If I Had A Band

Have you ever said something ordinary and then thought “Hey!  That would be a great name for a band!”?  I have, all the time!  Therefore, periodically, I will have “If I had a Band” Day.  I am spinning this off Southern Belle Simple’s “La Fête D’Imagination” in which she creates a completely imaginary party, down to the napkins, for a fabulous day (most recently Vivian Leigh’s Birthday).  So I am going to create a completely imaginary band down to the guitar art.

Today’s band name was inspired by the recent cold weather snap and my roomies comment that it was an electric blanket night.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, from Island Pond, Vermont this is “ELECTRIC BLANKET NIGHT!”.  Onto the dive bar stage in a small New England town walks 3 middle aged men, obviously still grasping at youth.  Clad in an artfully tattered array of flannel and jeans that are way too tight for men of that age, these Chuck Taylor wearing gentlemen belt tunes with guttural raspy voices reminiscent of Nickleback.  They want to be edgy but you can tell they grew up on Neil Sedaka…not judging, just saying.  Their wives sit at the bar impatiently checking their watches, impatient to get back home to relieve the babysitter.  They glare at the drunken, middle age, lounge lizard dancing way too seductively all alone in front of the stage.   The drum kit has “EBN” with a lightning bolt through it on the bass.  And if you look closely you can see the desperate hope shinning through their eyes.  They tour through New England in their minivans working around PTA and soccer games, in a love hate relationship with the path their lives have taken…regretting that they are not 20 years younger and begrudging every back spasm and pre-arthritic ache that signals their impending age.

This is a photo of Queens of the Stone Age from Magnet Magazine
Add 10 Years and subtract 90% of the talent and you have "Electric Blanket Night"

HE KNOWS I EXIST!

               I have to blog about it…HE KNOWS I EXIST!!!!  So my roommate found this button that’s says “Mentally dating a celebrity who doesn’t know I exist”, which is excessively accurate.  I have a total fan girl crush on Michael Esper of Broadway’s American Idiot.  Like vivid dreams, and giggly blushiness, low grade internet stalker crush.  It is, in fact, a little sad.  So, in the spirit of fan girl crushes worldwide, I dressed my 2 year old son as “Will” his character from A.I.  And by dressed I mean authentic costume down to the handmade key necklace and leather bracelet.  I even had my roommate scour the internet for pictures of the cardinal and 1977 tattoo he wears in the show, and Sharpie’d them on his arm.  I sculpted a heart-shaped hand grenade and sprayed his hair blue and black.  I even got so OCD as to smear some guyliner on him.  Then, on with the skinny jeans and vintage tee (right sleeve rolled up of course) and the skater shoes.  We set up a tube TV on the ground in front of an aged and infirm (read-well loved) sofa (a la the set he stays on for almost the entire show), clipped a lollipop stick to look like a cigarette (which he chain smokes throughout the show) and then spent the next 45 minutes trying to convince the aforementioned 2 year old to pose for pictures.  He did an AWESOME job and there has never been a prouder Fan girl Mommy than I was of my little “Will”. 

               OF COURSE with all my obsessive stalker craziness I had to post and tag Espy (hell yeah I gave him a nickname) and A.I. (What the cool kids are calling it these days) all over the place…FB and Twitter exploded with the “Espertasticness” (hey look, I made a word) of it all J I figured if anybody actually looked at it they would be like that’s cool and/or annoying and move on….THEN (duh duh duuuuuuh) my roommate calls me this morning (while I am driving to work) and says “I am about to make your year…guess who just commented on your picture of Spencer.”  I screamed like (insert farm yard analogy here).  Word for word  “AHHHHHH! SO AMAZING!!!!!!” Michael James Esper.  I have smiled for 7 hours now , thankfully the hyperventilating has stopped.  So from my happy little self to whoever reads/sees this here is my little “Will”.

This is the one Espy commented on.

Completely "Will" in this pic.

Getting ink done.

HOW IS HE SO CUTE?

