is this a coincidence?

or does the new yorker promotion department know something about me?!? i knew that google/doubleclick merger was trouble.

you, however, are not invited. not now, not ever, not by anyone.

i go to a lot of shows. and, like people who tend to regularly do things, i have a list of pet peeves, mostly about newbies who are oblivious to the existence of show etiquette, or, y'know, common courtesy.

two stand out in my mind. the first is people who get to a sold out, packed house show after the headliner is already on stage and insist on pushing their way up to the front. we are already wound up tighter than a virgin at the prison rodeo; there is no room for you and your gaggle of drunken friends. if it was that important to you that you get a good spot, you should have gotten to the show earlier. i appreciate that standing in the audience at a show isnt the same as standing in line, but, well, it actually sort of is; if you plan to stand directly in front of someone who has been standing in that spot for 2 hours already and block their view, then expect to find some gum matted in your hair or my beer all over your pants.

the second is people who spend the entire show with their camera over their head video taping the stage. i dont really understand this concept myself; i dont know who goes back and watches this footage or who looks at their 50 pictures of tiny people on stage thiry feet away and obscured by a million blurry heads, but, whoever they are, there are a lot of them, and they are ruining it for the rest of the audience behind them. when i saw death cab a year or so ago the audience was a sea of cameras; so much so that it obscured my view completely and i had to watch the entire show on lcd.

it remind me of this weeks new yorker:



the couple, standing inches away from a stunning piece of art opt to look at it through the 2.5 inch screen of their camera instead of living in the moment and seeing what is directly in front of them in wide screen. this phenomenon is fascinating. its like people who go out to dinner and ignore their company in favor of talking on the phone or text messaging all night. i guess eventually none of us will leave the house at all; we'll just spend all night hanging with our friends from myspace watching youtube videos and playing internet poker.

you are invited

despite having grown up in d.c., the dismemberment plan's "final" show at fort reno was both my first fort reno show, and my first time hearing the band (my teen years were punctuated by horrible choices in music -- my first c.d. was c&c music factory if that tells you anything). last nights sold out reunion show reminded me how much i love them; something i havent thought about since seeing their actual final show at the 9:30 club.

my plan for last night had been: dance rehearsal and laundry. at 10:30 am i received an email from a friend offering up a ticket to the nights sold out show to the fastest responder. i believe my exact response was "me! memememememe! pick me!" fortunately, i was not only the most enthusiastic but also the fastest.

i arrived at black cat at 930 to meet m.m. who was running a little late. the music in the club was deafening; somehow despite owning hundreds of pairs of ear plugs i, once again, found myself without any (hence why i own literally hundreds of them). since they vend in the machine for 50 cents, i needed to buy something that would give me quarters (or at least this was my logic and the only acceptable reason to ever order a pbr). i dont drink beer and it took me a good hour to knock it back - only half way through did i notice they sell earplugs upstairs at the bar meaning i could have ordered a drink that was actually drinkable. it was around the same time that i remembered m.m., l.w. and i's mutual lust for the bass player which gave me new cause for excitement.

something about dismemberment plan makes me feel like im in middle school; something more than the fact that the average age of concertgoers in the room was 17. their lyrics are dramatic, and wistful, passionate and intense. they remind me of the days when you would spend hours dissecting every word a boy said to you, interpreting every glance and feeling like the fate of your future happiness relied entirely on how he responded to your "do you like me? check yes, no or maybe" note. which for me was just last week.

m.m. and i had an amazing time dancing, laughing, singing loudly and out of tune, and watching the tweensters rush the stage before the set was even over. plus, the passing around of an R rated cake made it feel like fort reno's annual "night of a 1000 cupcakes."

in the car on the way home, m.m. reminded me that we actually have dismemberment plan to thank for our friendship. l.w. met m.m. through a "mutual friend" (a.k.a. a boy who picked them both up separately at bars) at a dismemberment plan show. it was love. the three of us (and the boy) have been friends ever since.

so to them, and to you, i say:

you are invited
by anyone to do anything
you are invited for all time
and you are so needed
by everyone to do everything
you are invited for all time

besides, how do you not love a band that does a punk cover of beyonce's irreplaceable?!

