All Aboard The Space Out Train!

I spent roughly an hour yesterday, off and on, thinking about how good Jay-Z is at commanding the stage by himself and how seeing On The Run changed my life. 

I thought about how there are numerous other B-level rappers and minions on the stage at normal rap shows to help with delivery and crowd hype, but not with HOV. That dude completely owned everyone all by his lonesome. Sure, he had Beyoncé at certain points, but is that helpful or a stick in the spokes of his own performance? And think about having to follow OR precede Beyoncé songs? Was he scared? Was he pumped? Either way, he killed it. He fucking killed it, man. HOV forever.

I also mixed these thoughts with how long it would take me to make greek steak wraps with fresh yogurt sauce (not long at all, very quick), then how pumped I was eating said meal. Did I want a bowl of cereal? No time. Gotta keep it moving. Banana it is.

On today's thought agenda, in between one million work assignments, obvs, was.... napping, how much I love ginger & honey body oil mixed with my baby oil gel so my skin smells expensive as fuck while getting softened. Also... do I need another perfume to mix it up? Who am I? What will I eat for dinner? Why are all the stores all out of Tazo pumpkin chai mix?! It's too early!! Am I really going to be ready to bring the energy for all the tailgating for UM/State this weekend? I'm definitely making goat cheese stuffed peppers. Those sonsabitches were delicious. Delicious!

It All Comes Down To Delivery (Makes Shocker Sign With Hand)

I'm super stoked that TCQ asked me to write and perform YouTube skits with him to become bigger stars than we already are, but when I look back through my notes regarding possible skits....I just look like an absolute crazy bitch. And not the good kind that Buckcherry sings about. Here are some ....snippets exactly as I see them in my phone:

White girls-black baby names. Black dude-white baby names  Ending with Chickenhead. Include Anferny.

Support group for white girls that want to fully understand rap lyrics and not get punched out in the club.

REBUILD DETROIT - One ratchet hoe at a time. Twerkin for growth! (urban gardening)

Things that are racist: Skinny Christmas trees, pumpkins with big teeth, Columbus Day (for real, but make it funny?)

Call it "Now Use It In A Sentence, Bitch!" (but sing-songy. Educational? Add to support group?)

Cleaning out closet of Cross Colour jeans and Charles Barkley Suns jerseys with black boyfriend. Add pagers, guns?? He cleans out Emory and Harvard closet full of plaid. (Tupac Changes plays)

The Bump It: A Timeline (Hair Hill)

White Girl Trickle Down Effect: It's Not Our Fault

Barre When You're Black: A How-To Guide


So......as you can see, My friend TCQ (who is black and also an ear, nose & throat surgeon educated at Harvard and Emory) really enjoy the juxtaposition of white girl/black guy in our humor.  I told him that I already feel pretty internet famous because of my Instagram and Twitter and he whole-heartedly disagreed while stating "Nobody cares how much Fireball you drink at Michigan tailgates or how many fig pizzas you eat or what fall trees in Grosse Pointe look like, they DO care that you are slightly racist and borderline unacceptable in public with your humor. You are basic as hell, yet very self-aware in your basicness." As he has incredible science raps on YouTube already, I'm just going to go ahead and agree with him.

I once read advice that one comedian gave to another: "You're going to come up with a thousand ideas. About ten of those will be funny. You'll be able to actually use one."  or something like that.

PIZZA! HATS! BANKS! CRAAAAAAFTS!

I have a happiness problem.

Where most people go through life acting pretty cool and normal and digging down deep to let themselves express emotion, I actually have to do the opposite. I'm an over-sharer of joy. My enthusiasm for things knows no boundaries. Even when it should.

If I'm in a good mood, I can't stop complimenting people. I could see a normal person on the street wearing the most hideous hat I've ever seen, but I will definitely compliment them on it. I have no idea why. I think it's because I'm so stoked out that they had the bravery to look in the mirror and be like "I look fucking fly as hell in this hat and I'm going with it".  I feel the need to validate their choice because I'm so happy for them just out there...living their fucking truth, man. You go, Glen Coco.

If I actually DO like the hat, I will not only tell them, but jump all over their face like a puppy until they tell me where they got it, when and if it has special meaning to them. I'm insane. Sometimes I pant when I'm done talking because I get so exhausted from happiness. Sometimes I'll just twirl or do PB moves in place to expend some of the energy out of my body.

