Communication, Dwarfed

Since graduating college and being forced head-first into corporate America, I have a newfound hatred for the phony interaction that occurs with a person with whom you are not entirely comfortable. I am required to conduct myself professionally and display standard pleasantries with clients and customers for nearly forty hours per week, and I do so happily because it means I have a roof over my head and food in my tummy. However, I find it appalling that I am forced to engage in this ridiculous social norm without adequate financial compensation. Read on, good blog-goers, because beneath this introduction you will find an entire post that is dedicated to my fantasy---a world without the dreadful, the loathsome, the unequivocally wretched...small talk.





First off, I will examine the social situation requiring the largest volume of small talk (ahem, bullshit) in a short period of time; the holiday party. Due to the social nature of the holiday season, I attended several of these festive little gatherings. Parties at which I knew very few people, and was forced to endure approximately thirty minutes to one hour of awkward conversation with strangers until the pleasant results of wine ensued. Don't get me wrong, I love a good party, especially when people drink excessively and pull the proverbial sticks out of their asses long enough to display a genuine glimpse of their personality, but for the most part, people stick to the basics. Here are some familiar "question and answer" routines that take place in cozy and beautifully decorated households all over the country at this time of the year:

Hi what is your name? Introduction shake hands, then...(ew.. germs where is my travel size hand-sanitizer?)

A) "How do you know so-and-so who lives here?"
B) "Do you live in town or are you just here for the holidays?"
C) "What do you do for a living?"
D) "What part of town do you live in?"

Then once all of the preliminary answers and comments and contrived compliments and phony displays of interest have been completed, one of a few things will happen:

A) Someone gets bored and thinks of an excuse to walk away (i.e." I'm going to get another drink," "I have to go to the bathroom," "I am going to go say hi to Bob over there and see how his sister is doing." blah blah blah)
B) The people figure out a common person to talk shit about or the conversation gets juicier in some way but always focuses on a third party or subject matter unrelated to the people chatting.
C) Someone else joins in who knows both parties well enough to ease the horrid awkwardness.


In the a perfect world for Little Liz, with minimal consequences for unbridled bluntness, the following would replace post-introductory small talk.

1. "You look boring. Please don't talk to me at all tonight."
2. "I will stand here and talk to you only so that I can later talk to your hot friend or, I would really like to jump on your super hot date/boyfriend/husband."
3. "Why did you wear that? It is dreadful."

OR, some other situations that I would like to omit small talk and really just, well, speak the truth..






Checking out at the grocery store:
"I don't give a shit if you've tried these potstickers or not. I'm tired and it sucks enough that I have to be at the grocery store rather than on my couch guzzling that new Malbec you're about to sell me.

With co-workers:
"My weekend was fine, I suppose. Well...it could have been better if I either got laid, won some money, or didn't have to deal with my crazy family...but yeah it was fine. Please refrain from telling me about your weekend."

On a first date:
"You are already annoying me. Can you just shut up while I enjoy this free meal?"

In the elevator:
"I don't ride the elevator to make friends."

I'm sure you get the picture.... I am also certain if I thought long and hard I could add more examples to the list but frankly, just pondering all of these scenarios is making me annoyed.

So I will leave it at that.

An Introspective Perstpective (or Retrospective) on the Respective Year.

perspective - 5 dictionary results
per⋅spec⋅tive  [per-spek-tiv] Show IPA
–noun
1. a technique of depicting volumes and spatial relationships on a flat surface. Compare aerial perspective, linear perspective.
2. a picture employing this technique, esp. one in which it is prominent: an architect's perspective of a house.
3. a visible scene, esp. one extending to a distance; vista: a perspective on the main axis of an estate.
4. the state of existing in space before the eye: The elevations look all right, but the building's composition is a failure in perspective.
5. the state of one's ideas, the facts known to one, etc., in having a meaningful interrelationship: You have to live here a few years to see local conditions in perspective.
6. the faculty of seeing all the relevant data in a meaningful relationship: Your data is admirably detailed but it lacks perspective.
7. a mental view or prospect: the dismal perspective of terminally ill patients.
–adjective
8. of or pertaining to the art of perspective, or represented according to its laws.
Origin:
1350–1400; ME < ML perspectīva (ars) optical (science), perspectīvum optical glass, n. uses of fem. and neut. of perspectīvus optical, equiv. to L perspect-, ptp. s. of perspicere to look at closely (see per-, inspect ) + -īvus -ive



New Years Eve, 2008. Heidi's place of employment now, who knew?!