the second one is, like, totally the best

this makes me almost think i want kids.

do cats have knees?

revolutionizing your life in new ways

the fact that im a music dork is well documented. months ago i saw an awesome plug-in for macs that runs through your itunes and creates a calendar of upcoming concerts for any band in your itunes. i tried to outsmart the system and make it run on my pc with no luck. a few weeks ago, i saw iconcert which does the same thing for your pc; yes, its possible that i just diseased my computer, but honestly, thats a risk im willing to take. not only does it create an awesome calendar, but it allows you to add shows not included on your itunes. unlike other "i" products which boggle the mind.

salute the vagina

oh, youve already seen this?



you saw it on that one blog? and your high school friend sent it to you? the slutty one, who still sends you emails written like this "oMg!?! LOL! U haVE 2 C THIS!" and your friend from college? AND the girl in the cube next to you? the one who always reeks like stale cigarette and who spend half her day calling bars trying to figure out where she left her cell phone and credit card.

okay, so you know how good dick'll make you slap somebody, and how it can be soothing to the vagina, but, have you seen the remix?



and just to be clear, the woman next to her is her mother.

bul-gay-rian never nudes

and yes, i only posted this so i would have an excuse to use that title.

a note to the 18 year old girls across the alley

dear students living in the university of california building:

spring like totally rocks, right? its like awesome when the sun is out and the air is warm and theres not a cloud in the sky. and, i can like totally see where youre coming from wanting to take advantage of the nice weather, but, as your neighbor, i thought id let you know: when you sit outside in your bikini (or as one frisky gal did, topless) on the sundeck everyone in my building gathers in the kitchen and rates you. yep, its immature and juvenile, but, its the price you (knowingly?) pay for baring all in a city, on a sundeck where all the surrounding buildings are taller than you.

xoxo
v/n

p.s. do me a favor? can you get some young shirtless dudes to join you next time? why is all the fun reserved for the straight dudes and the lesbians?

sassy but (not) classy

i received this line in an email from someone recapping our conversation in a bar a few weeks ago: "any girl who makes a joke about having a cock in her ear is worth talking to as far as i'm concerned." i have no recollection of said comment, and i was sober at the time.

"plan b"

last night, j.k. and i went to the justin jones and the driving rain show at the continuing my recent trend of seeing singer-song writers yummy enough to eat (after reading his press clips, i realized he doesnt just bare a striking resemblance to the cute boy who served me a drink at 930 club on wednesday, but in fact is the cute boy who served me a gin and tonic on wednesday).

we arrived to the show late and were fed misinformation leading us to believe that we had actually missed j.j.a.t.d.r.; thankfully that wasnt the case. this was confirmed by a guy sitting at the bar who asked us if the band current band was up, and if j.j. had started yet; turns out, he was the drummer.

after the show while trying to decide where to move our party of two to, we settled in at the bar for one drink. there were exactly two empty seats at the bar, but they werent together. we asked the man in the middle to move so we could sit together, and he graciously did. he moved back forming a triangle with him in the middle. not really what we had in mind, however, after boyfriend started buying us shots of jameson, it stopped mattering.

the bartender, who ive met before with dewey, was fun, friendly and took great care of us. at one point he sat with j.k. and i and said "the bars closing, and im gonna say some rude shit to clear this place out. none of it applies to you two. you stay as long as you would like." and we did. i rolled home sometime north of 4 a.m.

ive recently realized that while i love to drink, and i love alcohol, i really, really dont like being drunk. and even more embarrassing, i heart fruity, girly drinks. i like drinks that taste good and fresh with interesting flavors like pineapple basil, cucumber vanilla or lemon rosemary martinis. i know this is going to sound crazy, but, i actually want to enjoy what im drinking, and want it to taste good. i celebrated this big girl realization by doing five shots of jameson washed down by pink shooters that tasted like tequila, and rail gin and tonics.

the X2: its more than just homeless men pissing on you

overheard on the X2:

"god blessed me with the skill of makin' babies." -- the pungent smelling man next to me with his hand on my thigh. he is apparently the father of 18 kids, and was more than willing to do his part to help me in my non-existent quest to become a mother.

