in remembrance of the place i call home

new orleans has always been home to me. always. when i moved there for college at 18, sight unseen, it was like breathing for the first time. there are no words to explain how i felt about the city, except to say, i finally found where i knew i belonged.

my father was military and moved alot; sometimes we went with him, but, more often we didnt. my family settled in virginia when i was about 8 years old, and stayed there for the next 10 years. at the time, i loved high school, but it wasnt until i went to college that i realized i had never found what i was looking for, namely, because i didnt realize how desperately i was searching. i was like most teenagers, i imagine: awkward and insecure but full of bravado and naive assumptions about the world and my place in it. college, but more importantly, new orleans, was where i had my limits tested; my assumptions (about myself and others) challenged; and where i finally became comfortable enough in my own skin to grow into the person i have become. i sincerely believe that had i gone anywhere else (namely UVA where my mother desperately wanted me to go so i would be close to home), i would not be the same person i am today. in fact, there is no question in my mind, that new orleans changed me in ways both subtle and dynamic that forever changed the path i was on -- and, i couldn’t be happier about it.

new orleans has a seduction that's all its own and has nothing to do with the "n'awlins" that the tourism board pitches to you, or the macabre image of ghosts and vampires believed to haunt the french quarter. new orleans’ appeal is in its ability to make a life for itself in the face of unbelievable racism, poverty, disease, and destitution. ive lived in cities similar to new orleans: places built around a service and tourism economy with a population split between the very wealthy, and the very poor where their own school system is so ill-equipped and inadequate that everyone (no matter how poor) sends their children to private schools while the city place host to an elite, private university. the difference is, new orleans doesn’t succumb; the people who live there breathe new life into the city each day cultivating an atmosphere of beauty, music and art, and a feeling of community and interdependence. the city is not about perseverance, its about living life to its loudest, fullest extreme and laughing in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

immediately after katrina, i read a brilliant article in the washington post by Ken Ringle called “Star-Crossed Times For the Crescent City” which captured exactly how i felt, and still feel, about the place i call home:

"Climate, Catholicism and voodoo shaped the city, along with Latin fatalism, languorous hedonism and an atmosphere of poignant and elegant decay. It's no accident that Anne Rice lived there to pen her vampire tales.

And yet, inseparable though they may be, New Orleans has always been more about the dance than about the death. Somewhere in the shade of its majestic live oaks and the shadows of its lacework balconies, among the saxophone riffs in its echoing alleys and the soft magenta glow of its crape myrtles at twilight, the flickering ghosts that haunt New Orleans whisper huskily of sweaty, sensual love and the promise of enduring memory. Even the street names whisper promises: Desire, Amour, Abundance; Pleasure, Treasure and Joy.

For those of us lucky enough to have come of age in New Orleans -- even more than for the tourist who falls for her instantly -- the decadent majesty of the city is like a forbidden love. You want desperately to explain the depths of your enchantment, but you know in your heart that others will acknowledge it merely as an easy infatuation or a passing fling. You know they will never awaken at night drunk on the coffee-and-banana fragrance of her docks or the beery sweat of her pre-dawn streets or the humid hum of her streetcar summers. How could they ever understand the depth of your passion?

How could they understand your love for a city in which life itself is an art form and the poorest, least privileged inhabitant a knowledgeable artist?"

many of the things that make new orleans "new orleans" are well known and often cited: pralines, kate chopin, louis armstrong, chicory coffee, beignets, jazz festival, city park, anne rice, a street car named desire, ignatius j. reilly,... i would like to add a few of my own to this famous list:

1). miss grace and the other women of bruff cafeteria who looked after us as if we were baby birds in their care. i will never forget hearing "omelet!" ring out across the cafeteria and everyone giving a blank stare because no one had any idea whose "omelet!" it was.

2). the feeling i got the first time i bought a piece of mignon faget jewelry; a staple of southern women who call themselves new orleanians.

3). studying at the rue de la course on magazine street and leaving smelling like i'd spent the night in a bar.

4). taking my dad to camilla grill and eating pecan waffles and drinking chocolate freezes.

5). having my first sno-ball from plum street out of a take-away chinese container and thinking i was the first to discover this delicious treat. and, returning to plum street for a sno-ball and seeing a sign that read "we open when we want. we close when we want. right now, we closed" and leaving empty handed.

6). a.h., d.l. and i going to jazzfest and befriending our cabbie, lil paul who we immediately put on speed dial. he brought us mcdonalds hot apple pies, and would leave us messages that he was on the “corner of broad street.” d.l. still chats with him occassionally.

7). walking bourbon street with my sister the night of my graduation, drinking gallon sized daiquiris and making fun of tourists. an all-time favorite memory, and an all-time great night.

8). standing in the street outside my dorm freshman year as my mother drove away and crying harder than i have ever cried in my life.

9). going home for jazzfest and sitting at the port of call alone… for about 2 seconds before some drunk revelers asked me to join their party; they bought me dinner and drinks and we laughed like old friends for hours. new orleans is a place where you can go anywhere by yourself, but never be alone. everyone is a friend waiting to be made.

