Necrotic Humliation

“You should know time's tide will smother you
And I will too
When you laugh about people who feel so very lonely
Their only desire is to die
Well, I'm afraid it doesn't make me smile
I wish I could laugh
But that joke isn't funny anymore” That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore – The Smiths.

I was enjoying a French dining experience with one of my favorite gays when he told me his month old relationship had gone to a yucky place. He thought they were doing well and suddenly the other guy just backed off and wouldn’t talk to him anymore. He asked what was going on and was met with “It’s complicated”.

“Next!” I shouted, waving my hand brutally to eschew the imagined fuckface that was hurting my adorably, dimpled sweetness of a friend. He said he tried to have a conversation for clarity, but ambivalent excuses were all that came up, if anything at all. He couldn’t explain how he felt.

“Humiliated?” I asked whilst cramming a crepe in my mouth, and he nodded with sad appreciation.

Ah “humiliation”; the unwittingly used tool of evil by the stultifying, spineless users of the world. They don’t have the foresight or brains to know they're doing it, but they're all cowards and that's why. They can’t take the confrontation of honesty for fear they may hear something they don’t like, but instead string someone along in avoidance of the uncomfortable, messy ten minutes it could take to give someone closure.

Humiliation is what breeds school and office shootings, but I’m talking on a more foundational level in which someone thinks all is ok and it’s not and they can’t get over the embarrassment of “not seeing” or whatever.

When you walk in on your live-in girlfriend and find her blowing someone on YOUR bed. How did you not know? How could you have been so wrong about someone and is that why she never blows you now? The obvious disappointment hurts yes, but the humiliation is often harder to handle.

When your man says “We need a break, it’s going too fast” and you back off never to hear from him again, that’s him avoiding having to face you and be honest. So now if you ever run into him, you’re the one embarrassed and humiliated.

I’ve had it happen once where someone that wanted to see and chat with me a lot just stopped, and when I asked him about it, he acted like nothing was wrong. Humiliating. You’re just a “use” for later, if necessary, if they can’t find someone better, or they just hope you’ll go away and they don’t have to be the one that was the “baddy”.

I broke up with some guys last year, and I was honest and up front on everything. Not one of them said anything horrible to me. They were disappointed, sure, but not humiliated, deceived, or misled. I was dead honest the second I felt that things weren’t going well and told them. Not one of them is home all fucked up asking themselves where they went wrong, or what they did to ruin things. I was very clear on what was and wasn’t working for me and what I need and wasn’t getting without being insulting or mean.

How hard is that? If you’re not over your EX and didn’t realize it till you were with someone else, SAY THAT. If you really like multiple relationships at once, SAY THAT. If you only like what you can’t have, SAY THAT (I have when it applied and I’m still alive).

If you don’t want to say “the sex sucks” (believe me, this last year has been adequate at best for me in this arena), then you say “I don’t think we have the chemistry I thought we would”. If you have tried to school them and they don’t get it or don’t want to learn to get it, tell them. If you were only interested in sex, tell them. If you don’t like their politics or religious attitudes and foresee issues there, TELL THEM!!

It’s not complicated, you feckless, insipid fucktards! It’s really simple. You don’t have the courage to ask for what you want so someone else suffers. Stupid shits like you are why therapists charge $120 an hour and STILL have an overflow of clientele. Your cowardice victimizes and humiliates. You are a good chunk of what pushes people to suicide and other lesser forms of self-abuse.

Your wish washy bullshit and lack of being in touch with who you are has a ripple effect. Your lame, hazy excuses are telling the other party that they are not worth the truth and they DON’T MATTER.

Is that worth it? Is that what you really want to say to someone “hey you aren’t worth telling truth to, you simply don’t matter”? Saying it like that will set someone off ay? But when you don’t tell the truth THAT is what you’re saying.

I would like to say everyone is worth the truth, but there are dangerous circumstances where lives depend on lies for safety from scary people and for survival, but I’m not talking about that. (Though one does wonder, had some kind honesty been in play, would these psychos have ended up that way to begin with?) People that are already lying to you and fucking you over aren't worth the truth either.

My poor little gay is hot, talented, and loveable and worth the truth. He matters and I kind of want to stab the person that made him feel otherwise.

Lying, vagueness, excuses, and lip service are so 2009. Truth, directness, culpability, and compassion are the '10s. Happy and healthy to you all in this new decade. Well, not you all, some of you can fuck off =)

NY SHE

"A thousand butterflies from your lips to mine"
Kiss of Life - Friendly Fires

Three weeks ago I was out with a friend discussing bands we wish we could see live. I was vehement that Friendly Fires should tour with The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and come to Florida.

Three days later I got an invite to a VIP party for designer Fred Perry at which Friendly Fires were doing a private show in NYC.

I had a week to get a flight and get there. No one else could drop everything to
go with me, even though I had comped plane tickets as well. I have friends and family
in NYC, I used to live there, but no one could go! Solo SHE.

The first person I saw upon entering was the actor Judah Friedlander. That and the open bar indicated to me that this would be at the very least, interesting.