Mommy's heart shaped hand grenade

I went to New York...and let my Geek flag fly!

In my life I have developed a taste for many things.  I enjoy a trip to Saks Fifth Avenue, I love my Chanel sunglasses, I am a MAC addict (thanks for that Kate Spears, you are my original pusher), and pretty much anything sparkly will grab my attention like a squirrel scenting a nut.  But underneath the blonde sparkly girly exterior lies a secret (my friends will say it isn’t that well hidden, but it tends to surprise strangers) I am a geek, a nerd, a mouth breather, whatever your term for it…I am.  I love comics, sci-fi, video games…let's face it I am a pair of high waters away from starring in a Revenge of the Nerds movie…I even snort when I laugh really hard.  Therefore imagine my dismay when I missed the opportunity to buy tickets to this year’s Comic-Con in San Diego.  It would have been my first.  Stan Lee (Creator of Spiderman, Ironman, Hulk, etc.) was there as was James Marsters (Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Barnabas Greeley from Caprica…two words “Spank Bank”) and TONS of other Geek gods from all forms of media.  I sat and pouted on the beach in San Diego that weekend, so close yet so far.  Then my AMAZING roommate gave me an excuse to be in New York City during New York’s Comic Con this past weekend.  So I got online and stated stalking.  My schedule dictated that I could only go on Sunday morning so I had to wait until James and Stan’s signing/photo schedules were posted, which didn’t happen until about 2 weeks out from the Con.  When I FINALLY saw that they would be available during my time, I was so excited…until I saw the prices.  Not only was it $40 to get a 1 day pass, but a photo with James was $60 and Stan was $40.  They also charged separate prices to sign autographs.  I almost cried.  So I said “Oh well, maybe next year in San Diego”. 

It was the train ride that made me change my mind.  Riding into the city from New Jersey was someone on their way to the Con.  I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t wait for another Con, this was it, my chance to meet (and touch) some of my idols.  I asked him how to get to the Javitts center and decided to leave it up to fate.  If there were tickets available it was meant to be.  Needless to say, IT WAS.  I bought my day pass, and forayed into my first Comic-Con.  It was AMAZING!  There was so much to see and do.  While it was crowded everyone was well behaved and orderly.  The staff was very helpful and answered all this Con Virgin’s questions and even escorted me to the correct booth for the Stan and James picture sessions.  Everywhere you looked was something cooler than before.  I got my picture with “Black Beauty” the car from the new Green Hornet movie. 

I met a kid dressed as Tony Stark (Ironman) with a costume that would make any electrical engineer proud. 

I even met Mr. McFeely from my childhood favorite show Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.

SPEEDY DELIVERY

I only got to spend a few hours in mouth breather heaven, but it was enough to hook me.  Even though I went alone I was still part of a family.  Strangers helped me take pictures, and waiting on line was fun because everyone talks to everyone.  It is a HUGE shared experience and later that night when I passed someone in Times Square I had waited on line with, we waved and smiled at each other because we had been there.  Next time I will know to go to picture sessions first and leave someone waiting in the autograph line.  I will know to buy tickets online because they cost more at the door, I will know to bring water, and I will know to wear something that covers my arms because it is easier than cropping them out of pictures.  But it was worth every hour in the car and every dollar I didn’t really have, I will ALWAYS remember my first Comic-Con.  BAZINGA!-Lola (the Geek)



The Author and James Marsters




The Author and Stan Lee



A Demolition De-virginification

   Alright ladies and gentlemen, IT has finally happened!  I lost my Demolition Derby virginity!  Kay, so my roommate and I took my son to the county fair this past week.  Oh my Jesus, where to start? 

   We shall start with the cake competition.  My roommate entered the amateur cake decorating competition.Needless to say she rocked it out!  Featuring butter cream covered off-set dummy cakes accented by hand cut black fondant zebra stripes(I did those!) displayed on a zebra print cake board, and topped with a black and white beaded topper.  Her cake took first place in her division and she won a whopping $10.  We are going to ignore the fact that she didn't take best-in-show and all the small town politics involved in County Fair food judging competitions, and focus on the fact that the other decorated cakes looked like someone took a Wal-Mart cake dropped it on the floor and scrapped it all back together and the fact that at least she beat them.