Last Saturday I had tickets to Banks that I was pissing myself excited over for months, but I walked into Paper Source in Birmingham during the afternoon and learned how to do a raised watermark embossed metallic stamp on stationary and I lost my DAMN MIND. Didn't want to do anything but stamp for the rest of the day and my life. (My honeybee monogram is my life so I'm making people monogrammed stationary for Christmas, if you definitely don't want this, you should tell me now because there is NO STOPPING ME). Luckily, I was forced to get ready and put on pink lips and get to dinner where I had enough wine and steak to make me excited for anything and I made it to the show. Once AT said show, I became aware of just how cool this girl is and once again, became overly enthusiastic about her wardrobe, the venue, her music, the crowd and the Coors Light tall boy I was consuming.  I geeked out and fangirled the entire time and then again upon discovering a new brewery in Greektown after.

I don't even know where this came from. My mother is, like, the inventor of resting bitch face and my father is very happy, but he's not downright spastic like me. I mean, I have no chill, you guys. NO CHILL

Update: As I was hitting Publish on this post, someone walked into the office with Jets Pizza and I screamed. I literally just screamed because I was so excited and wanted some. I should be on meds.

"Get Your Hand Out Of My Pants, There Are Children Behind Us"

After all this time, here is a brief list of the things JD still doesn't understand about me:

1.   Why I would ever set foot in a TJ Maxx, mid-range chain restaurant (aside for the California Pizza Kitchen in Somerset) or a campground.

2.   That I CAN ski, I just prefer not to as I hate being cold and sliding downhill.

3.   How Busch Light doesn't actually kill me upon entering my mouth.

4.   Why I get furious when he constantly begs me to go see a movie....at 10:30 on a week night. Also, how I could possibly deny him fingering me in the theater when he's bored during a movie I choose.

5.   How I own so few 100% cashmere sweaters and blazers.

6.   Why I use an alarm to wake up. Why I choose to show up on time for work. Or at all.

7.   Why I get irritated if he takes his 2 hour lunches at the strip club.

8.   How I don't want to stay up until 2am watching Dexter with him regularly.

9.   Why I would ever turn on the ringer of my phone. Also, how I don't lose my phone once a week.

10. The names of my parents.

11. Why I hang up when he leaves me on hold for longer than 5 minutes.

12. Why I don't take a vacation to Florida with him for the entire month of February.

13. Why I ask him to wear his seatbelt and to not drive 20 mph over the speed limit.

14. How "I JUST had a heart attack" doesn't still work on me when he does something wrong.

15. Why the waist of my yoga pants comes up so high.

16. That it takes me longer than 15 minutes to be showered and ready for a party.

17. How I still tolerate him.

If PLSs Are Basic, I Don't Even Want To Be Bad.

I have had a splendid time in my day judging girls, but this whole Basic Bitch/Bad Bitch fight has to get sorted out. You know why? Because it's fall and I want to do a bunch of really basic ass shit and I consider myself a straight up Bad Bitch for life.

You know what makes someone Basic? Doing something because everyone else does it. If you're kicking it in the Midwest with chunky highlights or an inverted bob and some chandelier earrings, you basic, girl. You need to get your shit sorted and look at some magazines and exit 2004. Those things can't even be considered classic, they're just no bueno. Do not be afraid of what the other moms at daycare would say, they're Basic as Fuck too. It's totally ok to try out that look you saw on Kate Hudson that one time.  Now, if you know the basic things you're wearing are tragically uncool, have given it some extra thought and decided "You know what? This is how I look best and I'm gonna run with this! Tunics and puffy vests forever!" then, strut those mom jeans, girl. STRUT. With pride. We can't all look cutting edge all the time! I wear loafers every second someone doesn't forcefully take them off my feet and though the people around me collectively sigh every time they see them coming, I think I look like Michael fucking Jackson, but cooler and a better dancer. So fuck everyone. I woke up like dis.

It's now fall. The most Basic time of year. What honestly tends to cause all of us to look slightly basic in this season is the changing weather. It's not always easy to look fierce as hell when it's 40 degrees and raining. Sometimes one must wear some chore boots and a parka and carry around a latte because it's necessary. Now, can those be American flag or rose print chore boots and a lace bomber jacket instead? Sure they can, if you're me and you want to piss off your very tasteful and conservative  loved ones. Go for it! I live to see the cringing.

