I Took A 16hr Trip To NYC For A Fashion Week Party & To Meet Zombie Boy
Taking a 16hr trip to New York from Boston seems like an easy enough task, if you are quietly going to a funeral, or heading down early to catch a cruise and want to have dinner with a buddy before hand.
Going for 16hrs to party and try to make it home with enough time to sleep and bathe before work the next day, is ill-advised. Here is my annotated adventure, complete with gifs.
I arrived in New York at about 10pm, where I proceeded to find a public bathroom to change in. This is what all the glamorous girls do upon arriving in the big city. I found my way to a McDonald’s bathroom where a woman was mopping the floor that loosely resembled this…
This seemed like the best place to try to change into Spanx and control top hose, so I gave it a go. Note: changing into a leather Calvin Klein dress would be more glamorous if it isn’t done in a stall the size of a locker and by a toilet without a seat cover to sit on.
So I finally squeeze my sorry ass into this dress, and proceed to put on my makeup in the McDonald’s mirror, at which point I accidentally knock my open purse, filled with the clothes I came to NYC in, into the sink with an automatic faucet.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom in my glory, I feel like this:
But I’m also confident I look like this:
I flag down a cab and quickly realize I can’t bend at the waist because of my Spanx and hose, so I have to hurl my newly sleek body into the car and off we go!
I arrive at the party, have a few drinks, talk to my lady friends, act like I’m fabulous, the usual. Then I spill someone’s drink on the stage, and I spill my drink on myself, and then into my purse. Then I get a text from a friend asking why I haven’t set him up with anyone yet…
Now’s my chance to finally set up my Friend A (at home) with Friend B (at the party with me)! So I mention this to both of them, and I receive a text:
All I will say is this NC-17 picture was…’almost balls’. Friend B is into it.
“I want to live in his nutsack” <- literally the words she said to me.
I asked the two of them to, you know, sext each other and not do it through my phone, but alas. I continue to get moderately scandalous sexts that I must then dictate from Friend A to Friend B because we are adults. Moving on! I head backstage to chat with Zombie and I realize the tone of his voice is, like, inaudible to me. As in, I can’t actually hear the words he is saying.
All I can make out is he likes Animal, the Muppet, and I regale the entire room about how I am on the BoD of a Puppetry Theatre. Everyone is totally impressed. Then a photographer comes over and is all ‘let’s take some pics!’ and so he does, but I look like this:
And if you don’t believe me: exhibit A:
At the end of the night, I’m saying my goodbyes and wishing everyone well when someone says ‘hey Zombie – let’s take a picture in the bathroom!’. To which I say, loudly and without hesitation in my most obnoxiously mocking tone: yeah Zombie, let’s have you hop in the bathroom, take off your pants, pretend like you are taking a shit and stick your tongue out!…
And then it actually happened…
I slowly backed out of the room. Goodnight everybody! I later realized that the photographer I insulted with my comment is actually a good friend of Friend B.
When we pass him on our way out, everyone gives him a hug. ‘Hi, I’m Lauren’, and extended a hand.
He replied ‘yeah’.
I promptly hurled myself into a cab. I got back to my friend’s apartment, threw away the devastatingly high heals I had worn, and peeled off my Spanx:
I then remembered I was allergic to my friend’s cat, which was a problem, and also remembered that the cat liked to purr all. night. long. And with a purr that sounds like a doorbell asking a question (pprrrrlrllrlrlrllrlrlring? PPRRRRLRLRLLRLLRLRLLRRING?!), I almost made myself a pair of kitten slippers…
To make a long gif-story short, I left New York with 3hrs of sleep, walked around streets that smelled like dirty diapers, and got on a Bolt Bus that was almost an hour late and didn’t have wifi. I ate my weight in pho when I returned home and thanked the dogs that I live in the suburbs.
I’m Trying To Train My Dog
I have a 7yr old deaf Jack Russell from hell and I love her even though she kind of doesn’t love me most of the time. Everyone wants to give her lovin’ because she’s cute:
But she has a tendency to maul people/things/other dogs. So. Don’t touch her. In fact, try to stay away from us all together. At least until I’m done training her into this beast:
That sweet, fluffy bastard just hilariously annihilated the course. I’m pretty sure even though I have absolutely no experience whatsoever with agility training, I can get Balboa to do this stuff. 1. Because all she wants to do is run/jump. And 2. Because she isn’t afraid of anything, including imminent harm to her self.
Before you tell me this isn’t about art, check this shit out:
You catch that?