With a deteriorat(ed)ing relationship dictating the interaction I had with my father, and the onset of severe abdominal pain, I slid gracefully into the ninth year of the new Millennium. By the fourth week of January, I was in an outpatient surgery facility, about to be scoped end-to-end as an attempt to determine what was causing this terrible agony. Yet the results showed that nothing was physically wrong. Somehow I was unable to recognize that the explosive and sometimes frightening interaction with my family, specifically my father, subsequent to a reunion with my philandering boyfriend, Rob, might actually be to blame for my physical symptoms.


Heidi had come back to Phoenix at this point, and in the lingering beneath our friendship dynamic was also a desire to have a pure friendship with her. I don't know why, but I felt that while he was still in my life, my energy was so consumed by negativity that I was nearly incapable of holding an enjoyable friendship with a person who cared for my simply and truly, without the obligation of shared DNA.



Yeah Yeah Yeah's show

I got rid of Rob at the end of January. No longer did one of our breakups result in a lost appetite or spells of sobbing at stoplights. I felt free, now. Free from the constant yelling and torture from my father, a tactic terrifying, yet somehow effective...especially when dealing with a hard-headed pain in the ass such as myself.




Gay Rodeo in Vegas

Four months later, May 4th, 2008.

The day before my birthday, I go to the office of the home health agency with whom I am employed for our regular weekly meeting. After the office my young and chipper supervisor invites me into the HR directors office for a "chat."
I could've cut the tension with a knife and frozen my own tears in a climate that once hosted man-bashing, story-telling of drunken mistakes, and sharing meal recipes.
Her: "In the past six weeks you have had (x) amount of referrals and (y) amount of admissions."
Me: "Yes I know," I replied, "I don't know how to get my referrals to convert to admissions, my job is to generate referrals."
"Her: "Your job is to generate 'qualified' referrals," she responded, "and if you do not improve your conversion rate in the next four weeks, we will have to take further action to which may include termination."


I took the next day off for my birthday as planned, got my first tattoo, and returned to work the following day. By 4pm that Thursday, I had been called into the office from the field, and officially terminated. Why they initially gave me a probationary period only to fire me two days later, is still a great mystery.




On the train to spring beerfest


Psychological studies show that divorce or separation from a loved one, losing ones job, and death of a loved one, are the top three causes of a mental breakdown. In 2009 I experienced two of the three, but somehow as close as I came to experiencing the third in 2004, the other two seemed so minor. My father would have been weeks from death when he was diagnosed with cancer Christmas of '04, and at the time we didn't know if we would lose him shortly thereafter. Every moment at the end of that year was spent with horrific anxiety and praying that my father would not yet be taken from this Earth.



Young Jeezy show


I managed to become gainfully employed once again within three weeks of my termination, and discovered more about myself in the longest period of time I've spent without a boyfriend since the age of 16.

I guess the point I am trying to make, is that life experiences, how you handle them, and the result that ultimately manifests, are all products of one another.

A great book, "Zen and the Art of Happiness," gives the example of a young man who was fired from his job, and was so depressed that he became addicted to drugs. When an even better opportunity came along, he failed the drug test, thus losing the opportunity. Had he handled the loss of his employment with positivity and strength, the situation which seemed to be tragic at the time, would have soon revealed its purpose in his life course.



Lil' Wayne show

I found out two days ago what is going on with Rob as of late. After our breakup, Rob moved to Denver, CO. He was working within a company division of healthcare giant United Health Group. I had told Rob when we broke up that his (male anatomy) would get him in trouble someday, probably fired. Well, it seems as though while in Denver, Rob struck up a relationship with a subordinate employee. HR didn't look too fondly on that, and Rob was terminated from the organization. Mind you, this is his second termination from a large company for unethical behavior. The woman, apparently, is a wealthy divorcee with two small children. She and Rob married in October, and he is now acting as step-father to their two children, driving her Range Rover, and living in her upscale Denver home, unemployed. I pray for the well-being of these children, as Rob is a true narcissist and arguably also an alcoholic, and has now injected himself into their homes, lives, and bank accounts.

