If I had a band pt. 2 "Horny Vampires"

It’s time again for your favorite time (and mine too) “IF I HAD A BAND”!  This one is inspired by a little Twitter convo. I had this morning with a fellow Idiot (see any and all American Idiot blogs/FB status updates to catch up with my terminology).  She mentioned that “lady gaga says her new fragrance is inspired by blood and semen... who the fuck wants to spray that on their bodies?!? I guess gaga”.  I happened to mention “Horny Vampires too.”  But, due to a miscommunication (namely me not mentioning WTH I was talking about) she thought I was telling her about a new band…thus began the idea for today’s blog.  Also you just got schooled on why I call my blog “Rambling”.

HORNY VAMPIRES!!!!

So I am thinking teen deathcore type music, lots o’ the screaming and growling terrible overused clangy riffs.  There would definitely need to be some tight pants with some reject “Hitler Rulez” written in an illegible font torn t-shirt with simulated vomit/jizz stains. Pussy level body modification, and some ridiculous, not even trying to be ironic, Tweety Bird, Mickey Mouse, or Cheshire Cat tattoo on the back of their necks.  I actually found a blog I am going to link to at the end of this that is pretty funny and displays what I am talking about perfectly.  P.S.  I am pretty sure these are the offspring of my last band “Fuzzy Blanket Night” :P

That is what I thought of when I heard “Horny Vampires”.  What kind of band popped into your head?-Lola

http://www.themetalinquisition.com/2009/10/deathcore-only-99-worthless-shit-im-as.html 

For the best and ONLY Will!

It’s a rainy summer night in Manhattan.  The fetid steam rises from the concrete enveloping the tourists scrambling into storefronts to escape the deluge.  In a dismal apartment on the lower East side a skinny, pale man in his middle 20’s sits hunched over on a beaten down futon.  His neck is bent and his back is curled downwards.  His unwashed black hair sticks out in odd directions from running his hand repeatedly through it.  In his hands, commanding all his attention is a roughly used, be-stickered, acoustic guitar.  His calloused fingers move nimbly over the strings and pick out a tune that is deceivingly simple and filled with a haunting echo like a black hole.

His feet move with the music as if pushing an imaginary effects pedal, and his lips move in a silent mantra of lyrics no one but he can hear.  His dirty stained pants smell of the damp of outdoors and his shirt clings to a chest that has seen too many drugs and not enough hot meals.  There is an old tube television, with the dial you have to get up to turn, playing mutely in the corner.  The room is hot and stagnant and wet.  The windows are open to let in whatever air is available and the sounds of sirens and the drunks at the bar downstairs play a poor accompaniment to his gifted fingers.  He is better now than he was.  He no longer flies through the night, reeling on whatever powder or smoke, or liquid, he injected, or inhaled, or snorted.  His system is clean.  His soul is questionable. 

From the only other room in the shabby seventh floor walk-up, a soft wail rises.  His head snaps up and his body gets rigid, his fingers squeeze the neck of the guitar, and his eyes flash to the door.  He hears the bed creak and her footstep on the floor.  A soft murmur from behind the door and the seemingly ceaseless steps begin again.  The crying never seems to stop.  It is a house that could float away on the tears, and they aren’t always the baby’s.  The dreams that were broken and the hopes that have died fill his mind and play on repeat as the wailing rises and fills the tiny rooms.

He had tried to leave, tried not to care, tried to claim the destiny that was so truly his.  His talent roars from him like a lion, proud and true, refusing to be denied.  But it was always there She was always there, telling him “I’m keeping it”.  It was always there, the fact that there was someone out there that was supposed to depend on him.  It was always there, the fact that he was no better than the Father who abandoned him, in fact he was worse because he had never been there in the first place.  It ate at him and drove him to try to fly to higher places.  But like Icarus, he flew too close to the sun and his wings melted and he fell, and fell, and fell.

He had come back, but like many things, it was never what he thought it would be.  And as he sits, trying to block out the wails that fill the apartment, the people that try to love him, and the life that is trying to eat him alive, his eyes fill with tears and his fingers find their places on the frets.  His head drops back down and his back hunches over.  His eyes close out the dingy apartment and he plays till his callused fingers open and bleed and the blood washes over the strings and the frets and each strum brings a little splash, a severed artery of pain washing through the night. 

The First Brush is the Sweetest

   If you lovelies don't already know, I am the proud owner of a new home (well, new to me anyhow)!  While I love my new place and am super excited and scared, and overwhelmed at having just purchased a new home, there are some definite issues that need to be addressed in my new home.  So, in the manner of Martha Stewart and Kevin Sharkey, I am going to keep you all updated on my (forever) continuing home "renovations".
   Upon settling, I went to the house and counted the door handles.  That may sound silly, but with a 2 and a half year old boy, the original non-locking lever handles would never work. Plus (like everything else in the house) they were that shiny gold/brass color (ick).  My brother and his fiancee came over last Saturday and helped install the new, round, aged bronze, locking door handles (there are still a few closet doors and the front and back patio doors to be done, but those are cosmetic and can wait until I have more money). 

   We also spent about 4 hours cleaning the place top to bottom.  When I got to the Master Bath and started cleaning the vanity cabinet under the sink I noticed a leak from the sink.  My brother, being the extremely handy and awesome person that he is, took the sink apart, fixed it and put it back together in about 15 minutes.
   Our stuff was delivered this past Thursday from MD.  I spent Thursday night getting everything put into the right rooms, putting bed together, and emptying boxes.  I repeated that process Friday night, as well.  This was all in preparation for the painting of the living room. Most little girls plan their weddings, I planned my house.  I pick out paint chips and read Better Homes and Gardens.  Each house I looked at in my hunt, would get a mental makeover as I walked through.  Needless to say I had my colors picked and ready as soon as the papers were signed.  Most of the house will get painted over time, however the living room was the color of dried blood and needed to be changed SWIFTLY!