That’s doggy Photoshop at it’s mostest. I mean…whut. Was that ridiculous looking dog not quite ridiculous enough? They had to add a bump-it? Doggy extensions? And what’s happening to the Pomeranian back there?! Is that a tail? A fin? It honestly looks like they increased the dogs width two-fold. Can’t we love ridiculously groomed dogs in their natural state?! Think of the children!
Crufts, the world’s largest dog show and most difficult dog show to pronounce, has this image as their banner. Because they don’t give a fuuuuuuccckkkkk. They are also my new obsession. I have been watching their agility competitions nonstop for three days and have been attempting to teach Boa anything I can, really. So far, she will climb a tall, steep, concrete ledge and sit at the top! She will also jump over a bench! But the most awesome thing we got her to do…is go down a slide!
I Went To Madonna. And frankly, it was one of the best things I’ve ever experienced. It was a goddamned spectacle. It was loud. Bright. Overwhelming. My partner in crime, Susie, and I both convened after the show and admitted, during the epic (no exaggeration) performance of Like A Prayer, we both felt so overwhelmed and were so amped-up that we almost 1. cried, and 2. passed out. It was Beatlemania at the Boston Garden, except with a broad on stage dancing her fucking ass off and a stadium full of gays, glitter, & pop music glory.
It’s our long awaited second webisode of our Culture Whorior series!! This time around I head to the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia with my good friend, Izzy-the-3yr-old.
What happens when you put a 3yr old in front of a camera and ask them questions? Nothing you expect.
Take a gander and let’s head to the museum!!
It’s Culture Whorior’s first webisode!
In which we attempt and fail at Rock n Roll Trivia at 200 Orchard in New York. I salute their willingness and their patience.
The video is dark (shitty equipment – I’m working on it!), drunk (to be expected) and shameful. Enjoy!
I Went To The Boston Ballet’s Play With Fire
I recently had the pleasure of going to see the beautiful and inspiring dancers of the Boston Ballet. The performance was billed as a night of Heart, Soul, and Rock n’ Roll, which sounded great. Then it said ‘partial nudity’, and being the pervert that I am, I decided it was necessity that I attend.
Sharp Side of Dark was as stunning as it was confusing, which certainly are not mutually exclusive in dance. While I later began to believe the splintered,electric movements were likely a reference to the way ice shatters and splinters, in the moment it felt more like I was watching what would be robotic lizards in their mating dance.
That being said, the movements were purposeful without being obvious, and the smashing of rhythmic dance and jagged spurts of movement were delightfully jarring.
Also, half the performance was silent and it made those movements that much more important. The only real distraction was the rubber suits. I’m sure to the delight of the dancers, they adorned these taupe/grey rubber suits which creaked and squeaked the way you imagine it would if someone was sweating and prancing in one.
Of course, I’m just being picky. The dance was quite captivating, and I was totally transfixed during the whole of the performance. Though I hadn’t expected to experience anything less.
And then a big naked man in a glass box showed up above the stage.
That was the start of Bella Figura, and the start of something I’ve never seen at the ballet: Full Blown Frontal. The guy in the glass box was horizontal, angled 35 degrees or so, with his head lower than his feet, and judging by my binoculars (yes. My friend and I utilized some binocs to get a better look, so sue us!) it appeared to be a dummy (no noticeable movements). Albeit an anatomically correct and nicely carved dummy. And if it wasn’t a dummy, then hello good sir!
The choreography here had similarities to Sharp, but was far more fluid and could be argued to embody a more flickering, flame-like quality than shattering ice…so I guess that would make this the fire performance.
And then everyone got topless and donned big, red, skirts. And I’ll tell ya, when you put absurdly physically fit people in the same outfit, slick their hair back and take their shirts off, it’s tough to distinguish between the ladiez and gents. Which, when you think about it, was kind of nice. You didn’t worry about what the men or women were doing – it was just beautiful, group dance. Unison. Uniformity. I would cue up Queen Latifah but I’ll spare you. My favorite part of this performance however, we the curtain. I’ve never seen a stage’s curtain be used as another character in the story – at time engulfing the dancers, at others antagonizing them. Really wonderful use of the stage that I hadn’t seen before.
Then we got to Rooster. Staged to Rolling Stone’s songs, this was a departure for the Ballet (that I’ve seen anyway) and it was really well received by the audience. My favorite part wasn’t the music, though I loved seeing the interpretation of the songs, but it was that the piece highlighted the male dancers. Let’s face it, ballerino’s are often on stage to lift, spin and allow the women’s graceful bodies to enchant audiences. In large pieces we will get some terrific solos by the men, but never really an entire show celebrating their charisma, their strength, their grace and their charm. Rooster was a celebration of them and it was exciting to watch and even more wonderful to see how much fun they seemed to be having. In honor of the performance, here are two featured songs including one of my favorites, Lady Jane.