But I simultaneously thank God, and my family, for saving me from a similar fate.



Coronado Island. Ocean-view condo

2009 has dealt me some losing hands, but I have grabbed 2009 by the proverbial cojones, and showed it that my previous experiences have proven to me what is truly important in life. I have demonstrated to myself that I, Elizabeth Ann, am in
control, and no one will ever take that from me.



Heidi and I showing up at her dads 50-somthing highschool reunion, dressed up for Halloween...



Homecoming, before my drunken rant got me kicked out of my favorite Tucson bar...



Merry Christmas!

The Art of Letting Go

My favorite movie quote, I think, of the 80's is from Risky Business. It is mentioned a couple of times throughout the film, but I feel holds the most weight in the last scene of the film: "Sometimes, you just gotta say, 'What the fuck.'" What does that mean to you? In the film, it seems to mean that you have to occasionally throw caution to the wind and take risks so you can enjoy great rewards. In the context of this post, I'd like to argue that it could mean that has difficult as it may be, you have to stop worrying, even about the major things in your life.

In 2004 my father was diagnosed with a relatively rare form of bone-marrow cancer. A physician by trade and a health-nut by choice, he was the epitome of physical fitness and scientific awareness. However, we now know he was probably sick long before the official disease diagnosis.

My father was never a happy man, nor has my mother ever been one to have a positive outlook on most things. Despite these elements to their personalities, they've been wonderful parents, equal parts love, support and discipline. Now that I'm 25, I see myself taking on nearly a reversed role of constant worry about their mental, physical and spiritual well-being. Since the onset of his illness, any negativity present in our lives has been amplified tremendously, thus we all feel the pain of his illness in a multitude of ways.

Part two of my discussion pertains more to myself, the point of which I will come to shortly. I have a male friend who is as charming as he is attractive, without even trying. He is one of those uniquely beautiful, yet humble individuals you rarely come across, and needless to say I have developed a heavy torch to carry for him. He, however, is still reeling from a previous breakup and aside from that would probably not be interested anyway. Last night, after a night of drinking, his roommate and I were chatting about the situation. He mentioned that this person knows how I feel, that its pretty obvious, gently and kindly implying that the feelings were not shared. I told the roommate, "I know and It's okay. I didn't know it was that obvious though, and I just don't want to make him uncomfortable. I've been pursued by friends I wasn't interested in romantically, and it's awkward." Surprised, the roommate didn't really respond with words, rather his silence indicated the surprise with which he absorbed what I had said. I continued, "I just feel like it's normal. Everyone has crushes on people that don't like them back. It's happened before, and it will happen again." The roommate, still baffled says, "you can not possibly be this cool about this." Oddly, I was, and I am. For some reason, I'm just not really that upset about it.

The point of the two divergent situations I just explained is that despite my adult life, I hold far more anxiety about my parent's lives than my own. I worry about them endlessly, though I have zero control over their attitudes and the situation in which they find themselves. Not just pertaining to my fathers physical health but far more with the behavior they exhibit.

Letting go of pain and anxiety is an art and a skill, probably weighted equally. There are steps to allowing yourself, to giving the GIFT to yourself, of not being miserable about things that you cannot control. Life is so short, and while I am young, I can wish for little more than to enjoy my youth and be a happy individual. I frequently have dreams that I am on dates with men or spending time with a boyfriend and my family barges in, ruining the interaction and destroying the potential for a relationship. Looking into my subconscious, it makes me wonder if the key to my building my own life and fruitful relationships is in fact, releasing the emotional energy tied to my family, specifically my Mom and Dad.

Identifying this is probably half the battle, so I credit myself being ahead of the game at twenty-five not only acknowledging this, but proactively releasing myself from the shackles. I guess in a way, I will only truly be free in my adult life when I just say, "what the fuck."