10). meeting the people i still call my best friends who changed my life and helped me find my way. a friend introduced me once by saying we’d grown up together, and the person remarked how nice it was that we had remained friends for so long. we’d only known each other two years, but the statement wouldn’t have been any more true had we known each other our whole lives.

public service announcement

someone, and im not going to name any names here, slept through her alarm this morning and woke up at 9:36 a.m. so if you see her and she is looking unwashed, has no makeup on, and is wearing her footsie jammies in the office, dont stand downwind from her, because its a safe bet she didnt shower this morning.

god bless the t.s.a.!

traveling from seattle to d.c., i was booked on the red eye flight leaving at 11:45 p.m. i had carefully packed my checked luggage to make sure that anything liquid or of a "cream-like" substance was securely packed away, and was prepared to zip through security when they discovered a stow away mascara in my carry-on. t.s.a. of course confiscated it, then immediately returned it to me, saying i could either mail to to myself for $7 or i could throw it away. since this is not just any mascara - it was my channel splurge that makes me look like im wearing fake eyelashes, but NOT like im a drag queen (a difficult feat) - im willing to spend $7 dollars to return it safely to me.

however, lets discuss a few things:

1) the method for return and payment is a clear plastic bag that you seal your contraband in, then include a signed sheet of paper with your credit information and address. does anyone else think this is sketchy? im assuming they arent going to mail your stuff in the plastic bag (although really, who knows) and instead some high school drop out with a prison tattoo is going to be handling and processing your stuff, and now has access to your credit information, a sample signature to practice forging your name, and your address. dont you feel safe? what they dont mention is that you probably just added yourself to some airline blacklist and will be taken out of line for searching every time you fly anywhere. and if, god forbid, your name is something other than stephanie, sara, john or steve, like say abdul, has too many vowels or (worst case scenario here) an apostrophe in the middle of your name, you may as well just turn yourself in now, cause you will probably never fly unmolested again.

2) am i to understand that you are taking away my mascara because you think it could be some sort of explosive, then are handing it back to me with the option of mailing it to myself? does that sound sane to anyone else? honestly, i would have felt more comfortable if you had taken it from me, and men in some bio-hazard suits had come and disposed of it. i would have been far more annoyed, but at least that makes sense. you’re telling me i cant have mascara, water, contact solution, liquid makeup, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, perfume or virtually any other toiletry because they may be a bomb, but you feel safe handing said "explosive" back to me to exit the security area unsupervised, and trust me to mail it back to myself. what is to stop me from... i dunno... stashing the mascara in my panties and walking back through the x-ray machine? nothing? hmmm. interesting.

seattle addendum

i got bitten on my right boob by a spider while i was sleeping. now one side is noticably, and freakishly larger. secretly, im hoping my tit falls off and i have to have reconstructive surgery (on both, natch, so they're even.)

things to do in seattle when your hungover

sorry about the lack of updates; i was traveling the oregon trail last week. my good friend, a.y. (now a.b.), from tulane was getting married so i flew out to portland for the wedding. since she was otherwise occupied with her honeymoon and what not, i couldnt extend it into a social visit, so instead i drove up to seattle with a.h. for some quality time. a.h. is a frequent guest star on this blog and a great friend from grad school who also moved out to d.c. before deserting me in the great mass exodus of 2005.

i arrived in portland last friday. my friend decided to throw a little pre-wedding girls night at her place for about 10 of us, which was great, because i knew no one at this wedding save the bride and groom. i actually arrived at the party before the bride, but, strangely, it wasnt awkward at all! her friends were amazing, welcoming, down-to-earth girls, and we had a great time. although there was a last minute locale change. turns out my friends house is under renovation and they have no shower, running water, or toilets. you have to respect a woman who rips out her own shower two weeks prior to her wedding, and decides to give herself spit baths in the kitchen before going to work. this is why i love you, a.y.!

the wedding was held in a stunning catholic cathedral. personally, churches and i are about as familiar with each other as i am with going to bed on a friday night sober and at a reasonable hour, which is to say, not at all. i was 98% certain i was going to be smote, and 2% nervous i would vomit. however, the service was lovely, and the bride was stunning. the reception was held in their backyard and was a yummy cuban fest punctuated with very drinkable sangria. unfortunately, the weather in portland was in the 90's and there was no tent or shade so several people got very cooked. among my favorite moments was a table of 10 lifting their table and seeking out a cooler spot, and then making hats out of their napkins. the reception was exactly them; laid back and fun with polaroid pictures and lots of family. a.y. is korean, and part of the reception included a traditional bowing ceremony (which im sure has a name, but im too white to know what it is), and left me with the fantastic visual of seeing her 6'2 red-headed irish husband in a hot pink and navy blue traditional korean outfit bending over and showing the world his calvin kleins.

for the record, this is the only wedding ive ever been sober at the end of. it was an unfamiliar feeling, and i didnt really know how to react. im still processing it, by the way.

the next day, a.h. met me in portland (she had a wild night of her own complete with "bush-diving" and falling UP some stairs...), and we drove to seattle, stopping frequently for junk food and pee stops.

seattle was awesome - although in all fairness, i could be in newark, n.j. for five days with no work and nothing to do, and think it was awesome. a.h. had to work so i was left to my own devices during the day, which usually meant: sleeping in. drinking a lot of coffee. walking around shopping for things i dont need and could buy anywhere (books, c.d.s and makeup), and drinking an indefensible amount of wine. day two, i realized i was taking the "10 things i hate about you" tour of seattle: i saw the troll under the bridge (from the scene immediately prior to going through kat’s room and finding the infamous "black panties"), gas works park (sight of the paintball scene AND the paddle boating), and the bookstore where kat throws a book at patrick and asserts that he no "effect whatsoever on my panties." i also saw other, non-ttihay, sites such as pioneer square, pike place market, the nordstroms (its historical, damnit!), the space needle, fremont, the underground, and took a ferry to bainbridge island, then promptly returned when i realized there was nothing to do there and i hate small, quaint towns.

at night, a.h. and i would hit the town with her friends; we saw the decembrists at zoo tunes, ate at a pizza joint that used to be a brothel, and had the greatest cupcake in the history of the world. seriously, im going to offend every person in d.c. by proclaiming this cupcake from cupcake royale to be superior to anything at cakelove. i know; i hate myself too. AND they have shirts that say "rock out with your cupcake out," and "legalize frostitution," and my personal favorite "does a booty good."