I met loads of cool people including this awesome chick who is a mortician by day and a burlesque dancer by night. Oh yeah, she'll have a book out at some point. I had front and center for a f'excellent performance and got to meet the FF singer after. His face redefines male beauty and he was super nice, yet I wasn't attracted to him (as if he gives a fuck). Weird.


(click to enlarge)

Me w FF in the background. That dude with the camo undies behind me had BAD B.O.! Cab driver worthy.

I had a blast but couldn't get too trashed as that was the early part of the evening. I had to head to Soho for drinks with someone else after, and then I met these gorgeous girls that were DJ's from South America so I took them to a club where a friend of mine spins - more free drinks, yeesh. I became a vodka filter.



Next night I hung out with rock legend Lenny Kaye (google him you clueless fucks) and my friend Tom who is a legend himself. Somewhere there is footage of me playing bass with those two and Jeff Buckley at a Thanksgiving party in Brooklyn when I was just a young SHE. I'm not allowed to have it for reasons unknown =(


Lenny and I.

Oh yeah, I nearly forgot...I saw the space shuttle launch from my plane:

Mickey Slipped

“Blurred vision and dirty thoughts
Feel (out of place), very distraught
Feel something coming on”
Somebody Put Something In My Drink – The Ramones


The Tuesday before Halloween, my favorite holiday, I attended a masquerade martini party that was “invite only”, but there were people I didn’t know there; people with masks on.

I made my mask (above) deciding to go with a sort of white peacock with pronounced cleavage look (or mispronounced if that’s not your thing – you’d be surprised eh em).

My bestie and I stuck together on the two for one martinis, splitting as we went. Even though she can outdrink me 4 to 1, she was trying to slow her roll a bit. We both are conscious about not becoming “unconscious” drinkers.

Bestie placed a Black Dahlia in front of my feathered face and said we were sharing this LAST one, then we engaged in conversations with others.

Very soon after, I felt odd. I remember chatting with this one girl about bad kissers (see previous post) and then this guy kept kissing up on me that I didn’t know. I pushed him away and he said something to the effect of “Oh, you’re not ready yet”.

At the time, nothing made sense. I recall my friend who likes to fight getting into that guy’s face, telling him to back off of me. He plays for one of these Tampa sports franchises, so his intimidating build coupled with about 7 martinis and flaring, overconfident nostrils frightened the smoochy guy into exiting.

Everyone thought Bestie and I were just really wasted, and I was so out of it, I didn’t know what to think. That’s when the “barfs” hit. Bestie and I were in parallel stalls ralphing in tandem. Harmonized puking - the stomach song that has no words, just notes that distort your mouth and expel forcefully into the plumbing (with proper aim).

We never get sick from drink. I drank twice the amount at the same party the month before and was fine. Bestie is a pro, this upchucking was not her M.O. EVER, and I haven’t yakked from a drink since the last century.

We had been drugged. Luckily, it was the drink we shared so we had split the “Mickey”, if you will, and weren’t as bad off as we could’ve been, though we didn’t piece it together till the next day.

I’ve heard the horror stories from girls (and some guys too), but I had thought I was in a safe place. In many respects I was, as nothing happened, or did it?

Who knows what that shit did to my liver or something squishy and vital to my existence? I can still remember the Pythagorean Theorem today, but what if I can’t tomorrow? (As if knowing it at all changes anything.)

Scary when you think about what COULD happen. Makes me want to have a drink, but not a martini fo sho.

Cause and Affection

“I go crazy wondering what there is to really see
Did the night just take up your time, cause it means more to me
Sometimes I forget what I'm doing, I don't forget what I want,what I want
Regret what I've done, regret you? I couldn't go on” Kiss On My List – Hall & Oates

This year I met someone cool. I could be myself completely with him and he entertained ME just as much as I captivated him. He was so awesome that when I was with him, it made me forget. Yep, forget. I forgot about the mean people, the collateral damage done to me, the romantic injuries culminated over the last few years.

All was peachy until he kissed me. It was almost like he had a vendetta against this sensual act. It was soul-less and harsh; something akin to a disdainful, drive-by, flesh stab. I’ve had more passion from the gay dudes I’ve made out with. This guy wasn’t gay, at least his hands were proclaiming the opposite as they invaded me with vigor, but he wasn’t a kisser.

I asked what the deal was and he just looked puzzled. He had never thought about it, but upon reflection, he didn’t like to kiss anyone at all. It just wasn’t his thing.

I became uncomfortably numb. Here was a discovery I never expected to make. I can’t fathom anything sexual without kissing. It’s the gateway, the decision maker if you will, for most women as to whether NAKED happens later or not.

Not. Probably a good thing too as this would’ve had to be a long distance thing, and had he been 100% awesome, I’d be pining away until the next time we saw each other. I’m a kisser. Nothing provides more delight to me than a sweet, smooth, lip massage. =(

I met someone else that was ok - very cute, but too young. I wish I could be crazy about the ones that are crazy about me, dang. Against my better judgment, we hung out for a while, but he made me remember.

Yep, all the shit came flooding back to make rounds in my brain. The longings for what I can’t have (and shouldn’t want anyways), that trapped feeling of someone who likes you too much too fast, and the familiar need to bolt before I hurt them. I love the affection, and it’s been since like February that I’ve had it so genuine but it’s not right, or right enough it seems.