I Cut Off All My Hair
For the past 2 years or so I have been growing out my hair. I just let it happen, perhaps in some desperate attempt to have the voluptuous flowing locks of Hollywood starlets that I know I am A. incapable of, and B. unwilling to actually style for more than 3min before I have to go to work. Or, I just was lazy. Or I was tired of my short hair and thought “hey, I can do super long shiny hair, right?”.
That, and my beloved stylist, Danielle, moved away to Maine. Of course, I followed her there for at least 2 sessions, because when you find someone who gives you exactly what you want and need, you can’t let them go.
And then she fucking moved to Florida and I just couldn’t stomach spending $400 for a hair cut. You know, the economy is tough guys. Gotta make cuts somewhere.
Thankfully, she has returned! And I snagged her first appointment to get rid of my mess of boring, brown hair and chop it off in only the way she can. So we did. And while I was nervous the night before because, well, cutting all your hair off is a bit nerve wracking, I was at ease in the chair. Probably because we chatted loudly about sex addiction, cancer, grey hair, autoimmune disorders and how much Florida sucks in the summer. You know. The normal stuff you chat with your stylist about.
That’s me before. Note my awesome Nordic Inn-keeper sweater and ‘I’m not happy with my hair’ sourpuss.
That’s Danielle. She’s amazing. And she’s making crazyface – I like it. She’s at Judy Jetson Salon in Cambridge and you should all go to her because I said so. Ooh, and because she makes my boring hair turn into this:
All gone! And it feels lovely – and I’m super happy obbvbvvvbvbvsss
look at those glistening greys!
Bonus to Having Short Hair
Less styling time in the morning / Wash it 1/2 as much as long hair / Greys sprinkled in looks rad instead of sad / Stand out from the crowd / Get to use all those fun styling products that get goopy and gross in long hair / Not gonna lie, I feel pretty badass
Problems with Short Hair
You’ve gotta keep those brows nice and groomed lest strangers confuse your identifying gender / Despite my telling people they are dumb for saying so, I was proven wrong…you’re head will get cold in the winter / You do have to wet it down every morning lest your cowlicks get outta control /
I’m Watching Terrible Christmas-Themed Movies.
Ring in the inanity! I’m watching Lifetime Christmas Movies. All. Month. Long. And as you can imagine, it’s mind numbing in a variety of way…all the right ways.
Bad writing is key with these thigns, and the title is no exception. When I’m cruising the listings, I’m looking for something that says “this Christmas will be different” mixed with a little “awkward love story”, “Classic Holiday Song Name” and “grasping desperately at cultural memes”.
“A Less Than White Christmas”
“Miracle in Santa’s Village”
“The Christmas Calamity”
“Midnight in Rudolph’s Menagerie”
Things required in a good Lifetime Christmas Movie include Mom and Dad divorcing/separating OR boyfriend/girlfriend problems, pet tragedy, really awesome muzak, whacky car accident that leaves people stranded/walking long Christmas-y distances, some sort of family-bonding crisis, a single ‘token’, be they Black, ‘Asian’ or ‘NonWhite’, D-list celebrity cameo, and the obligatory stare-down-then-make-out.
Just the way Baby Jesus would have wanted it.
And right now, I’m watching The Accidental Christmas.
And it is full of absurdity, obviously. But my favorite part is that the premise is a Mom who wants a career, and a Dad that doesn’t value the Mom’s desire to have a career. Classic!
They separate and their insufferable children decide they need to get them back together. Which is gross and patronizing and rude. Kids need to get the fuck over parents divorcing. Seriously. You don’t want them up in your business? Then stay out of theirs, ya little shits.
Also – there’s a Jew and an Asian named Rico (who you might recognize as David Lo Pan from Big Trouble in Little China!!) – so this movie really went above and beyond my requirements!
Anyway! So many things happen – Mom still hates Dad, Dad still loves Mom, Dad patronizes Mom for working, kids fake texts to get parents together and everyone ends up in the same beach house in Christmas, kid breaks leg in some random fall down a mountainside (in Los Angeles), Mom’s boss tries to get her into bed…and then…
Dad aims to win back Mom’s love with a giant diamond ring. In fact, when purchasing the ring he asked the jeweler “I need something that says I’m sorry and that I can do better and that I can change and I can make things ok again!”.
The real Christmas miracle is that Mommy somehow realizes that even though her husband is a total moron with gummy face and tripple skinny-guy chin, and that her kids are terrible manipulating assholes…she still wants to be around these people. Finally, in an awesome moment of Dad running up a random pink tower to literally flee from his feelings and see the ocean (probably a metaphor, but Lifetime movies aren’t that deep), he proposes. And she accepts because SPARKLY THINGS AND IT’S CHRISTMAS OMGLOLBBQ!!11!