my favorite night, however, will live in infamy - it started out innocently enough with dollar drinks, which for the record, will usually end with someone in jail, someone passed out half-naked in her own vomit, and someone else with a camera documenting it all. of course, a.h. and i outlast the crowd and before we know it, there were only two. a.h. met two girls in the bathroom, who, frankly, greg and i had been mockingly calling sorostitutes and joking about their itty, bitty, teeny, tiny vests. turns out, these girls are the two coolest people on earth. smart, funny, sweet, and more confident that any 19 year old has a right to be. seriously, we partied with 19 year olds. its was mildly lecherous, but fun all the same. they (unlike the two uber blondes pretending to make out and attempting to pole dance) had an audience of admirers, one of whom kept rubbing his boy part on my thigh, and later bought me a drink... then asked for a dollar to pay for it. for reals people. i cannot make this shit up. at the end of the night as we were leaving, he let me know his car could take us all to a.h.'s house, as if we wanted him to know where she lives, or that we would have gotten in a car (hah! originially this said bar - where is my mind?) with that guy.

instead, we set out by foot. only we didnt make it very far before we realized we were starving and apparently there was no place close by with pizza. so we did the only logical thing: we went dumpster diving in the dumpster behind essential bakery, and pulled out a loaf of sourdough. according to a.h., it was bread on bread, so there was no need to worry about it being dirty. when i attempted to protest, she told me if it was good enough for homeless people, it was good enough for us. since i didnt have a comeback for that, i ate the bread and ive lived to tell the tale. the great part was that at 2 a.m. they were up making bread and watching us dig through their dumpster, but no one said a word. i had hoped a.h. would find a large coffee with one sugar and some skim milk, but, no such luck.

back at her place, we sat around and listened to a mix c.d. and sang deliciously, and loudly off key while drinking wine. i was wearing grubby sweatpants with some ass-holes in them, and a.h. took it upon herself to color my bone white ass with a neon blue marker. at the time, we both thought she was being very sneaky, but the next morning, i realized the entire back of my pants was blue. ah, drunken memories. nothing quite like them. my new nickname is boozy pants, and hers is drunky mcdrunkerson, and frankly, we're better for it.

how do you know you're at a birthday party for a gay man?

because the cake slices all look like this:



no self respecting woman would DARE let frosting (chocolate no less!) go to waste like that.

also, you have conversations that go something like this:

me: "this drink is sooOooOoo strong, its burning all the little hairs in my lungs. what the shit are those things called?"
him: "areola."
me: "um. im pretty sure thats not right. that has to do with my boobies."
him: "no way! those are your nipples!"
me: "yeah, but the areola is the circle around the nipple (whips out boob as an illustration)."
him: "i dont think so. i'll google you for it!"
me: "done."

then, naturally, we spent the next hour searching for hidden porn on some poor twenty year olds computer.

i think we all know i was right, but he was close(ish). he was thinking of alveoli. how adorable is that? he is THAT unfamiliar with titties.

and the little hairs are called cilia.

he better train me shirtless

so i joined the gym almost a month ago, and when i did i signed up for three sessions with a personal trainer, who i still havent had my first session with. and, while he is indeed cute as a button that still rawks the faux-hawk, im seriously beginning to doubt his time maintenance skills. actually, i think he is intimidated by my hawtness and therefore doesnt want to work with me. two weeks ago i had a conversation with him that went like this:

him: "uhhh, dewd, did i like miss a session today?"
me: "excuse me?!"
him: "um, well, im still at home in bed, and like, i kinda thought we were starting today."
me: "nope. actually not till i get back from vacation in a few weeks. our first session isnt until tuesday, august 29th at 7 a.m."
him: "oh. cool. so, i like, still have time to plan and stuff."
me: "yeah. and stuff."
him: "sorry if i, like, woke you."

this call took place at 8:20 a.m. admittedly, its not entirely unlikely to wake me by calling at 8:20 but he doesnt know me well enough to know that.

so this morning at the gym, i run into my genius trainer. he wants to move our first session from tomorrow to the following week, because his week, is like, totally killer. on the one hand, im fine with this. ive just gotten back from a 7 day vacay and could use some time to get back into gym mode. on the other hand, idiot boy, we made these plans three weeks ago, and it was YOUR suggestion that we meet on tuesday the 29th. i appreciate that things come up, but, arent you supposed to schedule new appointments around existing ones, not the other way around?

i love the smell of napalm in the morning.

so this morning, i get up, take my vitamins, guzzle a half a liter of water, grab a shower, and start getting ready for my day. except that about 40 minutes later, a little "pouff" goes off somewhere in the vicinity of my brain inducing ice-cream-headache-like pains to go shooting from the base of my skull through my nasal cavity and up into my brain! my eyes start watering, my nose is running, and im on my knees gagging. my best guess is that one of the vitamins got stuck in my throat and dissolved there sending the powder inside to go up through my throat. it was a lovely way to start the morning. actually, even now, 2.5 hours later, i can still feel that shit burning its way through my brain. does this shit happen to other people?

im such an ass, i accidentally posted this from work last night...

so, for those of you who dont know me, im about one job away from starring in the "in living color" skit about the jamaicans with 82000 jobs. one of my jobs is working as a "concierge" at a fancy apartment building. the level of stupidity that i have to deal with at that job is ass-tounding. people simultaneously think you are a moron/in possession of all arcane knowledge in the world! among the stupid questions i've had today:

"is metro center open"? what?!? what the shit does that mean? i dont even know how to process that. when i followed up with "the metro is open until 3 a.m. on weekends" the guy looks at me like im the idiot, and says "i know that! but is metro CENTER open?" oh. well. THATS different. i didnt realize you meant metro CENTER. that clears up everything. turns out this genius wants to know if the ticket issuing booth is open on a sunday at 7 p.m. because he needs to get a smart pass. im gonna go out on a limb here and say no, its not. and no, i dont care that that’s inconvenient to you. you know why? cause i dont work there so none of this should be my problem.