"look [touches my neck]: youre turning black!" -- in reference to the (somewhat large) birthmark on my neck.

when heathens travel

last friday i flew to birmingham for my first trip to the 'bam and the 'ham. i spent the entire two hour flight convinced i was going to die. as ive gotten older, ive become less and less comfortable flying; not only is it unnatural to be suspended 35,000 feet above ground, but, it seems unnecessary to have to sit so close to a complete stranger that i can smell what she ate for lunch. thankfully, i did not die. however my aisle-mate was kind enough to point out that in her experience the pilots who fly the route "arent very good. and these small planes make you feel everything. and they arent good in weather [of which, we were in the middle of having]."

big red picked me up in the 'ham for my first ever in airport, waiting by the gate pick-up. it was all very exciting. the only thing that would have made it better was if dave grohl were picking me up, but, big red is a close second.

between my trip to austin and my trip to alabama, ive eaten more bbq than i thought i would consume in my entire life. apparently there is a huge southern rivalry about what qualifies as bbq. according to a friend from memphis, what they serve in austin is "grilled beef" and sure its good, but it aint bbq. after having experienced the heaven that is dreamland bbq, im inclined to agree.

our bellies full to the point of sickness, big red and i continued to the griffin house show at workplay. not only was the show great, but griffin house is quite a muffin.


after our trip to dreamland, i never thought i would need to eat again. thankfully i was wrong, and we had the best breakfast imaginable though i resisted trying the "yeasty" buckwheat pancakes (im not sure how, sounds so appetizing, doesnt it)?





i was in bama for an engagement party in gurley about an hour and half from the 'ham and the real fun was the drive up. its hard to say what was more fun: 1) figuring out that my cell phone will read me my text messages and the subsequent sending of perverted messages to my cell phone for our enjoyment ("i wa-nt to kees your sweeeet creamy teets"), or 2) the ave maria grotto. the grotto has given my life meaning; it is literally a monument - a shrine - to crap. the grotto calls itself "jerusalem in miniature" and is four acres of miniature reproductions of religious sites. nothing prepared me for the joy that the grotto has brought into my life.



i still havent found the words to talk about the grotto so instead im going to let these pictures speak for themselves. without them, you may think i was too harsh.

if there is a god, i think the fact that big red and i werent struck down after taking this picture, proves he has a sense of humor. though had we managed to get the birth control pills into baby jesus' manger, im sure all bets would have been off.

the actual engagement party was also mind blowing. we arrived at the house where we five men were hired to direct parking, and where golf carts drove you to the door. while we were in the limo driving to the party one of the party guests asked what was manufactured in gurley; i resisted my natural urge to say "blonds." though i did chortle when my friend said she was taking bible study.

the party was literally awesome. i guess if you grow up in a house that looks like southfork ranch, you wouldnt think much of this place, but it looked more like versailles than versailles does. and, out of 250 people, there were only two brunettes, and *gasp* we were also both democrats.

unfortunately, i had to leave early on sunday to get back to dc for work. whereas on the flight to birmingham i was afraid i was going to die, on my way back from huntsville i decided crash landing would actually be preferable to listening to the men seated behind me continue to debate abortion and praise dubya bush as the smartest man alive.

overheard at the engagement party:

"my favorite evangelist is from your town!"

tastes minerally

they now make "diet coke plus" fortified with vitamins and minerals. unfortunately, the added vitamins dont include vitamin d meaning i still have to occasionally leave the house.

again, i would like to suggest a cigarette flavored coke blak.

wikipedia is amazing

what does this even mean?!?

