Never Mind the Bollocks

“But it's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
I got my nuts from a hippy in a camper van on Saturday night”

Got Ma Nuts from a Hippie - The Fratellis

About a year ago was the first time I encountered the infamous “Truck Nutz” (if you‘re lucky enough to NOT know what these are http://www.bullsballs.com/balls/photos.html will photo you up to speed), but ironically, they were on a car. One of those jacked up, spinny rimmed, wigger-mobiles. I was behind it on one of those circular off ramps and I couldn’t help but notice the bronze sacs that gravity was coaxing to one side as the car hugged around the curve.

Being in Florida, I was surprised at such a sight because you can’t spit without hitting a church here, and they don’t usually go for the public display of genitalia. At the same time, I wasn’t shocked at all - it was just the next step in men’s obsession with their balls.

Whether it’s ICP or AC/DC (statistics show that initial bands dig their balls more than one word titled bands), balls are ever present in lyrics when a dude is on the mic. You’d be hard pressed to find a female songwriter or otherwise, as excited about the scrotes as their possessors. We just aren’t as enamored of them as the men folk are. I’ve asked my non-nutted friends about their views on the danglies and most of them find them gross (especially if the owners aren‘t familiar with the concept of MANSCAPING), or tolerable at best.

Personally, I’m a practical female. What I refer to as the “Sperm Purses” don’t really do anything for me and that seems to be the consensus amongst my girly social circle. Not one of us in our friskiest of states was ever thinking “Hmmm yeah, I gots to gets me some of them balls.” The only time we value the balls are when we want to procreate or severely put a hurt on an offending or attacking male (either situation usually brings a man to his knees, heh).

When we size a man up, we do think about certain physical attributes and you’ll hear us go on about a guy’s ass, chest, neck, hair, or “front porch”, but you will never hear “His balls are to die for” make way through any female’s vocabulary that I run with.

It’s ironic that when we can’t stand someone, they are often referred to as a “dick” but if they have done something brave or outstanding, we credit the size of their balls. In the female world, we only have equally demeaning terms, but nothing that is parallel with “having a giant pair”, not even with breasts. If a girl took out a terrorist on the subway, no one would go “Dude, that took a huge rack on her part.”

Our relationship with our chesticles is far different than men with their jigglies. I mean, really, can you imagine a guy trying on clothes and thinking “Do my balls look big/small enough in these?” Me either (Miami queens being the only exception).

Since my sighting a year ago, Florida law now prohibits the display of “Truck Nutz” with fines of $60.00 per offense. Our state Senator Jim King (Republican-Jacksonville) admitted to having a pair on his truck, but in compliance with his wife’s dim view of the truckly accessory, King has caved and removed them, thus revoking his “pimp” status (“pimps” are Republicans?).

If they hadn’t been banned, I was half tempted to make a pair with one of them having torn up flesh and spikes in it, dripping blood droplets forever in my trunks shadow. The other one I would have painted an acid yellow smiley face on. =)

Sk8 Her

“If you skate, you would be great
If you could make a figure eight.
That's a circle that turns 'round upon itself.” Figure Eight - Schoolhouse Rock

My bestie and I went roller skating yesterday.

The last time I saw the inside of a roller rink, my shoe and bra size were a LOT smaller, I think I was 12. Even then, at 12 I didn’t actually go into the rink. I’d have my parents drop off my friends and I, go behind the rink to put my skates safely up in a tree, and then meet up with BOYS from other schools that got their hands on a car or alcohol. We usually went to a “forbidden by the parents” teen dance club, or to some place called “The Pit” in the woods where kids basically went to drink, get high, and/or make out. (Remember those days when guys actually tried to go to second base and you didn’t even have a target for them to land on? Now I have excess and they completely skip over my “lady lumps” [thank you Black Eyed Peas] as if they weren’t even there. Here I went to all that trouble to grow them and they get less action now than when it was illegal to think about them - unless you count chicks, they grope me all the time. Life is a humorous bitch isn‘t it?)

The rink seemed huge back then, but now my eyes and their encasement have a completely different perspective. It’s still the same in regards to skating in a circle for ages to the latest dance tunes (yep same as the dance club), but with the added bonus of screaming children going in the wrong direction and body slamming into anyone in their wake.

I felt like I had entered a video game with Wal-Mart-esque lighting (not at all flattering for any look), and before I suited up, the dude at the desk made me sign a waver in case of injury. There is also a huge sign highly recommending you don’t skate unless you have health insurance. Shit has REALLY changed.

I had not previously been in a rink in Florida, but it’s only been a year and a half since I had wheels under my toes. I used to rollerblade around my “hood” all the time but the heat, snakes, bad drivers, and endless supply of bugs that decide to off themselves in my left eye have dissuaded me from such escapades as of late. When I did go, it was only for like 20 minutes, but yesterday was a full 2 hours of Roller Boogie meets the modern version of the game “Frogger”.