And she got to keep her dream job! It’s a Christmas Miracle!
God I love this time of year. LOVE.
-Lauren, the Christmas Whore
I Went To The Ballet.
In our never ending search for cultural things to do in the Boston area, Susie and I landed on Romeo + Juliet this past Wednesday. Honestly, the last time I saw the Boston Ballet perform, it was The Nutcracker and I got yelled at by my step mom for bitching about having to wear a skirt.
Romeo + Juliet was a pretty wonderful sight to behold, and I am so happy that Sue and I finally got off our asses and went because we had talked about it forever it seems, but it wasn’t until Sue accidentally ordered the tickets while looking at the options that we were required to attend (or be out $100).
Our Juliet, played by Erica Cornejo, was like a flower petal that seemed to float around the stage as if the slightest gust of wind could have taken her away. Her performance was perfectly in line with the idea that Juliet is an exuberant, love sick 14yr old – her whole body told the story and we were just along for the ride. Our Romeo, Lasha Khozashvili, was masculine and a bit flighty like a 14yr old boy always thinks he is, but I felt he was a big clumsy. Susie thought his partly clunky performance was due in part to his character – being a doofy 14yr old in love. I think he was just having a bit of an off night. Compared to Paris, played by Sabi Varga, Romeo manhandled poor Juliet. It was like shaking a bouquet of flowers and it was all the petals could do was stay strong and hold on.
Aside from the performance, the costumes were fucking awesome. I did not expect crimson hooded cloaks, ornate embroidered gowns and then for dancers to actually move in them. And do it graciously at that. There were a few moments when male dancers stepped on the women’s cloaks…but none of the ladies threw a single “bitch-Ill-cut-you” look at all! Consumate professionals, the lot of them.
I’m also giving a shout out to Christopher Dennis who did the lighting design and maintained what was almost a cinematic and dynamic mood throughout the show. I was totally sucked in from the moment the orchestra began, and I was tearing up when those two teenage idiots decided to kill themselves instead of just running away together. Le sigh. Kids those days, whachagonnado?
Also: Tybalt: smokin’ hot.
I Was Clementine the Cowgirl
At my fantabulous place of work, I celebrate Halloween with a fun day at the shop. Tons of candy, cider and Halloween music for the patrons, and I dress up in a whacky costume and try not to scare the children.
Last year I was “Grunge 1994” but no one knew I was in costume and assumed I just looked like shit. Which was not what I was going for. I mean…I did kinda look like shit, but that was the point. It was costume…oh nevermind.
This year, I became Clementine the Cowgirl..the doll. I caked on the most foundation and concealer I think I’ve ever worn outside a stage production, added some circular rosy cheeks and painted on an unnerving amount of eyeliner.
Super long Barbie eyebrows and puckered doll lips completed the face! And as for the full costume:
What you cannot really see in this picture is my super awesome pull-cord I fashioned out of some twine and a cross stitch loop. I also have a mini doll-lasso on my belt. For the most part, people either didn’t realize I was in costume, or the thought it was pretty cool. So it seems like this year only 50% of the customers didn’t know I was in costume…at least right away.
In the end, it was great. I love Halloween! I love special effects makeup! And I love seeing what I can accomplish just by using my home collection of makeup. It’s also kind of terrifying that I have lying around the kind of makeup that can achieve a ‘plastic face’ look. So I’m just going to pretend that I’m just really skilled at manipulating mundane materials.
I Saw Weird Al
And it kinda made my life, not gonna lie.
On a whim, (and through a slightly buzzed
conversation at my Halloween party) I decided I must see Weird Al this past weekend and then berated Susie for choosing to do school work to prepare for her mega architecture test instead of going with me.
Sorry Sue. Bad friend moment. I will not try to get you to NOT do important schoolwork again. Promise. Unless it’s a really awesome reason. Then I will probably peer pressure you again.
Anyway, back to my story. I saw Weird Al and trusty veteran Al fangirl, Cynthia, was my sidekick and guide for the night. We scored really great seats, and we ate really big, juicy burgers:
Mine was bunless because I have been excluding gluten (autoimmune issues are fun!) and the folks at Uburger wrapped it in lettuce for me…
Was the bacon covered burger with onions, cheese and mushrooms any good?
Cynthia says yes!