"how much is a cab from here to 13th and clifton street?" lets start with "where the holy hell is clifton street?" asshat. for those of you not living in d.c., the cab system here charges by the zone, instead of by the meter, which is our big "fuck you" to gullible tourists. basically, you're never going to be charged the same thing twice regardless of how many times you take a cab from point a to point b. so really, there’s no telling. it depends entirely on how good your blowjob is, and that’s not an answer im privy to.

i even had a corporate review this weekend where i got judged on things like how well i "stand, greet and deliver" and the "curb appeal" of my building. i shit you not, they use phrases like that. i actually lost points because the pillows in my lobby weren't "fluffy" enough prompting me to straight-facedly reply that i didnt know my job entailed "fluffing." frankly, that almost made the whole thing worth it.

however, the cherry on my idiot sundae was a phone call from a person inquiring about apartments, except not really, because he is clearly a secret shopper calling to make sure im doing my job (no, im not paranoid, they actually do this about 10 times a day!):

me: "thank you for calling. my name is ms. nasty. how may i assist you?"
him: "uhhh, yeah. i need, like, a super-cheap two bedroom apartment."
me: "unfortunately, we dont have any apartments currently available..."
him: "(interrupts) you dont have ANY apartments?"
me: "im sorry, but we rented our only vacant apartment this afternoon, which was actually a one bedroom. but when are you interested in moving?"
him: "what do you mean? when am i interested in moving?"
me: "in. what. month. would you need to move?"
him: "i dont know. im flexible."
me: "if you would like to leave your contact information i would be happy to have someone in the leasing office contact you."
him: "(interrupts. AGAIN) why?"
me: "in case something becomes available within your time frame."
him: "what building is this? oh. you're on the east coast, huh. never mind." hangs up.

okay, here is the thing about corporate calls: i appreciate that you want to make sure that im doing my job; i fully understand that. however, it is not realistic to have someone calling who expects to speak to a leasing agent at 9:45pm on a sunday night. and you cannot tell how well i can do my job when you give me a man who cant follow a script and who im guessing cant count to 21 without taking off his shoes and pants. telling me that he needs a "super cheap apartment" is ridiculous; not even a college frat boy who has toasted every brain cell he ever had huffing paint fumes and eating paste would admit that to a leasing agent. especially if they are calling a fancy schmancy building in a sought out neighborhood. admittedly, i dont know what his definition of "super cheap" is because he gave me no guidelines or parameters, but, unless he is brandon davis, im guessing $3500 for a two bedroom/one bath, 1100 sqft apartment isnt "super cheap." i dont even know where to start with that whole "east coast" comment. i can tell between your having no time frame for moving except maybe that its happens sometime between 2006 - 2007, and not knowing what half of the country your supposed to be moving to, that your very serious about this. how is this not a waste of my time? hopefully they judge these calls based on my ability to not laugh directly in the face of the idiot secret shopper because that’s all the interaction that could possibly take place with that moron.

im already bored with this

jesus heidi! you're looking a little "zaftig"... if i didnt know better, i'd think you were a plus size model. back away from the ice cream you fat cow.

attending the emmys as danny partridge's date should guarantee that regardless of how ugly you are, you are still the better looking half of a couple. how exactly did she eff this up? oh, right. by dressing as a harlequin.

the secret to being old and hot, is realizing you are no longer 20.

are you listening joan collins?

apparently not.

is she winking, or does she just have paris hilton eye? you be the judge.

jamba juice would be more believable. or water and laxatives.

just because i take a picture posing next to a treadmill, doesnt mean i worked out.

pop quiz hot shot

if you wake up one morning, catch a glimpse of your ass in the bathroom mirror and find that its neon blue - there are several possible explanations:

1) you fell asleep somewhere very, very cold. like the arctic.
2) you really are smurfette, and the rest of your life will be spent smurfing every other smurf in smurfdom be they father, cousin, uncle or grandfather.
3) your "friend" took a highlighter to your ass while you were lying face down on her living room floor singing along with a mix tape and eating bread you found dumpster diving in the back of a bakery.

draw your own conclusions.

i'll be back from the great northwest with more updates this weekend.

xoxo
van nasty

things i dont need my ipod to do

"The OhMiBod vibrator is a whole new way to enjoy your iPod® or any other music player. Everyone loves music. Everyone loves sex. OhMiBod combines music and pleasure to create the ultimate acsexsory™ to your iPod.

A whole new way to plug 'n play! Simply plug OhMiBod into your iPod® or any music player and it automatically vibrates to the rhythm and intensity of the music. Let your body feel the vibrations as you get down with your favorite tunes. The combination of listening and feeling your music quickly transports you to a place where music, mind and body come together to create an unbeatable sexual experience."

im sorry, do i correctly understand that this is an ipod vibrator?!?

things i cannot believe exist

but found on the internet while avoiding actual work:

5. the american restroom association
scope of interest:
- restroom design and technology,
- restroom availability and accessibility,
- pertinent legislation and regulations, and
- documenting the problems faced by people who hesitate to travel or who avoid activities that put them out of range of proper toilet facilities.

goals:
- generate public relations campaigns that result in positive coverage by the press
- address regulatory and legislative weakness
- communicate with other similar associations around the world
- develop suggestions, brochures and suggested designs

4. museum of menstation and women's health
would you stop menstrating if you could? "I enjoy menstruating. I think the odor is pleasant. It's comforting, somehow. And when the blood soaks up the pad it's quite warm and cozy down there. "

menstral cups arent messy! "I've used my DivaCup (like the Keeper, only made of silicone instead of natural latex) for several cycles, and have had to empty it at work before. I don't have a social hang-up about washing it in the sink, but usually don't if someone else is in the bathroom as it might bother them and there's no point in causing a scene over it; even so, if I can't wash it out I just wipe it clean with toilet tissue (which is, oddly, usually located right in the toilet stall) and reinsert it, then wash the cup the next time it's convenient to do so."

who the hell are these women? im sorry, but you use a menstral cup, and wash it out in a public restroom at your office? does the american restroom association know about you, because im fairly certain this isnt sanitary.