The a/c and no rocks getting caught in your wheels are awesome, but the brats would prove to be another story. I nearly picked the one up by his fauxhawk to turn his ass around but he slammed into a wall instead, so I was good with that sort of instant karma. It’s not even so much the little ones falling in front of you as it is the freaked out people trying NOT to run them over and THEY don’t look where they’re going, nearly taking you down.

It was fun. I like to dance/skate, and we had a good laugh, but I think I’ll hold out for Adult night next time as I’ve heard that’s something to witness; like Soul Train on wheels with a touch of Kanye and sans the midgets.

Can’t wait.

Made of Stone Roses

"Sometimes I fantasize

when the streets are cold and lonely

and the cars they burn below me,

don't these times fill your eyes?" Made of Stone - The Stone Roses

Jackson Pollock and The Stone Roses; can't think of one without the other.

I'm a diehard Roses enthusiast. That first album was true love for me.

I was just standing there on the corner of 3rd and Broadway in NYC, clutching a bag containing the toilet paper I had purchased (I just ooze glamour don't I?), when the infamous Monkey Man jumped out of a cab and straight to me.

He smiled and said "Hullo".

I nearly dropped dead. I suppose if I would've actually done so, and my head splattered in a nice Pollock pattern, maybe he'd have taken it as a sign to reunite with the other talents that made my coming up years that much more meaningful.

How do you come together for such a masterpiece and then let it all go to shit? How do you touch upon something that brings so many to awe and then just smack it away like a loathsome mosquito?

I could ask Pollock the same, I suppose, were he here.

-essions

“You come to me at midnight and say, 'It's dark in here.'
You know you robbed me of my sight, and light is what I fear
I tell you that I can not see but you persist in showing me
those bangles that I paid for long ago
And though my face is smiling I'm really feeling low
and though you say you're with me I know that it's not so”
Salad Days - Procol Harum


Compression, depression, repression, -essions suck, man.

In order for others to hear the music I write on my MAC, it gets compressed into an mp3. For some reason when I do that, it seems what I wrote is slowing up in tempo. The compression is not translating properly, so now I have to bear that in mind and re-record the entirety of what took days to get into place at a faster tempo. Compression is a drag, but a necessary one.

Repression of how you really feel makes you smaller and slower too. It leads to depression, or maybe that’s what’s left after you exploded what you repressed, I don’t know anymore.

* * * * * *

I had a strange dream last night where I was arguing in support of Paul McCartney being just as meaningful as John Lennon in the songwriting department. I don’t know who I was arguing with, but their claim was that Paul was all fluff and John was about real meaning. How fucking retarded. I believe I've heard such ridiculousness in my waking life (Waking Life - great film), and probably got sucked into it with whomever started up such stupidity, but how odd to dream of such subject matter.

“Let It Be” was not fluff and it ripped off a song that wasn’t either - Procol Harum’s “Salad Days” which is awesome (yeah they had more than “Whiter Shade of Pale”, I can prove it), and Paul clearly agreed. At least one would think since he pinched the keyboard transitions.

“Hey Jude” was no puff piece either, and really, doesn’t it all depend on your definition of what is “meaningful”? Is it so only if you spark a revolution of sorts or can it be one love song that defined the shape of your favorite memory? Depends where ya are in life. On your deathbed you won’t give a fuck about gurus and governments, but the face that once looked at you with the utmost of affection will be the place your mind will want to take its last vacation. The silly love song is the fastest route to these memories, not some thematic, junkie rantings with kickass guitar solos. Those have their places, yeah, but again, it depends where ya are in life (smokey bars after you've just been dumped notwithstanding).

Feeling terrible about something doesn’t make it any more full of meaning than feeling good about it does. Emos everywhere will disagree, but why trouble them with such thoughts when they probably have some rather important self-cutting to do?

* * * * * *

All I Wanted Was A Pepsi

Above: Me (left) and my BEST Bestie at a wedding last week on St. Pete Beach.


“She's my best friend, certainly not the average girl
She's my best friend, understands me when I'm fallin down, down, down
Oh it hurts to be that way, down, down, down
Oh it hurts to know that that kind of fellah is a newspaper Joe
Dropped his teeth on the floor, caught his hand in the door
Guess that's the way that things go
If you want to see me, sorry but I'm not around
If you want to be me, turn around I'm by the window where the light is”
She’s My Best Friend - The Velvet Underground

Damn I love the Velvet Underground! I so love my Bestie too.

We were texting most of Friday, as we do (you can hear her texting me on my “harp” video heh), and I pressed the button to open my cd/dvd thingy on my IMAC. I had forgotten that I turned it a bit earlier, and the tray jutted out and pushed a glass of Pepsi into my lap and onto some music equipment that was at my feet.

I texted her what had happened and she got right back with “Suicidal Tendencies”.

THAT is why I love her!

(For those of you that I don’t love, there is a song called “Institutionalized” by Suicidal Tendencies where this guy is screaming “All I wanted was a Pepsi, and she wouldn’t give it to me!” It’s a staple MUST KNOW if you’ve ever brushed up against the notion of “punk rock” or even slightly considered jumping into a mosh pit. I still fantasize that PepsiCo gets a sense of humor and uses it in an ad one day.)