"Then gossip columnists started to link her with Bollywood celebrity Abhishek Bachchan, son of Amitabh Bachchan. She was frequently seen in public with him and his family, fueling rumors of an engagement. Finally, on January 14, 2007, Abhishek and Aishwarya officially announced their engagement. Then on April 20th they were married, before this she had married a tree thinking that it will wear off evil such a pathetic thinking for an educated Indian actress guess they care about trees more than global leaders just as vegitarians care about not killing cows. But what can be said now after she divorced the tree to marry someone in flesh, how much will the tree get? Only Sheva knows."

a break from the constant bitching

occasionally something happens that pierces even my cynical, shriveled heart. yesterday i attended a congressional oversight hearing where two sitting supreme court justices testified before congress, a virtually unheard of event. true to form (in high school i was voted "most likely to be a politician"), i was there an hour early. while the topic itself was mundane, i had expected that other people like me would attend just to sit in the same room as two supreme court justices. turns out, i was wrong. apparently thats not how other people define a "good time." not only was i the first person in line, but i was one of 20 people in the audience. there were actually more members of congress in the room than there were press or peanuts.

later last night i had to attend a fancy-pants dinner for work; i called d.n.b. to see if i could shower at her place (something i failed to do in the morning...). somewhere along the way the absurdity of thinking it was okay to attend a congressional hearing smelling like the dumpster behind the 930 club, but not sitting in a room with people i would never see again - nor if i could help it interact with in any way - dawned on me and i skipped the shower.

one thing was fully realized last night: profession line holders are my type. d.n.b. had suggested this may be the case years ago, but until yesterday i couldnt provide any confirmation. when i shared this with c.s. (my sister from another mother) she said "yeah, but arent they unwashed?" to which i had to respond "why should i hold them to a higher standard than i hold myself?"

"get off the cross we need the wood"

ive never been a tori amos fan, but mama hearts this song.

big wheel, american doll posse (i wrote american girl at first. snort)

babys first fabulous

dear van nasty:

i forgot your birthday. i am a horrible mother. i remembered after the tv on the radio show; i tried to crawl into your crib and wish you a happy birthday but i know how it upsets you when mommy comes home smelling like cheap beer, cheap men and cheap cigarettes (although by now i would have thought that would be the smell you associate with "mom").

here's to hoping no one reports me to blogspot and has you taken away.

now, in honor of your birthday, lets check some stats:

goals met: 2
appearing in the wonkette and quoted in the express

ten most recent google searches:
1) allintitle: vomit nasty
2) fairtrade soho coffee
3) see pictures ofcarrie underwood in a thong
4) miniskirt without undies
5) seattle's best honey latte
6) $1 sushi huntsville, al
7) does my cat sleep too much?
8) how to prove im not sleeping around
9) for those of us lucky enough to have come of age in new orleans
10) the nasty phrase ever

the location of van nasty's last 10 visitors:
1) unknown country
2) birmingham, alabama
3) laurel, maryland
4) washington, district of columbia
5) seattle, washington
6) arlington, virginia
7) seattle, washington
8) pensacola, florida
9) sacramento, california
10) slovakia, nitra

van nasty unofficial rules:
1) no caps and few apostrophes. im grammatically lazy.
2) being pale is better than looking like an oompa-loompa
3) boys look better with more tattoos
4) never name the puppies (i.e. velveeta, dewey decimal, the a.s.)
5) embarrassing details are always shared; identifying details youll have to pay for

models - making you feel better about yourself for once

when horrible, senseless things happen you have to deal with them the only way you can - by making fun of models.




a.h. - notice that while i changed the title, you got your own label!

real blogging to come later

i find it fascinating that the only time bai ling chooses to wear clothes that actually cover her girl bits both above and below the equator is to an event at the playboy mansion.

i am similarly confused by the fact that blue cantrell continues to be invited to events at all.

and in other news, it looks like someone recently went on a shopping spree at hot topic.

welcome to my life

my love of planning is well known, my inability to do it well is just becoming obvious.

example #1)
i'm going to alabama this weekend and decided at the last minute to reserve a car. it took me 10 minutes to realize i was trying to reserve a car in birmingham, england and 15 minutes to realize that i need a car in huntsville, not birmingham.

example #2)
my friend and i are going to the tv on the radio show at 930 club. unfortunately, we just realized that i am going wednesday and she is going thursday.

pearls before swine, and commuters in pantyhose and sneakers

for a reason i cant articulate and dont understand, this article brought tears to my eyes. which was really awkward because i am at work, and someone stopped by the desk to give me their dirty laundry (for the cleaning service that picks up at the apartment building), and i had to look up and blink away the unshed tears.

yes, ive always been too sensitive, and yes, i was often made fun of as a child.