He can’t make me forget, and that’s what I want.

Nuh-Stah-See-Ya's Song

“I can already hear your tune
Calling me across the room
When the world and his wife
Are on my back again
Not enough pleasure
Too much pain” Swamp Thing – The Chameleons UK

If you have a peek at my Blogger profile it has a teeny, tiny listy of bands that I mentally ingest. The above mentioned band is VERY there, so it was with great honor to accept an invite to play a set of Chameleon’s tunes last Wednesday, with the founder/singer/bass player of the band, Mark Burgess.

I had my friend capture some of the event on video, but the sound on those are total shit so I’ve only included a small clip of “Swamp Thing” until I receive a copy of the “professional” dvd. It also sucks in that he only taped the half of the stage that I’m on, um duh! Of course I want to be somewhat visible, but I want everyone in it! I'm in the dark far right in the clip under that EXIT sign - Yeesh.

We had two rehearsals and only one with Mark. I’m not a keyboardist in general (played on six songs though yeay), so we basically pulled this out of our asses, but it went ok. I wasn’t in charge of the gig itself so I won’t comment on booking etc (grrrrr), but it was awesome not only to play those songs with the writer, but also the other dudes that performed as well.

The bass player, Brent, I had never met (he was on SubPop – Nirvana’s first label - with Beachwood Sparks) but we played a festival together with Sebadoh ages ago. He freaked me out a little because he looks and talks so much like Stalker Hater, it’s Discovery Channel worthy; my friends couldn’t stop laughing at the freaky similarity.



Above: Brent, Me, and Paul.

Musicians from Boston, D.C., Miami, and Tallahassee flew and drove to Tampa to play with Mark. Those that know the Chameleons LOVE them. They are obscure and basically an 80’s band, but they left heavy prints on any ear they landed on. Bands today that attribute their sound to Mark’s work are The Killers, Interpol, The Editors, and White Lies. In Tampa, the press could care less, but in L.A. (a real place) the show had all kinds of tongues wagging last night (http://blogs.laweekly.com/westcoastsound/synthful/mark-burgess-live/). There is rumor of me playing in a NYC show; if that happens, I'll mention beforehand =)

I yakked so much that I lost my voice, plus I got a cold. Most of the conversations were shop talk like “Hey you remember that narcoleptic guy that used to manage so & so before they hit it?” or “You know them too? I toured with them in blah blah”. Stuff civilians can’t relate to or you sound like a big old name dropper. Most of us in round about ways know the same people but at different times in our lives, it was interesting to say the least.

Doubly bizarre is now being friends with this man who was a mentor to me. It’s rare you get to meet someone from a different time that changed your life, let alone bond with them. I learned to sing and play bass at the same time because of Mark, and he also got me through one of the darkest hours of my teen years without knowing it.

I brought my 1966 Hofner Bass to rehearsal and he picked it up and played “P.S. Goodbye” on it:



I can’t tell you what that song means to me without tears forming a protest line down my cheeks, so I’ll skip it.

We started our set with “Nostalgia” at my behest, as it’s the only song I’ve ever heard that sounds sort of like my real name, and Mark said “Nuh Stah See Ya’s song”. We closed with a Door’s like version of “Second Skin” where he dedicated “this melody” to the backing members, which was cool.


Above: Mark, Omar, and me with creepy green earplugs that kept falling out.

When I dropped off Mark and his awesome girlfriend Lydia, after a wild Thursday evening of drinking and debauchery, he told me that not only was I the first female Chameleon, I was the ONLY one he ever shared the stage with.

(Sound of a feather being gently placed in my cap.)



Above: Mark, me and my cleavage yikes!

Kitler

"You say goodbye and I say hello
Hello, hello
I don't know why you say goodbye
I say hello" Hello Goodbye - The Beatles


I was on the dance floor when some belligerent troll was being escorted out of the club in a headlock, arms flailing about. A gentle hand guided me out of the path, and this sweet guy put himself between me and the mess that was provided by Jagermeister as it gyrated by.

"I like the whole gentleman thing you just did there," I said.

"I like your face,"he replied.

(Ding Ding Ding) My brain sorted through the rolodex of compliments, and that is one I actually have not received. Eyes, smile, lips, eyebrows even, but never had anyone said they liked my face. At least not in a while.

We yakked for two hours as we danced. He's fun, interesting, a photographer, 25 (the teetering shoe is about to drop), and from Denver.

"I'm only here for a week." (Buzzer sound)

Thanks for playing, we have some nice parting gifts for you - please exit to your left.

********************************************

I told a drunken group of besties that I had read a blog by this Irish chick about ingrown boob hairs (One of Those Bad Boys), and most of them were amazed that hairs even grew in these remote areas.

I declared that if I can hatch some, I'm growing a Hitler type moustache under each nipple. Then I wondered aloud if the "soul patch" was actually just a relocated Hitler moustache? Like it fell below the lip and got a new name.

At that point, I was informed about this web site that only features cats that resemble Hitler - "Kitlers". http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com/cgi-bin/seigmiaow.pl