#TBT

Originally published May 2009

The first concert I ever attended probably shaped much more about me than just my love for music. My older brother took me.  He was 17, I was 8.  He begged our parents for weeks to let him go and because at the time my brother lived and breathed cool to me, I wanted to go with him. My parents finally realized this was a bargaining tool.  They told him that he could go only if he took me with him.  They knew he'd say no. But he didn't.  My brother and my parents each held up their end of the deal.  A few days later I was still only 8, and terrified, and sitting on my brother's shoulders at a Quiet Riot concert. There was something about the fear in my gut and the damp heat from the hundreds of sweaty bodies-the hair and makeup mixed with a violence that looking back was out of place with such ridiculous music. But it was fuel to that fire. I was much too young for it, but I fell in love with all things subversive that night. It was the first time I saw with my own eyes other people doing the things I had only seen in my head. I embraced my inner weirdo, and never looked back.

My Love for You Is Way Out of Line...

I've come to realize I was never really doe-eyed.  No one ever offered to whisk me away and teach me the ways of the world.  No one took advantage of my naivety. No one ever pushed the smart, serious girl aside for me, because I was the smart, serious girl.  And from the start I was somehow already old enough to know better.
But I get it now.
The fascination with all those young, unblemished dumb girls. Their high asses and taut bellies. Their clean skin. The way they help themselves to your lap with no fear of rejection. Their complete lack of desperation as if it weren't even a concept. The way they ask if you've ever heard of a band, not knowing you've fucked your way through its members. The way they only want to know about you-your favorite record, what you think, how you sleep, how you knew when...
How disposable they are.
You wonder if they will have a one that got away, or grow up to nag incessantly, or run a tight ship in the carpool line, or chain smoke and wait tables for the rest of their lives. What they will think of you one day when they are your age and have daughters. You wonder, then you throw them away.
And I understand this now.  It doesn't make it any more acceptable. Or any less sorry. But I get it.
I've missed out on something.

The Weekly Walk with Me

Oscars Edition

The Ten Things That Gave Me Everything

10. The 80s muzak.

 9.  Jess Cagle's eyeglasses.

 8.  Julie Andrews

 7.  Dana Heinz Perry

• The audacity to ask for her time on the mic.
• The nerve to wear that monstrosity of a dress.
•  Every film she's ever done from "And You Don't Stop, 30 Years of Hip Hop" to "Boy Interrupted".
•  Saying the word suicide loud and often.

 6.  Neil Patrick Harris' body.

 5.  The Farmer's Insurance guy winning an Oscar.
 4.   Scarlett Johansson.
       From shaved head to waist trainer-everything.

 3.  Having Reese Witherspoon present for Makeup and Hairstyling when she tried so hard to make   #askhermore happen.

 2.  JLo's monochromatic dress/skin situation.

 1.  Graham Moore.

The Ten Worst Offenses to My Sense of Good Taste

10. Naomi Watts' cartoon brick dress.

  9. Lady Gaga's red dish gloves.

  8. Channing Tatum's makeup.

  7. The obvious camera panning to each of the 6 black people in the audience during all things "Glory".  It was pandering and it was appalling.
  6. The posing. Each of the following please prepare your explanation.

• Rosamund Pike
• Chrissy  Teigen
• Mark Ruffalo's wife

   5.  Glen Campbell's loss.

   4.  Every musical performance.

        *2 exceptions-John Legend and Common, and Lady Gaga

   3.  The fact that I have to give Lady Gaga credit for something.

   2.  Dakota Johnson.

   1.  American Sniper.

Bonus: Hottest Lesbians at the Oscars that weren't Tegan and Sara

In no particular order...

Keith Urban

Oprah

Eddie Redmayne

Jared Leto

We walked in the garden, we planted a tree...