My Mom and I





Daddy's little girl, right?

'Tis the Season to Cause Liver Damage

Hello Cyber-Friends, and Happy December (in twenty-five minutes, AZ time),

I haven't blogged in a while, and do not have a particular topic about which to write, so tonight's post will be a smorgasbord of topics.

Number one: Tiger Woods and his wife...and this mysterious accident. I find it terribly amusing/ironic/appropriate that his wife (who probably picked up the nearest available heavy object) attacked her husband with the very instrument that led to his massive success and financial gain. Frankly, I don't blame her, especially given the information I relayed to you readers regarding my previous experience with infidelity. Sadly, they have two young children, and I feel very much for those little ones, as they are certainly the most precious collateral damage in this war. It saddens me greatly to realize that so many powerful and wealthy men get caught cheating on their wives. The evidence suggests that as many are caught, there are so many more that continue this lifestyle unscathed and without repercussion. It leads one to wonder what it worse? Knowing? Or being Ignorant?





Pictured above, Tiger and his family. Alleged Mistress, Rachel Uchitel.

Number two: Parents and parental approval. I would love to include a photograph of my family in this post, as I feel it would illustrate my writing so much better, but sadly I am not terribly technologically advanced in my computer set-up...I would rather spend my funds on attire, but I digress. I was raised by an over-achieving, scholastically, athletically, and artistically inclined father who is good at anything he does, and a street-wise, self-taught, self-raised mother. They were both disgustingly popular in high school and college, yet terribly neurotic. As I write you tonight, I am in the midst of a transition. I will write more about this as it becomes more concrete, but the point of tonight's particular post is that my mother, an extremely intelligent yet sometimes detrimentally skeptical 60-something year old woman has definite doubts about my decision making processes. What is troublesome about this, is that it truly makes me doubt myself. Although she has always been concerned and worrisome about my, and my sister's, ability to succeed in many facets of our lives, she has been consistently wrong. I am a staunch believer in the concept that how you think and the general "energy" and you emit into the universe attracts like results. That being said, I let my family influence me so much that it essentially dictates, and thus stunts my personal growth and experiences. I'm not sure why this happens and I do not really know how to control it, either. I feel like perhaps acknowledging its damaging effects is half the battle, and writing about it certainly helps, as well.


Number three: My Thanksgiving weekend. Oh my Gosh. Every Thanksgiving weekend, I consume a LOT of alcohol. I'm not sure why this particular weekend holds this characteristic for many. Perhaps the combination of family, food, additional time off, and other festivities may contribute to the phenomenon... This weekend began with going out the night before the holiday with some people I don't know too well, and also my friend Monique. Monique and I have lived in the same city for some time, and not hung out too much together, but I hope after bonding somewhat this weekend we will do more things together, as she's really a special and intelligent girl. Anyhoo, I had gotten a hair cut on Wednesday that required a lot of courage. An old school kind of Victoria Beckham meets Rihanna asymmetrical crop that somehow attracted many compliments from people??!! Also that night, I ran into a number of people I haven't seen in some time, and about four vodka sodas later, went back to Monique's to crash on the couch. I awoke to one of the guys we were with saying "Liz...LIZ....wake up!" So of course I opened my eyes, "What? Why?" He followed with "Liz, let's take a shot of Wild Turkey!" Sure enough, sitting on the counter is a half empty bottle of the disgusting potion (I can only imagine, as I've never personally tried the stuff). Needless to say, I was pissed. "Did you REALLY wake me up for that," I barked. Discouraged, he decided to go to sleep as well, choosing to share the piece of furniture I had decided to claim, instead of one of the two other empty options, much to my dismay.