3. ebaby
"It's the world's first, biggest and best person-to-person baby trading community. DiscountBabies is your place to find the baby you want, to sell the babies you have and to make a few enemies while you're at it!

Think of DiscountBabies as a giant dirty ally with tons of men in leather trench-coats selling babies, right at your fingertips. Looking for a slave-worker? Or a present for your dog?"

im thinking of buying j.b. and i one of those "babies who sew" so it can construct our costumes for rakkasah. maybe one with some kathie lee experience.

2. federal drug administration alumni association
Founded in 2001, the Food and Drug Administration Alumni Association, Inc. (FDAAA) is a non-profit, non-lobbying organization dedicated to serving those who have supported the consumer protection mission of the U.S. FDA.

The Association offers a variety of educational and service-oriented activities designed to broadly appeal to the diverse backgrounds and interests of Association members. In doing so, the FDAAA strives to meet several goals:

- Enable former colleagues to stay current on major scientific and regulatory issues facing FDA.
- Consult with foreign governments on the establishment and operation of national regulatory programs.

i dont know why i find this so odd, i just do. i cannot for the life of me understand the demand that led to the creation of this organization.

1. north american man/boy love association
"our goal is to end the oppression of men and boys who have freely chosen, mutually consensual relationships...NAMBLA is strongly opposed to age-of-consent laws and all other restrictions which deny men and boys the full enjoyment of their bodies and control over their own lives."

good luck with that. and no, im not providing a link to NAMBLA. google that yourself, sicko. m.j. im sure you already have it pagemarked.

honorary mention (who doesnt make the list because no one has proved she exists): suri cruise

snakes on your phone

this is how people with too much time on their hands harass their friends and loved ones.

i always did have a thing for flik

when i decided to start a blog, i hadnt given any thought at all to what i would name it. since i live in van ness, and i tend to be a bit nasty (in the rude sense of the word), i thought van nasty would be the perfect - or at least a decent - name. turns out, it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. my apartment is currently infested with ants (the itty bitty teeny tiny sugar seeking kind), and its very, very nasty.

ive watched enough pixar movies to feel guilty about smooshing them, and since they're in my kitchen, i dont feel comfortable spraying insect repellent.* i thought i had discovered the source the other day when i was making a peanut butter and honey sandwich and (thankfully!) looked down before taking a bite (if you're eating, i suggest you stop here, and move to the next posting), and saw what looked like hundreds of ant carcasses on my pb&h. the cap on the honeybear was partially broken, and the ants had foolishly been attracted to the delicious amber colored honey where they died by the thousands like animals in tar pits. i spoke a few words, knighted the honeybear for his dutiful service and subsequent death in the line of duty, and thought that was the end of it.

and for a while it was. but then, i went to get a bag of popcorn, and saw a new cluster living in popsecret homestyle box. damn you! damn you to hell!!! why must you ruin all my guilty pleasures?!?

i threw out the box, eulogized the popsecret box for giving its life so that the rest of the van nasty kingdom may live a clean and healthy life, and called it a day.

except they're still there!

ive finally decided to just give them the kitchen. im trying to loose weight anyway. from now on its restaurants and ordering out only. i saw them installing a throne for their queen on my way out and i think i saw a blueprint of my bathroom... maybe i should just sign my lease over now.

* in college i had two friends who rented a house at the beach for the summer. for three months, friend number 1 is complaining of feeling sick and nothing she did made her feel better. the week they were set to move, friend number 1 witnesses friend number 2 spraying bugspray in the kitchen to kill an ant. all over the freshly clean dishes in the dish rack. then walks away leaving the dishes as they were. turns out, when confronted, friend number 2 confessed she'd been doing this all summer and they'd slowly been poisoning themselves with bugspray. its all very flowers in the attic, but without the incest.

the gospel of sin

dear man-on-the-street,

i apologize for not learning you name! normally, i dont accept pamphlets from strangers on the street, but you seemed so adamant and so concerned. secretly, i hoped you were going to tell me it was free scoop day at ben and jerrys, but, that wasnt the case. no, sweet, quiet man in the dockers and the blue button down, you wanted to share with me that im going to hell.

i appreciate that unlike the guys in northeast who dress like militants, you didnt stand with a microphone and proclaim me to be the "white devil" because frankly, that always makes waiting for the bus a little uncomfortable for me, but i cant say that your message was any more reassuring. according to you, not only am i going to burn in hell, but there's not a damn thing i can do about it. thankfully i can take comfort in knowing that "most people who have ever lived will be there." you dont happen to know if meredith pruitt will be there do you? because i totally lent her my lite-brite when we eight and she never returned it. even when i called her and talked to her mom!!! if thats not a hell worthy offense, than frankly i dont know what is.

although, according to your happy ministry, simply being born is crime enough. your pamphlet says, in no uncertain terms, that there is nothing i can do to seek salvation, and that god has already chosen those select few he is going to save. in fact, even seeking salvation is a sin, and being baptized or attending church is only going to incur god's wrath.