  Now we move on to the fabulousness of a warm summer night, the smells of pizza, and funnel cake, the flashing lights, and ringing bells of a small town fair.  I love the candy colored flashing lights, the oddly shaped little people running the booths, the rotten toothed little kids running around on leashes with Gus-Gus (the fluffy mouse from Cinderella) shirts on and bottles of Coke and Mountain Dew in their sticky paws, and the horrific disease ridden "prizes" that float above your head raining down lice and bedbugs on the heads of unsuspecting passers-by.  I love people watching though, all those little gag-inducing high school sweethearts are enough to make me want to stab myself in the face!  But the Funnel cake ROCKS!   

  Saving the best for last, the Demolition Derby!  It is very odd to me that my FAVORITE part of the evening was the dirty, loud, event that involved cars smashing into each other.  But just the sheer masculinity of it appealed to the Bad Boy Magnet in me.  The loud growling engines, the relentless slamming into other cars until the just can't go anymore, one car got flipped over on it's side, and at the end someone got $50.  Well maybe it isn't such a mystery to me why I like it anymore ;) -Lola

A store named "CAKE" that doesn't sell cake? Bastards

I drove to Nashville with a friend yesterday.  She had an appointment and I didn't have anything better to do.  We had just gotten off the Interstate when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a black and white sign with the word CAKE written in a beautiful font.  I got all puppy dog wiggling over a new toy excited and turned on my blinker to make a little pre-appointment detour.  When what to my wondering eyes should come clear?  But that the store named "CAKE" did not sell cake at all...WHAT!?!?!?!?  No apparently they sell vintage table linens and tablewares.  While I love a good vintage store, one must NEVER indicate that they have cake in ANY form if they do not.  I have not yet gotten over the disappointment of this false advertising.  I, in fact, had to purchase 3 whole Gigi's cupcakes to comfort myself from the crushing disappointment of a store named "CAKE" that doesn't sell cake.  COME ON IT"S NAMED CAKE...SELL CAKE!!!!  They should change the name to Bastards...cause that's what they are.  DOn't mess with my cake!-Lola

Inappropriate Men

We have all had one, some of us have had many (no comments from the peanut gallery), I am talking about inappropriate men.  They are dangerous, sexy, unobtainable, and speak to our fix-it natures.  Whether they are too young, too old, too unemployed, too aggressive, or too married/already involved with someone else, we are attracted to them like (insert barnyard analogy here).  We know we shouldn't be, our friends tell us we shouldn't be, our families tell us we shouldn't be...but does it matter? NO!  Because if he loves us enough, if we work hard enough, if we say and do all the right things, he will change.  He will prove to your Dad that he is man enough, he will charm your Mom, and your Besties will stop trying to introduce you to "nice" boys and see him for the amazing guy that he is...OK now that I have stopped laughing (hindsight being 20/20 and all that) you get to the point that you realize, he isn't going to change.  He is going to continue being the wanker everyone has always told you he is.  Here is my advice...We like the naughty inappropriate men (admit it!), can we get to the point that we see them as they are, enjoy them for what they are, and not let ourselves get wrapped up in fixing them.  Because only then can we enjoy the interlude without missing the appropriate men.  Dear self, please read entire last post and take your own advice!-Lola

A Compendium for New Brides (circa 1965)