Thanksgiving night was fabulous. Filled with amazing food, wine, and a pleasant 6 pm nap, the holiday fulfilled all of its stereotypes, both the pleasant, and unpleasant (i.e. digestive anguish and the like). The following day I worked, as I did not request the day off, followed by a party at a friends house who I have known for several years. I was looking forward to this party tremendously, and it had a great turnout, though I grew weary of the typical small talk that goes along with these types of social events, and left early. I ended up back at Monique's apartment, this time sleeping in the bed of her out of town room mate which made my stay far more pleasant than the previous stint. The following morning, we were to tailgate with her family before the ASU/U of A game (BEAR DOWN!) and then I would either obtain scalped tickets or watch the game from a bar. Cliffs notes of the event: I am way better at flip cup than I thought, starting to drink at 9:30 am sure makes one sleepy, and if you wait until halftime, you don't have to actually buy tickets to get into a game...walking in like you know where you are going will adequately suffice.



(above) The night before Thanksgiving, I like to call it "Thanksgiving Eve," as it sounds so festive!



At my friends party, and me trying to engage in some riveting single-serving friend social function banter.




This is us playing flip-cup. It's like tailgating "Where's Waldo." Can you find me, and my fabulous limited edition Seven jeans?!?! Paired of course with a vintage Arizona shirt, Frye boots, and topped with a fabulous UA sweatband.






Talking with the Cordova clan. Wonderful people! I look weirdly fat in this photo, but whatev...



All in All, my holiday season has been wonderful thus far. Stay tuned for more adventures from the desk of Little Lizzie!

The Anatomy of A Heart

Since the time I was approximately 14 or 15 years old, I always had a boyfriend...or two. Despite my strange exterior, I managed to attract a multitude of really, really attractive young men, and seemed to typically be less interested in them, than they were in me. My family was baffled by the type of guy I managed to pull, more suited for the Abercrombie&Fitch high school cheerleader than the psuedo-goth artist. Although I only had a couple of girl friends, I was always receiving a constant stream of calls, voice mails, and eventually text messages from all types of young men. I recall even finding it terribly entertaining to enter a group of friends, make out with two or three of the most coveted and attractive, and then move forward with my destructive behavior to another clique.

I can't say I had much to offer these guys. Although I've always been relatively intelligent and funny, I've never been the hottest, or most popular, or best dressed; I was always just me! Fast forward to college and leaving behind a one year relationship with a male model/football star (yes I am serious). Also leaving a boyfriend subsequent to the jock, my first bi-racial relationship, a short and extremely passionate fling with a nomad staying in Phoenix for the summer. Shortly after I begun my collegiate education at the U of A, I met *Jake, a blond-haired, blue eyed all American type from Boston that had a mysteriously shy personality, and an affinity for basketball shorts and rap-music. Initially I resisted the idea of an exclusive relationship, as I thought it might be interesting to have so many new males at my disposal with zero parental supervision. However, we did decide to be together, and our relationship moved quickly. We were great friends as well as lovers, and I would look forward tremendously to the time we would spend together whether it be hanging out on campus, or running around Boston on school breaks together, he showing me the city like my very own tour guide. The relationship was mostly without flaws, with the exception of a couple infamous Liz explosions, (incited by him, of course) but as the second year moved on, we grew apart. He became immersed in a lifestyle of drinking and drug use, which exacerbated any problems we already had, and he ultimately chose to stay in MA after summer of our sophmore year.



This decision came of little surprise or disappointment to me, as I had already moved on for the most part with another individual, a dorm mate of Jake's who had become a close friend of mine before he left Tuscon to spend his sophmore year in San Diego, a decision I was terribly disappointed by as I had already started to develop feelings for him. I didn't see this other guy, *Brian, for the entirety of the sophmore year, but after a family trip to San Diego the following summer, and some time spent with him (seeing Anchorman, and hanging out at his parent's amazing home in Del Mar) my feelings had blossomed fully, and I was truthfully somewhat relieved not to feel the pain of a break-up with Jake.
Several months passed by, and Brian and I had a pretty successful long-distance relationship before we decided he would return to the U of A, and actually move into my three bedroom house with me, a home I was previously inhabiting alone. Things went well for several months before time and proximity, more the latter, took their toll on the young relationship, and I ended it. It was one of the most painful things I had ever experienced, but I felt it was necessary as I loved him no longer as a boyfriend, but once again as a friend, as I had years prior.