So was Weird Al any good? YES. Better than good. He was great. Still a true performer, a fantastic musician and he and his band have such wonderful chemistry, the show was pretty flawless. There were more costume changes than a Cher concert (I would know, I’ve seen Cher too), his hair seemed to move independent of his body and in slow motion, and he sounded exactly as his recordings. It was awesome.
As someone who is a pop culture whore, Weird Al has always been in my life, since I was in 5th grade actually. My brother got the Alapalooza album and I sang “Jurassic Park” for weeks. We also sang it at my Halloween party so there’s that as well. Weird Al has permeated culture in such a unique way, in such a complete way, that he is still relevant across genres, age groups and cultures. He continues to skewer pop culture in the way we need it to be, in a way that restores sanity to a world obsessed with celebrity, with things, with image and with icon. And he continues to make fun of himself – which naturally endears us to him more.
He also ushered in the way for the likes of Lonely Island Boys and Tenacious D, and continued the musical wit, satire and musings of the great Shel Silverstein and Frank Zappa. He’s an American icon.
To quote Homer Simpson: He who is tired of Weird Al, is tired of life.
My life for you, Al.
I Didn’t Get A Turkey Leg
Which is really shitty. Because I wanted my goddamn turkey leg, man. I wanted to eat that thing like a heathen. Imagine that I just tore that right off the body of a giant bird, and started gnawing away like a wild animal.
But I didn’t get the turkey leg at the Topsfield Fair. I did do a lot of other stuff that pales in comparison to what I imagine that turkey leg experience to be like…so I guess I’ll share it with y’all.
Like this chicken. He’s a big ass chicken. Like, “I ate another chicken” size chicken.
He’s so pretty. Like a cream puff, I imagine he’s just all air under there. There was also this giant bunny. He looked really soft I wanted to wear him on my face:
Then there were goats. Lots of goats. There was even a goat show where girls in white outfits were showing their goats. And frankly – there were some good lookin’ goats in that show:
There was also this asshole goat. That goat had devil eyes and was head butting all the other goats just minding their own business. Look at that face. It’s the face of animal-evil:
And why the hell don’t these goats have ears?!
Also of note: this bird. It was the most beautiful bird I’ve ever seen. Looked like he was wearing zebra print on his tail, and super day-glo feathers sprinkled throughout, and a red mullet. So pretty. So pretty I need to kill him, drink his blood and wear his feathers so I can take his magical powers:
What else happened? We saw a piglet race. They raced for oreos. Not unlike me! Though they wear pinnies. I don’t wear pinnies when I’m racing for my pantry for cookies. Also, this goddamn Peruvian Panflute Band:
They butcher every one of my precious Celine Dion songs and for such an offense, they shall be rounded up and taken care of.
But there was no turkey leg so, why bother going any further? >sigh<
I went to an fancy hotel to see eyelashes
At least that is what this night basically amounted to. It was at the ultra awesome Liberty Hotel in Boston (seriously, super fun interior, check it out) and was supposed to be a fun “eye lash and eye wear” party as part of Boston Fashion Week‘s After Parties.
Of course I had my trusty sidekick, Susie, there with me to enjoy the festivities and we ate our weight in Thai soup before we head out to the fashion party. Granted, that isn’t great for looking awesome in your skinny jeans, so to counter the salt content…we ate some more Pinkberry. Sweet counters salt, right guys?
Don’t say anything – it’s best you just agree with me.
So we decide that despite the shitty weather (and torrential downpours) we would brave the 3 stops on the train line and hit up this ‘lash party. Naturally, there were no goddamn eyelashes to be found, because that is what we have now come to expect from this week. I mean, the models who walked around were wearing them, but I was expecting something more ‘craycray’, if you know what I mean. Like this:
But there was nothing. I mean, the models had great lashes, but they were just normal lashes but I guess fuller…but NOT necessarily something worthy of a show. Ok. Definitely not something worthy of a show.
So to counter this disappointment, we listened to some seriously thumping music and drank wine…and at $14 a glass, it was the least we could do to entertain ourselves as we counted how many women in Boston were wearing an entire sparkle outfit that evening. Naturally, Sue’s reaction to this was:
I mean, I know it’s a fashion event, but Boston needs to step it up in the “I look stylish” department. I know the picture is kinda shitty, but judging my Sue’s furrowed brow one can surmise that she is thinking “what the shit is this?” and that would also be in response to the set of seats that had a sign saying “to be reserved” or some shit like that. I mean, really? Reserved seating at a bar…in seats that aren’t even near any of the action?
And can we get back to the $14 a glass of wine issue? I don’t even buy bottles that expensive. Mostly because I’m a cheap bastard, but I find the $9 wine is just fancy enough for me thankyouverymuch. More than that and I’m convinced you are being taken for a ride. And once you’ve had more than 2 glasses it’s not like you can even taste it anymore. At that point you are just drinking to get hammered, like most proper girls would do.