And you know what else?? If I want to wear a chunky turtleneck sweater and vintage riding boots and stand in a pumpkin patch taking a selfie while drinking apple cider, I'm going to fucking do it. I'm going to do it ALL DAY LONG. In fact, I'll post whatever GD Instagram I choose. Fall foliage in Grosse Pointe? You bet. The back of my dude's head as he reads the newspaper with #adorbs? Fuck yes. My first PSL (and if you don't know what that stands for, just quit life now) held up against a cloudy sky? You bet! Cornfield-lined dirt roads? Fuck yes again. It's not like I'm getting fake nails with French manicures, for fucks sake, it's just some simple seasonal clichés! They're tradition! Still Bad Bitch Status.

And while I'm at Pure Barre, in my chore boots and Patagonia, while sipping a latte and taking a selfie and tagging myself there I will still be #flawless.

Now I Want A Slice Of Pizza And A Latte

Holy balls, been a month since I blogged. Back to my old ways again. Too busy with the 3 dimensional people.

Every year on 9/11 I write about that day. Maybe I did it because it was one of the scariest days of my life. Maybe I did it because I was grateful I was alive and everyone I cared about made it out safely. I'm not sure. I don't want to write about it anymore. So many of the posts read "never forget", well how could you? If you experienced that day the way a lot of us did, forgetting is not an issue. That fear and sorrow and uncertainty is burned on you forever. But I don't want to relive that day anymore just to remember.

The last time I was in New York, it was a really beautiful, mild, sunny weekend. We were strolling around and laughing and I was taking one billion pictures, natch. I remember staring up at the new tower SO bright in the sunshine and walking by the site of the others. So many years later, that day is still very evident in that area. They don't need reminding and they will certainly never forget. It's very heavy.

What I think about most with New York is just happily walking around, slight buzz from day drinking, laughing, arm in arm with him while wearing the new grey jacket I just bought, really enjoying the city. Drunk out of my mind on champagne grinding in the club. Leaning my head on him in a cab. I remember watching kids blowing bubbles in Central Park. I think I still have pictures of them on my phone. It's a happy place. A bustling, loud, Starbucks covered, booming laughter, neighborhood bar joking, candlelit cocktails, be whoever you want, blending into the bricks happy place for me. I feel very relaxed and at home in that city.

Those are the kinds of things I never forget.

I Gotta Go See About A Girl

What a deep and terrible loss to the world. Robin Williams. I mean, you just had to stare at the guy. It seemed that life shot out of him in a million different ways.

I don't understand mental illness. I really don't. I try, because I know I have friends that suffer from it, but I really fail. I don't understand how you can't make yourself stronger, better. I'm naïve, stubborn and full of myself, so I guess I thank God for that. I truly believe I can fix anything that is wrong with me. Little help from doctors and surgeons and friends at times, of course, but beyond that, I can make myself stronger and better. That's just the way my brain works.

But, I also know how deeply loved I am. Even in moments when I'm pissy and down or feeling lonely even in a big room of people. Even when I'm being bratty.  I know that I am loved and cherished beyond what I can even understand and that I am someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's friend, someone's example, and the love of someone's life and if I hurt, they hurt. I know that's how I feel about my loved ones.

I always felt that I was put on this earth to make people laugh, make them feel cared about, make them smile, take care of them, make sure they know that someone thinks about them even if they don't hear it every day. I avoid what feels bad to me and I soak in love and laughter like a human sponge. I can't get or give enough love. I really can't. I'm not always graceful about it as I have a lot of my mother in me, but I feel it at all times.

And I'm not one to put my sadness out there all the time for the masses on social media or anything, but when I'm sad I just say it out loud. "I'm so sad right now". Something about saying it, to someone, in the room with you, really releases it from you. And that friend will either be like "Get your shit together" or they'll say "I know you are, I am too, it will get better.".  And it does a little in that moment. And I instantly feel that.

If you're sad, tell someone. Because there are a lot of people like me in the world that will want to help you feel better. Or at the very least, (if I'm having a day that I'm more like my mother than my father) we'll tell you to get your shit together. It is a true miracle that we are all even here, walking around, so be kind to each other and support each other and put as much happiness into each other as you can because it's truly all that matters. At the end of it all, nobody is going to give a single fuck about what you had or how cool you thought you were, they're going to remember how you made them feel. Give yourself away, freely, openly. Fall in love with as many people, places and things as possible because we are here for a blink. Make it a good blink.