"dear little baby Jesus, who's sittin' in his crib watchin the baby einstein videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors"

its been a great week, though, nothing has really gone as planned.

tuesday i had planned on hh with the a.s. but was (shockingly!) blown off. instead, i went to hh with l.f. and then met j.h. for dinner. 2 people + $2 beer + $1 sushi = $60 bill. its a skill really.

wednesday i was planning on meeting a friend for happy hour while killing time before going to the blood brothers show at the black cat; unfortunately, the happy hour and corresponding dinner-of-greasy-food-because-maybe-we-can-trick-our-stomachs-into-thinking-we-ate-first-and-drank-second was a little too successful and i never made it to the black cat. if last week was the week of solo show going (the hard tomorrows/army of me, ted leo), this week was the week of no-show show going. i did however trek out to the 930 club to buy a ticket to the peter bjorn and john show only to find that the box office closed at 11 pm. since it was 10:58 when i arrived and it had long since closed shop, there is no telling what time it actually closed.

friday night after the baltimore or best friend debate was settled, a.m.m.h., her husband and i went out for dinner and drinks. at heritage, we were sat at a corner table and promptly forgotten about. it took 20 minutes for them to take our drink order; a clear sign that they had no idea who they were dealing with. after dinner we drank our way through dupont circle, starting at the russia house and ending at townhouse. all night, a.m.m.h kept saying "isnt that guy your friend paul?" she thought our indian waiter was paul. she thought the guy at the parking valet was paul. she thought the guy walking across 17th street wearing cut-off demin shorts and a leather-daddy vest was paul. and her first words when we walked into townhouse? "hey, isnt that your friend paul?" only this time, it actually was. paul, a.m.m.h. and i went to college together, and paul lived on my freshman floor. i havent seen him in years, but, once upon a time, he and i and a lot of the guys on my floor had all been close. he was holding court with several other guys we went to college with, and it was like being 18 again, walking into fat harry's on a friday night, knowing all my friends would eventually converge there. the last words i heard as we stumbled out of the bar and into the street, were paul shouting "i love you." who needs girl talk when you have boys like that in your life?

last night i missed another show (benjy ferree, the cassettes and the aquarium) and spent another night watching arrested development on my couch.

this morning, i celebrated the resurrection of baby jesus by drinking champagne and bloody mary's first thing in the morning, and coveting l.y.'s fabulous grown-up apartment. after d.n.b. dropped me off at work, i called my mom to discover that she was in the middle of preparing easter dinner for the family. i guess they didnt invite me because they didnt want me to feel bad that i had to work? or, they just didnt invite me. charming.

mixtape, part 1

as mentioned in a previous post, i heart austin (though its been pointed out to me that its easy to love austin in the spring; loving it in august is much, much harder).

while in austin i bought about 30 c.d.s. my plan was to burn some mixtapes for friends, specifically, one for t-rock for putting me up for the weekend, and a few for my bestie who lives with her husband in iraq. unfortunately, as so frequently happens in my life, nothing went right. turns out, my computer wont burn c.d.s. le sigh.

so instead im posting my mixtape here. and because im not savy enough to know how to post them with links to the songs, its just a completely useless listing of song titles. enjoy!!

austin, spring 2007 *
1) object of my affection, peter bjorn & john
2) your biggest fan, voxtrot
3) we used to vacation, cold war kids
4) tears dry on their own, amy winehouse
5) thats what god made whiskey for, the small stars
6) +81, deerhoof
7) can you feel it?, apples in stereo
8) all my heros are weirdos, !!!
9) citizens of tomorrow, tokyo police club
10) my sword hand's anger, apostle of hustle
11) just the way i are, aquaduct
12) lovelier girl, beach house
13) i still remember, bloc party
14) knife, grizzly bear
15) street wars/exotic foxholes, the blood brothers
16) into the open, heartless bastards
17) lollipop, mika
18) diablo rojo, rodrigo y gabriela
19) the sons of cain, ted leo and the pharmacists
20) tell me does she love the bass, lesbians on ecstasy
21) devil cock, the revolting cocks
22) you are mine, mutemath
23) turn the lights out, the ponys
24) she was a matador, the photo atlas
25) slowly, boudoir beats
26) viejo abasto, buenos aires - paris: the electronic tango anthology
27) dirty laundry, a new groove