Finally, there was a random fashion show with models wearing vinyl. It was a reminiscent of Gaga’s Born this Way ensemble, but less “condom”-y and more “5th Element”-y which is to say it was a bit of a Gautier ripoff, but I’m cool with it:
This model in particular was super sweet, though I will say all the models we spoke with were really fun and energetic and obvs, gorgeous. But this model got stuck in the elevator with Sue and I couldn’t help but cop a feel on the vinyl…which was very thick and a little bizarre. The model mentioned how sweaty it made her…which I can understand considering it was skin tight, and anyone who has tried on vinyl pants will attest to: they are awful. But she was a trooper! And super nice.
Then we spotted this woman, whom I decided I want to be just like when I grow up (and had a striking resemblance to Jordi’s late grandmother) was, to put it frankly, my everything:
She had the ultra blonde hair up to there, beautiful eyebrows, and was wearing a full gold fringe dress. She was the real deal. Ooh, and higher heals than Sue or I, and possible nude hose with open toes without shame. I love it. I know this woman is important in more ways than just being my personal hero of the night because everyone and their mom wanted to talk to her. I think I was too mesmerized by her rockin body in FULL FRINGE to attempt the embarrassing “hey. why are you so popular” discussion. By the way, don’t ever start a conversation like that. Start with “Hi” and go from there.
In the end, it was certainly a really fun party and the music was great, models were wonderful and the people watching was even better. The wine was too expensive but that’s what happens with FAH-SHUN DAHLING. And we did get swag!
It was a little brown bag of cuteness:
With a ton of coupons that I am clearly going to use in one shopping spree when I pick up $30 worth of Yankee Candles just so I can get the discount…whether I need “French Vanilla/Go-gurt smells wax in my house or not, and a sweet nail polish from H&M. Now, anytime I get free stuff is a good time. I’m all about gifts. Especially getting stuff just to attend a party.
All I’m saying is when I walked in the Tulips and Pansies 2008 show in NYC, I wore this:
and I got a swag bag with this:
Then I stole 2 other bags to snag some Chanel sunglasses for my mom (I kept the Armani’s and wear them on special “I feel like being a Blade Runner” kinda days). This swag is the real deal. Which means Boston is on a good path, but has a bit of a ways to go…but I guess I’ll stick around. Kinda love this city and it’s “I don’t give a shit what you got in New York” ways.
I went to a Crazy Hair Show
And I went with one of my favorite people ever, Susie! She also happens to be the perfect partner for ridiculous things in Boston.
That’s the key: she’s always willing to try something new. And puts up with shenanigans with grace, a few cuss words, and style.
So a funny thing happened on the way to the hair show. In fact, lots of funny things happened. First though, we ate dinner and caught up on life. You know. GIRL STUFF.
Then we realized it was still a full 90min before the big fashion week party and we had to kill time. Then we lamented how stuff starting at 9pm is so late because we have day jobs and are tired. Then we realized we are getting old. Then we realized we were turing into the people our parents said we would and we didn’t believe them.
To counter this, we hit up Forever 21 on Newbury Street – and it was the most organized, pretty and friendly Forever 21 I’ve ever encountered. And then I found this:
I mean, holy crap guys. It’s one sleeved (sloved?) with black mesh cut outs and almost the entire back is black mesh. It is also made of some sort of synthetic awfulness so instantly wrinkled. Though I imagine the wrinkles would be the least of your problems in this lil’ number.
There are four floors of stuff in this place, but you know what? I don’t mind looking through acrylic heaven when it’s so shiny and bright:
After scouring 4 floors of stuff, we still had a full hour to kill. So we tried PinkBerry. Have you guys had that yet? I think I might be the last person on earth to…it was worth the wait, though I hate myself a little for going there. Now I’m addicted. I mean, how does it taste so good?! It’s like heaven in a dixie cup…with toppings. Sue got a peanut butter…thingy:
(seriously, how hot are my friends? really.) Then I got the original topped with watermelon and some sort of fruity caviar…like mango roe…if ovaries were fruit, then these are the eggs it would drop to create dessert topping babies:
Strange at first but when you let yourself accept it, things turn out delicious.
We still had 40min to kill so we walked up and down Boylston street trying to look as inconspiquous and totally NOT just pacing to make sure we weren’ the first people in the door and we were definitely NOT yawning and complaining about our feet hurting…no. It was great. It was FASHION.
Until we were approached by a dude in the street asking if we wanted to buy a GPS.