i must say, i find you far more convincing than those jews for jesus people who approached me the other day. other than making very clear, that yes!, i will be burning in hell! (which is honestly something i came to terms with years ago), your religion makes no obvious demands of me. i dont need to be baptized, which is great because i have a fear of wearing white garments in a pool of water in front of everyone i known. and, i dont have to go to church, which is awesome because the one time i was forced to go as a child and i found out that church was the equivalent of three episodes of sesame street, i lost my enthusiasm. and, i dont even have to do good deeds. nope. why bother? in the event that i am being saved, god has already chosen, and since god is omniscience, i can assume that he both knew i would be a sinner, and that he was cool with that! but as you pointed out, im most likely going to hell along with the rest of the world so i'll just consider all my sins as frequent flier miles towards an all inclusive trip to hades!

xoxo

van nasty

seperated by a face lift

kristen - i want you to listen to me: you are a very cute girl (not that you can tell in that outfit) but something in your bone structure screams joan rivers to me. im not sure that there is anything you can do about that, i just wanted to make sure you were fully aware of the situation. i suggest you not wear your hair pulled back like that, and that you not dress from the back of joan's wardrobe. i know she told you thats what she wore when she was twenty, but it was a different era then. namely, the victorian era. i half expect you to find the nearest soap box and warn me of the ills of "strong drink" and ask for my vote for prohibition. lets not go that route.

in terms of "bomb threats" this was sort of a let down

yesterday as im coming into the metro station in van nasty, i notice there are an abnormally lot of people waiting for the metro. but, since it arrives moments later with few people on it, i dont think much about it. but i should have. ive ridden the metro long enough not to be fooled by its seemingly timely arrival. after boarding the train and sitting for eight minutes in a closed door holding pattern, i realized that i was trapped, and that i wouldnt be getting to work any time soon. but, since im never in that much of a hurry to get there anyway, i didnt think much of it. at the next stop, a recorded message told me there was a minor delay due to a "police situation" which is a favorite code word of the wmata system (although my favorite is a sick passenger which i always assume means some drunk sorostitute puked up her long island iced tea). eventually, after 25 minutes and only two train stations, the driver got on the p.a. system and said that there were "major delays" -- anytime they will admit to that is a big deal. an hour delay is still "minor" to the metro system -- due to a bomb threat. needless to say, i hopped off the metro right quick.

this was not, however, my first experience with bomb threats. when i was flying to germany to see my dad as a teenager, our flight came in for an approach, but then re-ascended (is that a word) and circled forever. like, i thought we were going to run out of fuel, forever. it was my first international flight, and i was alone, and i didnt really know enough to suspect that something was wrong or to ask any questions. when we landed (after what seemed like hours) i was greeted by large man, with an equally large dog, and an automatic weapon. my father was standing to the side, completely panicked, and was holding a red rose for me. anyone who has ever met my father knows he has the paternal instincts of a goldfish who eats its own young, so i found this even more bizarre than the hours of circling. turns out, there had been some sort of bomb threat in the terminal, and we hadnt been allowed to land until the situation was resolved.

coming up with titles is exhausting

5. i wore my birkenstock sandals to work today so i didnt have to walk from my apartment to the metro in heels - how the hell do hippies do that? by the time i got the three blocks, i had a rather sizable rock collection forming under my feet. by the time i got to work, i had some leaves, sticks and a few birds trying to build a nest in my shoes. heels were actually a welcomed relief!

4. im so thankful the heat has finally broke and i no longer have to wear skirts and worry that my chub rub is going to start a brush fire in my pubes.. i wore slacks and a long sleeved sweater to work today, and am freezing in my cube; its such a welcomed relief.

3. i hate you starbucks and your "free sample" of crack (a.k.a chocolate banana bread) that cost me $2 and distracted me from work all day remembering its sweet chocolatey goodness. capitalist bastards.

2. i woke up this morning at 6 a.m. but still didnt manage to get into work until 10:15. how does that happen? is there some sort of time warp in my kitchen that causes time in my apartment to pass very slowly while it passes very quickly everywhere else?

1. i have to fly out of national next friday. any takers on how long the screening process through security is going to be? do you think i will ever be able to walk through a metal detector with my shoes on again?

confessions - part II. now with pictures!!

ive never thought of myself as the type of girl who likes "cute" things. baby talk makes me want to vomit (even when spoken to a baby), as do: pet names, public displays of affection, and anything by mary englebreit. when people describe someone as "cute", i picture a thirteen year old cheerleader who wears ribbons in her hair and writes like this: OMG! u r sooOOooOo cute! c U L8R! lol!!!11!!

all in all this is not something i aspire to or find particularly charming. however, i have recently discovered a new website, that has made me question my cold as ice ways. and that something is called "cute overload." seriously. thats its name.

also, im apparently obsessed with bunnies. i think you'll see why.

to paraphrase george costanza: "he just dislikes me so much... it's irresistable."

i started my day by locking myself out of my apartment at 6 a.m. i think that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day.

this morning was my first of three (yes, you read that right, three!) sessions with my trainer. i think its completely realistic to expect to be down to a size four by the end of those sessions, dont you?

naturally, my trainer is gorgeous (in a short kind of way - seriously? when did the keebler elves become my type?), and we seemed to have the same feeling about working together: it will be as exciting as eating your weight in chocolate. which is to say, im thrilled. him? not so much. he offered to set me up with someone else no less than eight times; it was like being on an awkward first date where the guy says youre not his type, but he knows this guy in the mail room who lives with him mom and is really into dungeons and dragons who might like you. and he specifically said "i dont have much experience working with people whose primary goal is to loose weight" -- only he didnt say it that articulately. more like spicoli. i half expected him to tell me he was too busy "learning about cuba, and having some food" to train me. although to his credit, he said if i wanted to stick with him, he would be willing to work with me which i think is pretty generous considering ive already paid him!

anyway - today, we mostly talked about my fitness goals, and how i became a fat ass. so, you know, fun light-hearted topics! we didnt begin working out, so when i come back from my vacay in the northwest, i will have three full length sessions to look forward to with a man who tolerates my existence the same way he tolerates his girlfriend storing her tampons in his bathroom: with a barely concealed look of disgust.

