obviously.)

Look at us, in the same space. I'm not sure how to communicate how HUGE this is.

He lives in New York City, and I’m still here for awhile, so that sucks, but that’s only thing that sucks about us, everything else is magical and perfect and impossibly defiant of gravity.

We will be in love until we die and possibly longer, since my atoms love his atoms and atoms last virtually forever.   I know I’m tempting fate to say so, so boldly, but I’m ok with that.  Suck it fate.  I’ve got my man.

We might look like everyone else, but I can’t escape the idea that we’re going to DO something together, something every one will feel.  We might give birth to the AntiChrist, is all I’m saying.

Maybe not.  Maybe we’re not magic, maybe this is just a wickedly strong version of a normal phenomenon, like storms becoming hurricanes.  I don’t really care.  I’m just so goddamn happy.

Star Party

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“Hey boss?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I leave about 20 minutes early?  I have to be downtown by six.”

“Have fun partying.”

“I’m going to an astronomy lecture at the museum, actually.”

Cut to three hours later, I’m drinking bourbon out of my purse and stage whispering to my buddy Yost that I’m totally turned on by the Hubble Telescope, and I recall laughingly that little hint of indignation that crept into that last sentence.

My boss knows me too well, I guess.  Everything turns into a party.

And punctuation-happy.

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The Emperor – “I’m so pumped for Star Party!”

Valancy Jane – “Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee toooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The Emperor – “Helllllllllll yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Valancy Jane – “STAR PARTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The Emperor – “God.  I can’t fuckiiiiiiinggggggggg waiiiiiiiiiiiit.”

Valancy Jane – “We’re such nerds, it’s lucky we’re cute.”

The Emperor – “True story.”

In Pictures.

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When my friend Ezra first announced that they were going to make a movie about him, I immediately had questions.  A naked moviePlease?  Could I play his dog Putney?

A few months later, Ezra e-troduced me to the producer, David Oliver Cohen, who asked if I could meet him in LA to film an interview.  I’d be playing myself (but maybe Putney too, if she needed a stunt double) (HE REALLY SAID THAT) (which made me totally love him instantly), and talking about two of my most favoritest things, Ezra and the wonderful support system a person can find here on the interwebbies.

A subject I am waaaaaaaaaaay qualified to speak on.  *shy wave*

So I bought another of those train tickets, put on a dress that didn’t come from a clearence sale at a circus costume tent (for once) and even brushed my hair.

Oh and I googled the producer, to find out if this was gonna be a naked movie or not.  So I’d know whether to shave or not.

He’s totally nice.  And prolly not thrilled that the only picture I took of him was the one minute he paused to check his phone.  He’s not really one of those sort of people who are trying to look more important, he just actually happens to be.  Right there?  He’s checking in with the owner of the loft we would be filming in.  Which happened to be awesome and not just because a dog named Barney was there to do my hair and makeup.  But partly.

Right before filming, he pulled out a couple sheets of paper.  They were his FILE. ON. ME.  No one has ever had a file on me before.  (Well ….)  His notes were  even color coded.  Watching him consult them was like foreplay for me, I had to remind me that this was just the 9-5 daily grind for him.

*sigh*  I could get used to this, and y’all saying you knew me when ….