He definitely just ripped that out of someone’s parked car, wires still hanging down, and offered to sell it to us. On a dark spot on Boylston. Needless to say we declined the offer and booked it out of there (my pepper spray in hand). We thought “where can we go where we won’t be approached by criminals?”
The Fairmont Copley Plaza, naturally. And what did we do there? Chilled in a bathroom that’s nicer than my apartment and decided if we both look too similar wearing our leather jackets. Then we took pictures…like tourists.
Then we hit up the show, and frankly, it wasn’t totally awesome. When I see a hair show, I want to see this:
Not some girls with Scarlett Johansson Oscar 2006 Bride of Frankenstein hair doing a lap around a bar then stand on a flight of stairs for someone to take their picture. I was underwhelmed. I also have extremely high standards. Though one might argue that waiting up all night (10pm) risking blisters and exhaustion should be worth the crazy hair. But there was no SHOW. No RazzleDazzle.
Not. Having it. Boston.
To top off the evening, my goddamn dog bit me the moment I got into the car to go home. That’s before the sweet purple monster of a bruise developed. Awesome.
At least I got icecream out of the deal. And friendship time. And a scarf. And a funny story.
So I guess it was, percentage wise, actually pretty great!
I saw Lion King in 3D.
And I went with my mom and my man. Which was a pretty interesting combo, let me tell you.
Naturally, we got a giant soda, giant twizzlers and a shockingly moderately sized popcorn…of which I almost exclusively ate as I elbowed away hands reaching for a nibble.
I also managed to get a fist-worth of kernles under my jacket, in my shirt and in my undershirt. I realized this when I went to the bathroom and a mountain of popcorn spewed from my top. Also when I went to bed and a kernel was poking me in bed.
Then I ate it.
Fun things about seeing Lion King as an adult – you get to laugh at all the little kids in the theatre when Mufassa meets his maker.
Such a pivotal scene…and the youngn’s just started whimpering.
Then parents throughout the theatre had to explain how he’s dead. And that grandma will soon meet the same fate. And their goldfish too.
Some notes to enjoying the film:
1. Yes, it is ok to sing along because everyone there will either be a child who is talking, or an adult who is singing along as well.
2. Some of the 3D is a bit wonky…some of the blues don’t so much pop as they do vibrate. Take tylenol before the movie or drink when you are there and you should be fine. See also: Timon’s eyes in one scene – they go from red and blue in a demonic trance-like flicker.
3. By the end of the movie, you will feel a youthfulness and skip in your step like you did the first time you saw it. Which is great.
4. Hearing the soundtrack in surround sound is really the only way to see the movie. Not sure I can watch it on tv again and not think “this could be so much more epic!”.
5. The theatre will smell heavily of dirty diapers.
Take the good with the bad, I suppose.
I Went To Maine.
Technically, this is not a big accomplishment for, well, anyone. It’s Maine. It’s in the continental US and literally 2hrs from Boston, so actually making it there is not outstanding.
However, what I did there was pretty fantastic:
I went to the International Cryptozoology Museum (because I will seriously do anything) and it was GLORIOUS. In the back of a loaded-to-the-gills used book shop is this gem of a “museum” that is full of the fantastical, ridiculous and unbelievable.
For any of you not familiar with “science” of cryptozoology, it is the “study” of mysterious creatures thought to be un-extinct or otherwise, well, not real. For instance: hunting for Big Foot. He’s not real. But they look for him anyway! Silly bitches.
So, I’m going to start with this: the woman that was in the museum and showing us around was totally nice and super enthusiastic. She kind of looked like she got a haircut with a flobie, but aside from that – totally nice and really eager to teach us about all the amazing things they had in the museum.
Like Sasquatch shit. Did you know they have his shit? Because they do. And it isn’t bear shit. Or moose shit either. It’s fucking Sasquatch shit. Squatch. Droppings.
They also have a Hobbit skull. It’s a real one, guys. Not a ceramic mold then painted to look old. It was NOT dry brushed with a nice taupe and textured with putty and dirt. It was a real Hobbit skull. From the kindly people off the island of Flores (near Bali).
Now, here’s the thing. These hobbit-like people did exist at one point, as real science has discovered. And such is the beauty of the pseudoscience of cryptozoology! They take real scientific discoveries and use them to fuel their own beliefs that, say, these hobbit people still live there even though not many people have seen them (and their bones date back to over 200,000 years ago). Which seems strange that when scientists were there finding the remains of their ancestors that, I dunno, none of the living hobbits decided to say “hi”. As long as there is some real science for them to go back on, they can convince other people that hobbit people still live. Or that there is a sea monster in the bay. Or that Squatch is real.