    So I was in a used book store this morning wandering around in a romance novel daze.  When it occured to me, women in the South are seriously repressed.  The sheer numbers of romance novels alone was enough to have a sort of epic revelation.  People think southern women are so demure and straight laced?  Not the case according to the evidence.  I think they are really just nasty closet pervs and can only experience that thrill with contraband bare chested, bossom heaving, half lidded eyes, and flowing locks.  After my moment of clarity I was wandering around a "homemaking" section and discovered this little gem of a book.  Published in 1965 "Happy Living, A Guidebook for Brides" is chock full of nuggets of wisdom, lists of neccessities, recipes, and helpful hints.  Some chapter examples include: Your trousseau of table, bed, and bath linens, How to keep house, The Bride cooks breakfast, and For Bridegrooms only.
    You can imagine my mid-century minded joy at the discovery of such a treasure and I felt the need to share a few choice tidbits from the book with you here.  "You are twice blessed when you own things that are as beautiful as they are useful", "Now that you are about to play the role of Mrs. Homemaker, why not become a "method" actress?  It is the lady with the method who gets things done the fastest, thereby saving precious time and energy for more creative endeavor", and lastly, for the men, "If you are one of those men who has never bought anything but sports jackets and fishing rods, here are some suggestions:" (inrefernce to purchasing home furnishings).
   Needless to say I am enthralled with this book and randomly scream out quotes to my roommate while laughing hysterically.  Yet somewhere deep down I enjoy the order and straightforwardness of the books, ideas.  What that says about me?  IDK- Lola

Creamed Eggs in Corned Beef Crust...WHAT were they thinking?!

"Dutch Treat" or Why are you a cheap bastard? or Why I deserve to be treated like a lady.

    I wouldn't say that I am old fashioned, but any more I look at the dating scene I am mystified.  In the aftermath of Feminism it has become, even more, a world that caters to boys and their lack of ability to act like MEN.  At least, in time gone by, a MAN would open the door for you, a MAN would pay for dinner, a MAN would make the effort to court a woman.  Now, not only do we "get" to work as hard as men just to survive, we also get to open our own doors, pay for our own meals (and a lot of times theirs) on dates, and strive ever harder to find and pursue a guy.  Plus what ever happened to a guy opening the door for you and waiting for you to enter first he places his hand on the small of your back to let you know he is there for you? I mean REALLY!  Who raised this generation of guys?  They didn't turn into weak, little boys on their own.  I would call them Mama's boys, but that is a misnomer.  My Dad is a Mama's boy but his Mama raised him right.  For example, I have a gay male friend that I met in high school.  When I told my Dad we went to the movies, he asked if my friend paid for me.  I said no because he was gay and it wasn't a date...for the past 15 years my father has referred to him as "cheapskate".
    I was raised in the grand tradition of "learning the wifely arts".  I can cook an entire meal and serve it all warm at the same time at a precise time.  I make food from scratch (including whipped cream, pie, crusts, biscuits, and pesto.  I can not only sew on a button, I can sew a complete outfit.  I vacuum, dust, and do windows, and can iron a knife pleat into a pair of men's pants.  I know what the placket of a men's dress shirt is and how to iron it, I can clean a house from top to bottom in less than a day, and know how to make hospital corners when making a bed.  For all my knowledge, what do I get in return?  I get to work so hard to find a respectable man, that at this point I would be shocked if there actually were any to be had. 
    If you know a real (SINGLE) man who treats a woman like a lady, who pursues a woman he is interested in, who thinks "Dutch Treat" is what the Amish serve for desert, and who does the hand on the small of the back thing (it's really hot).  LET ME KNOW!-Lola

Howdy!

You know how sometimes things are really funny in your head and you think other people would enjoy your commentary but there isn't anybody around to share it with?  That is not the case with me.  I have a wonderful little boy who has learned to laugh at about anything I say.  This is a double edged sword, it is great if I am telling my hilarious "What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs" jokes, not so great if I am telling him it is NOT ok to bite people's boobs or reach up their dresses, or throw screaming thrashing hissy fits on airplanes.  So I have started blogging as way to gain perspective on my interior monologue.  Maybe even a little control over it.  If you like what I say, let me know, if you don't and you want to try to get nasty, then karma might just put me and my 2 year old on your next 6 hour long flight. -Lola