If I could find the male version of my bestie, I might reconsider my stance on marriage (if they made it contractual and renewable or non so that you have a yearly “out” clause). Seriously though, she digs a dude that is so much like me, it’s almost creepy (even his astrology is the same as mine, but we don‘t look alike other than the fact that we’re both shorties), so it made me start thinking I need to find one like her.

We met because she approached me, which is odd because she is epically shy, but I must say I prefer to be approached and pursued by the penile members of society instead of the other way around. Looks wise, well, people practically will break their own necks to look at her, but I could handle a guy of slightly lesser quality with exceptions, of course. They have to be thin, take care of themselves, and fashionable (but not label conscious) like her though, heheh.

Other things about her that I’d love to find under a male head of hair is her sense of humor - she so knows how to play off of mine, and even though she’s rather quiet, once in a while she has some zingers. She’s not jealous, she’s super affectionate, and she likes to DANCE. Dancing is a deal breaker FO SHO. People that don’t dance but still have fully functioning limbs creep me out and will never be allowed to see me naked (this goes for Republicans as well, shivers).

She is bi-petual and by that I mean that she likes and has both dogs and cats. I think it’s odd to only dig one or the other - why can’t you like both the Beatles and The Stones (Stan and Mickey are not allowed to answer that question!)?

She’s good at what she does professionally. She does hair and I’m serious when I tell you my one friend was starting to look like a sweaty child molester until she changed his look. Now the chicks are a-flockin’.

I was private about my music till months after we were hanging out, and when she heard my stuff, she became my biggest fan and supporter. She’s genuine and earthy, but also shows no shame in having a belching session with me (her rum and cokes give her an advantage, but if I have some pop, I can take burping to a face changing level).

I think I am about ready to find someone and stick with them for a long while. It helps to have the qualities you want clear though doesn’t it? I mean, there are other things I want that I don’t know if my bestie has, like they have to rock in bed, a place where selfishness is not allowed. I have to be able to fall asleep with them too. That’s one of my weirdest flaws is that I can’t sleep with someone else in my bed. Scarily enough, the only guy I’ve ever ACTUALLY fell asleep with was the stalker (yes I need professional help).

My bestie doesn’t rely on me for her happiness, she doesn’t judge me, and she’s honest. I’m so lucky to even have a friend like her that it almost seems greedy to expect to find the guy model.

She does have a brother, though that somehow feels a little too much like incest.

S.H.A.W.T.A.Y.

Above: Lady GaGa show in Tampa, Florida - taken with my camera by a tall person.



“They won't see us waving from such great
Heights, 'come down now,' they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
'come down now,' but we'll stay…” Such Great Heights - Postal Service


As a rule, I won’t pay to go to concerts where the performer finds back up dancers to be a necessity. I still haven’t violated that rule, but I did attend Lady GaGa’s gig last night. Yes, she had her “crew”, but I didn’t pay, so all is still right in my world of music snobbery.

HAD I paid, I would’ve been soooooooooo pissed because I couldn’t see a damn thing. Were I wheelchair bound, I would be accommodated in places that there was a view, but since I’m just a bit shy of 5’3, my eye line was armpits and elbows (poke her face?). Especially at a GaGa show where the fans emulate her wears in the giant tranny shoe department.

After ½ hour of tippytoe trying, my brain bore the whim to start the “S.H.A.W.T.A.Y. Coalition”.

Sorted
Height
Acclimation
Warranting
Two
Aisles
Yo

At “general admission” seating, I think the floor should be divided into halves; the left side sectioned by heights and the right can be how things are now - anything goes, first come, first serve.

Section one on the left will be for 5’4 and under, Section 2 for 5’8 and under, and backed by Section 3 for 5’11 and under. 5’4 and unders will be permitted in all sections since they don’t obstruct the view, and Section 2’s can go in 3, but not 1. Yeah security will have its hands full, but fuck it! My shorty cash is just as good as height blessed money; I should be allowed at least a glance of what I pay for no?

I think the reason why there were so many tall humans at the show is because Shawtays have just given up altogether and quit buying tickets. The general admission concert has evolved into a heightist event that even the promoters couldn’t witness (their short asses were behind me).

When my tall bestie tried to lift me for a peek, security was on us like I had just tried to behead someone. Of course, they were nowhere to be seen when a gigantic, fucking beast unnecessarily crashed into me, bending back my pinky fingernail, which exploded my drink upon my velvet and the pissy queen next to me.

Oh yeah, I lost my shit on him, but he just stood there, blank. He was bartending later at the after party, but I still had fun in between moments of fantasizing about his grizzly death, and giving him the stink eye. I don’t love easily, but hate and I get pretty cozy at the smallest of prompting.

I hope fire ants colonize his penis with a fervor never before seen by human eyes.

I hope his bones turn against him and jump out through his skin only to beat his remaining flesh into an unrecognizable goo.

I really should’ve just sold my ticket for $200 and attended the after festivities - it was an option. At any rate, if you are 6 ft and over, GaGa puts on a good show - I’ve heard.