My actual living room (previous owner's furniture)

 

 

 

 

   I purchased 3 gallons of tinted primer  ( figured I would buy the paint later), and armed myself with tape, rollers, brushes, and the like and got ready to paint on Saturday.  THEN I realized "If I tape it all off now and prime it I will need to paint soon too, or risk peeling off paint when I remove the tape."  The magic of this realization came at 12:15...15 min. AFTER the store closed where I buy my paint (a local Benjamin Moore retailer and also where I worked my first job, schlepping paint and cleaning toilets (glamorous!)).

   My friend had come over to help me paint and it ended up we spent most of the day taping and laying down masking paper.  So Sunday night after my son went to bed, I decided I would get started on a couple if the smaller walls so I wouldn't have so much to do today.  LOOONG story short, I double prime coated the whole living room last night and got to bed by 3.  I just called the Paint store and they have my paint ready for me to pick up at lunch...let's just hope it doesn't take another 7 hours tonight!  P.S. I REFUSE TO EVER PAINT AGAIN!~Lola
P.S.  Finished pix coming soon!

A little something to slit your wrists to

Following is a one page setting sketch that was assigned to me by my creative writing professor.  Just thought I would share my learnin' on here with y'all. Read it if you want to~Lola

                            She stands alone.  The salt heavy air blows her tangled, sea-sprayed hair across her face.  She doesn’t brush it away.  The pre-dawn light turns the dark heavy sky into a misty oyster shell of gray and purple swirling together.  The ocean’s colors mimicking the sky like an angry mina bird.  The ocean rises up as if to grab the sky and pull it down to keep it forever, yet the sky remains out of reach and unable to grasp the oceans waves reaching toward it.  At least that is what she imagines as she stands alone.  The empty beach stretches on either side of her as the waves pull at her toes, grasping hungrily for the tattered hem of her evening gown.

               Behind her, a trail of her bloody footprints leading from the cliffs she descended in the dark are filled with the discarded orchids and paste jewels that once adorned her hair and gown.  It is bitingly cold in the dawn and her skin has taken on a faint blue tinge from the hours she has spent standing on the desolate shore.  She can taste the salt in her throat and on her lips from the sea and the sky and her tears.  Her feet unconsciously dig deeper into the thick wet sand at the water’s edge.  The thick grey brown grains are flecked with black and gold.  Later in the day they will reflect the sun and make the entire beach glow, but now they stick heavily to her well shaped feet and ankles and weigh down the water and blood-stained pale peach silk gown.  The wind is tearing at her and the ocean pulls but she stands frozen.  The screaming inside her is only drowned out by the roaring of the tide crashing all around her.  She stands frozen on the edge of the world seeing nothing but the hours they were together, standing here in the place where they met.

It was hot then, mid-summer, only a few months earlier.  The itchy wool bathing costume was driving her out of her mind.   The heat of the sun beating directly down on her thick chestnut colored hair, causing little drips of sweat to snake down her neck and pool between her shoulder blades as she reclined lazily, eyes closed, in the canvas and teak beach chair.  Her friends were running down the glittering beach, their shouts of joy and laughter always at odds with the silence she preferred.  She dug her toes deeper into the hot sand searching for the coolness underneath.  Silently cursing her refusal to cut her hair into the current bob, she reached for her hat.  Her fingertips grazed the empty place next to her where she had place her hat hours before.  Startled she opened her eyes as the sun seemed to have vanished, as her eyes adjusted to the light she realized that the sun was still shining but had been eclipsed by a body.  As he handed her the errant hat, their fingers touched, and her quiet world expanded.  They swam together in the bracing sea that day, floating together, bodies buoyed by the salt yet drug down by those damn wool bathing costumes.

It is impossible for her to recall they had danced together only hours earlier, impossible to believe that he would never be there again.  Each freezing wave crashes over her bare bloody feet, numbing the breaks and bruises she couldn’t feel anyhow.  The screaming horses, cracking wood, and shouts of her world collapsing begin to roar in her head again.  There was nothing she could do as she held him in her lap, his body a mangled heap.  She just told him how much she loved him and stared into his dimming eyes, her tears washing rivulets of salt though the blood on his face.  There was nowhere for her now.  Nowhere but the edge of the empty world watching the sky and the ocean wage their endless battle to be together.

Peace out 2010, don't EVER come back!

   Over the past year I have: lost a job, gone through a custody battle, moved back in with my parents, moved to another state, finally found another job, battled with my attorney over getting the child support she “won” for me, battled with my attorney over her $27,000 bill, battled with Child Support Services, to get the money they were sending back to “D-Bag”, had my child diagnosed as having severe allergies (which usually turn into ear infections/bronchitis/or other illnesses that keep him out of daycare and me out of my new job),had to buy a new car (less than a year after getting the other one paid off), and am trying to buy a house with me and 2 other people on the loan.  Can I just say that I have never been so glad to be done with a year?  
   At the end of it though, I have a solid job, am back home in the state I love, my son is in a great daycare close to my job, we ALMOST have a house 15 minutes away from work, and I might even get child support soon.     
   Dear 2011, You may not include: fire, blizzards, floods, court cases of any kind, accidents, incidents, or catastrophes.  You are to be profitable, pleasant, and soft-spoken.  Because I said so~Lola

WORTH IT!

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