They also use the Coelacanth as proof that Squatch is real, because up until 1938, these creatures were fossilized. Literally.
They are critters from the age of the dinosaurs that lived 65 million years ago, have large fossil records, and apparently still live unchanged in the waters of Indonesia and along the south-east coast of Africa. Since the Coelacanth is also recognized as a missing-link-type critter (it has four fins that move like legs to propel it through the water and it has elbows. Elbows!) the crypto’s use to as evidence that anything is possible!
And, well, I guess that wide-eyed optimism is great and all, and maybe I’m just a rotten skeptic.
But I’m also not wrong, so there’s that.
ALSO! You see the mounted heads on the wall in the picture above? Yeah. There’s a Jackelope in the center there.
A FUCKING JACKELOPE.
And a final note: if Squatch is real, how does it breed? Why is there no fossil or bone record? For a large North American mammal to survive, it needs a large territory, social groups (enough to find a mate/breeding partner) and food source. If Squatch is real, there is absolutely no reason why people in the Pacific Northwest wouldn’t have continued sightings, or at least a method of finding them. Shit, we can map the human genome, Discovery Channel can find one of like, 10 white snow panters in the wilderness on HD camera, and we can send probes into space to get the first close look of Saturn…
and we can’t find an 8ft tall bipedal pseudo-primate in Washington State. Ok then.
All in all, it was really amazing listening to our guide talk rather knowledgeably on the subject matter and I give her real points for dedication to the cause. She clearly knew the science behind the pseudo, and I give her props for going 100% into her work. I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that everything she believes is a lie.
Also of note, she apparently knit an 8ft long Giant Squid (including the beak, and twisting toothed-suckers) that she hopes to hang from the ceiling of the new International Cryptozoology Museum. And that, I think, is something worth going back for.
OTHER SHIT I DID
Portland Head Light and Fort Williams Park was awesome.
I love me a good food truck but since I’m in Boston I don’t get them much (other than the hotdog stands which my grandmother is apparently a connoisseur of), so I was psyched to see this guy standing on the top of a hill like a beacon of cheap-deliciousness:
And yeah. I ate the fuck out of a Lobsah Roll:
My dog wouldn’t just look nice for the pictures, but Mark got a half-decent one out of her (and no, the questionable tattoos are NOT affiliated with any, uh, negative organization…if you know what I mean):
I got drunk off 2 ciders (it’s been a while!) and cried/sweat into my shepherd’s pie in a serious fit of the giggles:
At some point I ate a lot of ice cream, walked some more, slept, watched a late night Chopped marathon on Food Network, slept and then we hit up Portsmouth NH to walk around THAT super cute area…but I was having too good a time to take pics so, you’ll just have to take my word for it that this trip was pretty sweet.
I am a culture whore.
I will see anything, I will do just about anything and I am willing to listen, watch and participate in all things even remotely culturally relevant.
On the advice of a good friend who knows what a whore I am, I’ve decided to take her moniker for me and turn it into the official “shit Lauren does for kicks” article on The Junkyard. I’m not used to really talking about myself so much, but at the behest of people who apparently want to know why I love doing such awful things, I figured I would give it a shot.
So what kind of stuff can you expect here?
Music: I’ve seen everyone from The Rolling Stones to Valiant Thor. I own Enya’s discography and can sing every word off Van Halen’s ‘Best of Both Worlds’. Unapologetically an arena rock adorer and karaoke fanatic, I’ll listen to and see just about anything.
Theatre: I actually really dislike musical theatre despite my degree in it. But I’ve managed to sit through Green Day’s shittastic ‘American Idiot’ and laughed a few lb’s off at Sock Puppet Showgirls (yes. you read that right). But I’ll sit there and watch it…but I’m not going to hold back on what I think about it.
Film: From French horror to movies about horses that make me cry, I’ll see anything. Showgirls is my favorite movie, only tied with Jurassic Park…but I won’t sit through silent Italian experimental film. Fuck that noise.
Access: My friends rock. Seriously. How many people get to go backstage at Alice Cooper and Rob Zombie? Or VIP at Danzig? Or front row at New York Fashion Week? Thanks to their supreme awesomeness, I get to share the ridiculousness with you.
As 2011 passes the half way mark, I’ve got a number of things coming up on the docket that I think y’all would be interested in. Antler-hunting in Maine this September, Rock and Shock Horror Convention in October, and the super-awesome live-blog extravaganza of Thomas Kinkade’s ‘Christmas Cottage‘ on Lifetime. Sprinkle in some concerts, films, and museum exhibitions and you’ve got yourselves a whored-out half of a year.
See you then!