I don't sleep in anymore.  There was a time when I'd wake up at noon and get my day started around 2 or so. These days I wake up around 7, get some "morning things" done, and treat myself to a second sleep.  Because morning things are exhausting. And because I feel like
second sleep will prevent me from being an in bed at 8:30, up at 4am kind of old lady.  There are also just some things that drive you right back into bed, even on your birthday weekend.  Case in point:

The temperature with wind chill in my neck of the woods is 5 today.  Five. As in only halfway to 10 and the minimum age to begin your very first year of public school. The first words I heard this morning shortly before noon were "it's like pulling weeds from a garden. Your womb is a garden." Padma Lakshmi told me this. Fucking gross.  This was clearly not Top Chef. Suddenly my breakfast of everything bagel and leftover Prosecco didn't seem very appealing. Then Whoopi Goldberg proceeded to make a mockery of fashion week and everything I believe in while wearing Cheetah. Print. Crocs. I was beginning to completely abandon all faith in a higher power when something delicious happened.

Breaking news out of Richmond, VA-Maureen McDonnell, former First Lady of the Commonwealth is sentenced for corruption charges.  While not a fan of the McDonnell clan, this is not why I'm revelling. I normally don't celebrate other's misfortunes.  OK I do, but in this case said corruption against the commonwealth was such child's play that I can't bring myself to care.  What I do love is a scandal.  If you are not familiar with the whole sordid tale do some googling, I'm not writing for Politico here.  The gist of it is the McDonnells' accepted gifts, monetary and otherwise from Jonnie Williams, a businessman, in exchange for support from the Governor's camp to endorse some vitamins. Basically. There were some other indiscretions as far as state property that had nothing to do with him, but the real meat is ol' Maureen and her affair with Jonnie.  Vacations, Rolex watches, he even sprang for Maureen's anniversary gifts to Bob. Tawdry!

The highlights for me-the shallow stuff that really matters:

1. There is a grown ass man who still chooses to be called Jonnie.  He does not play guitar for a living or distill scotch.

2. This is Maureen and Jonnie in 2011.

Michaele White/Governor's Office

3. This is Maureen in 2015. Less than four years later, see how they have fallen. Star Scientific clearly doesn't specialize in anti-aging treatments.

4. And finally this quote from this morning's proceedings;

"I am the one who allowed the serpent into the mansion. The venom has poisoned my family...and the Commonwealth."

Shonda Rhimes couldn't even write this melodrama.  Maureen gave me everything! Today is going to be biblical.

They say it's your birthday...

Please allow me to introduce myself.
I am a recovering trouble maker, a chandelier swinger, my circle's token party girl. I know what's going on, when it's happening, and who's going to be there.  I almost never say no.  To anything.  This has always worked for me.  But-is it even still true?

See, this is important.  Because today is my 38th birthday.

I am staring down the barrel of 40.

The twist is, unlike the friends who have waited until now to make their bad decisions in a futile attempt to preserve youth, it's sorta how I've always done things. It makes me fascinating (a legend in my own mind). So now what happens? Get it together? Step into line like my daddy done?

I'm probably being too hard on myself here. I do actually have it together.  I always have been equal parts shitty mess and voice of reason.  And probably the only right-brained Type A personality in the history of all highly accurate Facebook psychology quizzes. It's just that now it's time to sit back and reconcile all this- who I was/am (full disclosure here: just last Friday I got so drunk I threw up in a pint glass.  I see this as a testament to my skill and experience as said vomit was perfectly contained without a drop in my hair or surrounding areas) with who I am/should be-recently married, growing up, and aging at a rate slightly slower than a banana.

In the 20 (!) years since my 18th birthday
I have had countless lovers; only a few real heartbreaks.
I have loved-unconditionally, unrequited, out of obligation, and everything in between.
I have been loved-unconditionally, in fair weather, and as a dirty little secret.
I have sat at more deathbeds than a person my age should.
I have kissed newborn foreheads and toddler boo boos and teenage angst.
I have chosen to be childless.
I have recited wedding vows, and I have been committed.
I grew up in a small town, lived in a big city, on an island, and came back home again.
I've been an it girl, a rock star, an almost, a has been, a never was, and a some day. I started from the bottom now I'm here, somewhere in a self-effacing middle.

And every story I'm about to tell is true. Let the countdown begin.