on a side note, people react very strangely to a fat girl in gym clothes. mind you, i dont wear spandex, nor do i expose passerbys to my exposed flesh, so, i dont think its the muffin-top effect where there is more of me than there is clothing to contain it. rather, walking to the gym, random early morning exercisers are abnormally friendly, and a woman whose clothing choices indicate that she is either fashion challenged, or a nurse, gave me a big thumbs up. apparently i look so fragile and vulnerable in my hot pink t-shirt, and long black yoga pants that strangers feel the need to be supportive. however, once im in the gym, its a whole other story. other people shy away from me like im sweating out pure crisco.

where?!?

where? where does the neck hair end, and the facial hair begin? where does the hair on his temples end and the eyebrown begin? how long before he becomes this:

hypertrichosis is very rare; i had no idea elliot gould suffered from it!

proving darwin right

is it just me, or is she growing a second vagina under her armpit. i mean, im sure there's a market for that - and who better to fill it than jenna jameson?!?

ew! i just noticed dave's giving us the modified "finger guns"!!!

red, red wine

so last night started with the 97 minute conference call from hell during which i muttered - directly into the phone - "oh shit. oh shit. oh shit. oh shit." no less than ten times.

thankfully, i had plans to meet my awesome friend j.h. and her boyfriend for dinner/happy hour where we drank not one, but two half priced bottles of wine. she and i met when we were randomly assigned to bunk together for a week while we volunteered on a campaign in florida. i've never done well living like goldfish in confined spaces, and sharing beds with complete strangers, but i must admit, i won the lottery that week. the three girls i shared an 8x10 with are amazing, intelligent, fun, thoughtful women, who i continue to see on a somewhat regular basis. or as regular as it can be when one of you has been deported to kabul, and the other is harder to track down than jimmy hoffa. it was great to catch up with j.h. and a.r.; her boyfriend told me a very amusing about being in chicago at a cubs game and hearing a woman behind him yelling "bring it, bitches!" and thinking to himself -- i know that person!! apparently, in his mind, my catch phrases involve liberal use of the word bitch. its nice to know you've made an impression.

we met in clarendon, va which was perfect because, though i rarely like to cross the river, i wanted to see the grant lee phillips concert at iota which is around the corner from where we ate. g.l.p. is best known as the dude who stands on the corner and sings on the gilmore girls, which i think has previously been established as an obsession of mine. lets preface this with saying that im a horrible judge of what shows are going to sell out. shows i assume are going to go faster than condoms at the free clinic end up being me and an 80 year old man named murray. now, i didnt have anyone interested in seeing the show with me, and because i wasnt 100% confident i was going to make it, i decided not to recruit anyone for the show. this proved itself to be an excellent idea because by the time i got to the show 15 minutes after it started (for reals? since when do shows start on time? that is so NOT rock and roll!) it was not only sold out, but overflowing on to the streets. i spent a few minutes with my face pressed up against the glass listening, but in the end, decided to call it a night and stagger off in the general direction of home.

however, i didnt really feel like going home, and it was still early, so i drunk dialed a.h. in seattle, who i think was amused to be getting such a call at 6pm while she was still at work, and t.p., who i'd previously spoken to, and SHOCKING!, he didnt answer. i think he's annoyed with me which is really nothing new. he decided not to go out last night because he had to bring his car to the shop early - at like 8am. now for most people, this may be an excuse, but i wasnt having it because a) i had a 7 a.m. appointment with my trainer the next morning (more on that to come), and b) he. is. unemployed. the only thing he has to do a.l.l. d.a.y. is drop off his car at 8 a.m. that is not an excuse. if you dont want to go out, just say so. i let him know that i thought his excuse made him sound like a word that starts with p and ends with ussy. i dont think he appreciated that.

in the end, i went home and watched "city of god" on dvd which is an awesome - if very intense - movie.

deep thoughts, by van nasty

if you have sex with an asian, do you get horny thirty minutes later?!?

"orgasm" didnt make the list. its too obvious its a lipstick.

in honor of details hilarious article "orgasm or excellent mariniara" i present you with this weeks challenge: lipstick, or soft core porn?

bonus points: submit your guess as to how many times i got busted online shopping at sephora and googling dirty words looking for porn titles. remind me to never, ever cross my IT guy.

forbidden lust v. forbidden fruit
simply naked v. naked truth
fire down below v. devil in the flesh
welcome to peach island v. tropical tyrst
exotic spices v. exotic kiss
passion lane v. plaything of passion
wet kitty v. wet and frosty
cinnamon flesh v. dahlia flesh
turkish delight v. dangerous delight
happy ending v. perfect ending
divine rapture v. rapture in rome
sex machine v. dream machine
dragon girl v. dragon lady
honey suckle v. color of honey
frisky summer v. hot summer days

i love a gay parade

so, work has been craaaazy lately hence the lack of updates. i was at work thursday until 11:30 p.m. and the next day worked another four hours of un-paid overtime (mind you, our office closes at 12pm fridays in august, so i still got out earlier than usual, but, thats not the point!). not to mention, t.p. calls with two tickets to the sold-out-in-five-minutes-because-its-the-last-show-evah sleater kinney show at the 9:30 club and i cant go. and to add insult to injury, he calls a half dozen times trying to convince me that im slacking off on my audiophile duties and should skip work in favor of the show.

friday i was planning to go for drinks at our version of "cheers" but was so exhausted it was all i could do to drag my fat ass to the grocery store, load up on chocolate, and pass out in front of the t.v. watching "ab fab." although i actually managed to accomplish quite a bit - i did laundry, grocery shopping, dishes, cleaning. how's that for a hottt friday night?

my saturday went something like this:

5:36 p.m. - call from t.p.
t.p.: hey! what are your plans tonight? are we going out?!?
me: i have no plans, but i could meet you out after work.
t.p.: cool. call me later.