It wasn't until a year later that I met Rob. I wont even protect his name here as he is the doesn't deserve it. My relationship with Rob requires an entire post, and I'm not even sure that would do it justice. It was the most amazing, awe-inspiring, whirlwind, traumatic, painful, degrading, tumultuous experience I have ever had in my short 25 years. He was the most charming, attractive, charismatic, successful, manipulative, cruel, abusive, careless, self-involved soul I have ever known. He led me to believe we would marry and have children and be the most lovely family. I even compromised my strict no organized-religion policy and lied to him saying that I had been "saved," attending church with him on a weekly basis. Unbeknownst to me, he had managed to carry on two relationships simultaneously in different cities (while I lived with him in Tucson, she lived in Phoenix. After he and I moved to Phoenix, she went back to Tucson). She was his ex-fiancee and girlfriend of seven years. He led me to believe that they continued contact because they were still friendly, and although I had suspicions to the point of being in tears, his words of criticism and accusations of craziness and paranoia drove me into believing he was trustworthy and that I, in fact, had the problem. Eventually he became sloppy with their romantic travel getaways and explicit "sexting" and eventually, I caught him red-handed, though I later learned there were so many times that I was so close to doing so previously. After I found out, and he attempted to repair his relationship with her, rather than me, I literally lost my mind, along with 15 lbs of necessary-for-my-health weight. It only took two weeks for him to be sick of her again, and somehow I ended up right back in his manipulative clutches, and his bed, for another two months.





It has been almost a year since I permanently ended the relationship with Rob. With the help of an extremely forceful father, and lovingly convincing mother and sister, as well as the wise words of a best friend, I "detoxed," and healed from my Rob addiction. Now here I am, stronger, more self-assured, more successful and wise, yet somehow so lonely. I have the love of wonderful, albeit crazy, family, and the support and companionship of a wonderful best friend, as well as other great relationships, yet I feel something is missing. I know that as a self-sufficient twenty-something year old female, I am supposed to embrace the single life, enjoying shopping and cocktails more than the comforts of a relationship like the quartet on Sex and the City. However that's NOT how I feel, damnit! I eat most meals alone, I go to the gym alone, I attend social functions alone, I watch movies and television alone, I drink wine alone, I wake up alone and I go to sleep alone. Humans are not intended to live in solitude this way. We are intended to love, embrace, and be together. So why, then, is it so difficult for a generally appealing young female to find a decent companion? I see couples everywhere, and although I don't envy their arguments, compromise, and other inconveniences associated with a relationship, I envy the companionship, with every ounce of my being.

Oh To Be 14 Again...

Good evening bloggers and blogerettes. Many things go swirling through my head this evening as I sit down to build my second post, but at the forefront of my mind (not by choice) is the CONSTANT media bombardment of Twilight promos this week. Watching this frenzy of hormonally-intoxicated teeny boppers reminds me of my most formidable teen years. In the late nineties and early millennium, there were certainly comparable crazes to that of The Twilight Saga, though my memories naturally take me more toward the musical fads of my generation rather than those of cinema.

These are a few that stick out most prominently whilst I reminisce:


Remember when she was the hottest thing around? Yeah, this was before she started slamming Cheetos and Red Bull, sucking down cigs, getting knocked up, shaving her head, blah blah blah. If I remember correctly, she was even touting her virginity and abstinence-until-marriage policy like a bad infomercial. Well people, now she's singing about threesomes.




And how about these gems. Most of 'em fell off....except Timberlake of course, whose golden decision was probably de-flowering, then dumping, the aforementioned.



Then there's these guys. I specifically selected this particular photog for its beauty, composition and BLATANT HOMOEROTICISM!!! Love it.



Finally, remember little miss "I'm a genie in a bottle, baby. Come and rub me the right way." Nothing better than hearing a pre-pubescent little girl recite those lyrics repeatedly....although I do remember my sister and I doing spectacularly choreographed dance routines to "Like A Virgin" by Madonna.