7:15 p.m. - text from me to t.p.
"lets go somewhere where we can sit outside now that its not oppressively hot. just not local 16. too crowded"

8:48 p.m. - text from t.p. to me:
"where"

8:49 p.m. - text from me to t.p.:
"erm... i didnt have any specific ideas"

8:50 p.m. - text from t.p. to me:
"okay. well think on it and get back to me"

10:15 - text from me to t.p.:
"im shit outta ideas but im down if your going to adams morgan/u street/dupont"

all of this is to say we had plans, right? not confirmed-set-in-stone plans, but agreed upon, we-are-meeting-for-a-drink-and-hang-out-session plans, right? so what do you think happens? i call a few minutes before i get off work; no answer. i call again a few minutes after work; no answer. i call again, 20 minutes later, no answer. and still, two days later, no communication. he could not possibly be annoyed with me after all that!?!

thankfully in the intervening time i got a call from two fabu friends who were going to a gay parade, so i met them at a house warming where my girlfriend a.t. and i were the only people in the room born with tits and a uterus. gay parties are simultaneously frustrating and liberating. you can be as wild, obnoxious and embarrassing as you want because no one cares about you. seriously, you could run about with your knickers on your head and your public hair on fire, and would be lucky to have someone throw their white wine spritzer on you to put your flaming girl parts out. and in the mean time you will spend a few hours staring at yummy, well-built eye candy and know that you are the only person in the room going home alone. yippee.

random thoughts by van nasty

4) if your cocktail waitress, who has shown virtually no interest in you for the first hour of your visit, starts to get really friendly and attentive, begin to question exactly how much your table has been drinking. if she brings you out a box of chocolates when she brings you your bill, dont bother opening it. tell your friends you need to run to the ATM and casually walk out the door. keep walking. dont worry about the rest of your party; they'll figure out you arent coming back soon enough. suckers! (the advanced version of this maneuver calls for you to steal the box of chocolates before leaving. this is not for amateurs.)

3) the world is conspiring to keep me and my beloved pretzels apart. ive been having an inexplicable and insatiable craving for pretzels for days now, but the market in my building has been out. no big deal i thought, i'll just walk to rite aid. only the rite aid is sold out of pretzels too. so i walk to the street vendor on the corner, only he isnt set up today. clearly the situation is dire with no relief in sight. is it possible the entire metro area supply of pretzels has been consumed!?!

2) as you may have noticed, a recurring theme of this blog is my hatred of people who do not know how to use an escalator. and while i may mentally bitch slap some people, i also realize that missing a train isnt something to get bent out of shape over, and that often times the people clogging the "walking lane" on the left are the elderly or people with small children. i may very well burn in hell, but it wont be for yelling at a 90 year old man to stand on the right. yesterday morning as i got on the escalator i boarded immediately after a woman with one of those horrible side-by-side two child strollers who took up the entire width of the escalator. looking at this woman, you could tell she was frustrated, hot and miserable. i smiled at her, and went on reading my book.

on the scale of d.c. escalators, van ness is not a particularly long one, but based on people's reactions, you would have thought their life depended on descending the escalator in 20 seconds or less. one man actually squeezed (squooze?) himself around her, nearly sending her two children flying down the escalator. another woman behind me chided her by (loudly) yelling that she should have taken the elevator, to which the woman calmly replied that the elevator was broken and she was doing the best she could. not content to drop it at that, the rude woman behind me, who must be a heart surgeon on her way to save a life, got all huffy and defensive. aw hell to the nah. i blocked your ass in on the second escalator just for spite. where do you get off telling grown women how to live their life?!?

1) i am clearly living in an episode of the twilight zone because from where im sitting, its about 110 degrees, and its all i can do to bother putting clothes on before i go outside to sweat off all my make-up, have my hair turn into a chia-pet afro, and arrive at work red faced and with my clothes glued to my body. but everywhere i look i see women wearing long sleeved sweaters with button up shirts under them. i joke you not, i saw a guy yesterday wearing a turtleneck. is it actually winter, and im the one who's weather inappropriate? i dont get it.

how to vomit by 9 a.m. - five easy steps

as with anything worth doing, preparation is key!

prep work: approximately 3 hours

1. meet best friend and husband for a martini at a chi-chi bar. then decide that because challenging oneself is important, the two of you will take on the entire martini list in one, three hour sitting.

2. marinate over night.

the next morning:

3. wake at 6 a.m. ready to begin your new work out routine (even though you only tucked yourself in a few hours ago).

4. hit the treadmill for 45 minutes.

5. feeling a little queasy and looking a little green, guzzle a liter of water in under a minute.

mission accomplished. this is guaranteed to make you friends at your new gym and will probably reserve you exclusive use of that treadmill indefinitely.

isnt it supposed to be a polka dot bikini?

it must be hard to be a famous celebrity on vacation in st. tropez and be bested by the chick standing behind you with a great tan and no top on. i love how this bitch is protecting her modesty by covering up one of her boobs.

p.s. random hot chick: youre selling yourself short. unless he's rich, and your just straight up selling yourself.

who else cant believe that mel had a meltdown before tom cruise?

personally, i dont know the last time i thought about kate moss prior to her being caught doing an impression of a hoover vacuum cleaner. now shes bigger than ever. good on ya, kate.

i do not, however, expect anti-semitism to be this seasons drug addiction.

i love that even after "passion of the christ" and public statements from mel gibson's father that the germans didn't have enough gas to cremate 6 million people, and that nazi concentration camps were just "work camps," people are shocked (shocked!) to find out mel gibson may be an anti-semite. these are the same people who are reeling from lance bass' stunning announcement that he's gay.