Now that we've established and re-hashed what was considered popular music when I was a youngster, let us take a gander at what I, Little Lizzie, was obsessing over as I anxiously awaited the acquisition of my learner's permit.
Always deviating from the norm, as a little girl I was most interested in female super-heroes. My father and I would take weekend trips to "Atomic Comics," where I would deliberately seek out issues of X-Men that most featured the female mutants. Storm was my personal fave. As I got older, rather than comic book characters, I became completely taken with Riot Grrrl culture and musicians associated with such feminist stylings. My first days of using the internet were Yahoo searches of various metal, hard rock, and punk bands with female instrumentalists and/or lead singers. Here were my top picks...yes, I still have this stuff on my ipod.

NUMBER ONE: L7. I will always love L7. They had one moderately popular album, Bricks are Heavy, with one kinda sorta popular single, "Pretend We're Dead." Now instead of hunting through X-Men comic books for Storm's phenomenal powers of weather control, I was flipping through independent rock and alternative music magazines looking for an occasional glimpse of them. I remember sharing a famous story with my mother at that time, not yet mature enough to understand how terribly repulsed she would be. L7 was invited for one single year to Lollapalooza. Remember that? Gee, those were the days. The most famous (infamous) member of the band, Donita Sparks, in anger with fans who were tossing mud onto the stage, pulled a tampon from her body, and tossed it into the crowd. Gag, I know. I selected this particular image because I actually have a signed poster of this exact photo, something I obtained at one of about seven or eight of their live shows I attended.



A close second to L7 is probably the industry standard of Riot Grrl music, and possibly the most well known in association with the term. This is Bikini Kill, the lead singer, Kathleen Hanna, was actually a bitter and jaded ex-stripper, who wrote lyrics about a true experience she had being raped at a young age. No question why she was angry. She is now a part of an outstanding electronic trio called Le Tigre. You should check 'em out.



Next is Veruca Salt. Many of you probably already know them, as they toured with Bush in the late 90's and had a few popular radio singles. I selected this image, rather than a photo of the band, because it is the same print on a t-shirt I purchased at their show, the very first concert I ever attended. I still own it and it's actually one of my most prized possessions.



Finally is Babes in Toyland. The only interesting fact I have about them is that this was actually one of Courtney Love's first bands. I believe it was the band she was in prior to Hole. The group ultimately kicked her out because they couldn't stand the crazy biznatch.




So that concludes my little walk down memory lane. I hope you've enjoyed it. Feel free to post a comment with some of the things YOU were most into in your early teen years. And since you were so kind to stick with me through all of my cumbersome writing, for your viewing pleasure:




Here I am in 1999, at age 15. This was about a month after I shaved my head and dyed it purple. If you could see the rest of the photo, you would know I was wearing a dress made entirely of black vinyl, and some unnecessarily tall Doc Martin boots.

Cheers!

Welcome to my brand new blog!

Hello to the few of you who may be reading. I hope your evening is pleasant as this comes your way. And so comes the beginning of my blog. It will undoubtedly be a work in progress as I am quite the "green" blogger. Green meaning inexperienced, not so much environmentally savvy in this context...though I do drive a Prius! I digress. So as it stands I plan for this blog to be a bit about my own life and what takes place in my world, but also some of my commentary on pop-culture, current events, and other trivial topics. Don't expect to see any profound political or religious statements here, as that's not typically where my interests lie.

So to get us kicked off, here are a couple of things I'm really feeling right now.

First, Lady Gaga's new video, Bad Romance. If you havent seen it already, watch it now! In her typical form, this video has superior creativity and artistry to any other music videos that I've seen this decade. Many elements of the costumes were designed by the lady herself, in collaboration with famously outlandish designer Alexander McQueen, and they are breathtaking. Combine that with some dope choreography, and you have a masterpiece, friends!

You can view this badassedness HERE

Second, I was watching my favorite tonight show host of my lifetime, Mr. Conan O'Brien, do his monologue the other day, when he did a joke about a website that sells wigs for cats. Being a feline owner myself, I felt compelled to view this stupendous conception and was not disappointed! I suspect you'll find it as exciting as I did. The coffee table book offered on my website will undoubtedly be on my wish list to Santa this year.

Well, thank you for viewing, and stay tuned for more of my nutty ramblings.