* there is no over-arching theme to this mix tape other than including one song from every c.d. i remember buying in austin. im fairly certain im missing at least one if not more.

how to cheat on your girlfriend

dear velveeta:

it was good to hear from you. im glad that youre doing well and have finally moved in to your own place. you mentioned having a girlfriend, and while i hope that things are going well between you, it doesnt sound like they are. you seem to be a little confused about how relationships work; allow me to explain: all social interactions are dictated by rules of etiquette. some actions and relationships, however, are intended to remain private, meaning your mother probably never taught you the proper place to hide the panties you stole from one night stands, or that emily post has never issued a ruling on how to properly broach the topic of initiating a physical relationship with an ex while in the middle of an emotional relationship with someone else.

so, allow van nasty to spell it out for you: only one of us is in a relationship. as that person, the responsibility is on you to make sure that your girlfriend doesnt find out that you have been propositioning me. i do not have the power to erase your text messages or emails; assuming you dont want to get caught, you alone can keep your house in order.

frankly, you are not worth inviting that type of drama, not to mention horrible karma, into my life. since i have no desire to come back in my next life as a dung beetle, i suggest you not contact me again. on the off chance i do want to see you, i can wait till youre single, which, based on the fact that youre emailing me, and your girlfriend knows it (and snoops through your emails), is probably a matter of weeks if not days.

xoxo
v/n

too much effort for a guy im not sleeping with

is having a penis in some way connected to an inability to make plans? does testosterone double as a commitment inhibitor? i realize im not the first single woman to bitch about men's inability to commit (i have a friend who considers his cosi coffee card to be "too high pressure") but, im not talking about a man im dating, im talking about men im friends with (two is still plural. dont judge). the majority of the worlds billionaires are men, as are the majority of world leaders; this creates the illusion that men are planners capable of creating and maintaining a schedule. they arent; all of these men have secretaries and wives who do that for them. want proof? ask a male friend (one not interested in getting in your pants) to make plans for friday, a week from now. its like asking to hold the remote during the superbowl; you can practically smell the panic.

the a.s. and i bought tickets to a show months ago (this only seems to, but does not in fact, undermine my point). ive been looking forward to the show forever, but as of thursday there was still no plan. the show was in baltimore - who was driving? when were we leaving d.c.? is there a designated driver or are we staying the night? if were staying the night, are we getting hotel room? do i want to pay $100 for a hotel room to see a $10 show? what time will we be back on saturday? obviously, no one has ever accused me of being spontaneous or impulsive, but, unfortunately, i dont have the type of schedule that allows for that. i volunteer saturday at 10 a.m. if im not going to be back in time, i need to know well enough in advance to make arrangements. and if im not going to be back by 3 p.m. for work, i need to know who's going to pay me the money im losing.

so, because im me, i harassed the a.s. with phone calls and emails asking all of these questions but received no answer. i also emailed him two weeks ago and again early this week asking him to call me because i might have a conflict and have to bail. in the two years ive known him, ive never once bailed when we had plans. he however, has blown me off every time we were supposed to hang out since decemeber. and stood me up at the coup show which i saw by myself. and the yeah, yeah, yeah show. and the cat power show when he gave my friend and i's tickets to a chick he was trying to bang and left us standing in the cold with no tickets to a sold out show.

finally, he called me back. strangely, friday morning at 12:30 isnt really a good time to chat for me. he left me a nasty voicemail saying he didnt appreciate my lack of notice that i was bailing on him, and that now he had to drive to baltimore alone. meanwhile, the times he's bailed on me ive figured it out on my own after sitting at the bar by myself for more than an hour.

in the end, i bailed on the show... so, maybe this post should really be about over-scheduled-girls-inability-to-live-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, but, i did have a valid reason for canceling (beyond the overwhelming lack of planning). my best friend from college who currently lives in baghdad with her husband was in town for one night. apparently flying half way around the world to attend their wedding in gibraltar means they wont take "im going to a sold out show in baltimore" as a good reason for why you cant see them their one night in d.c.

more on that to come...

washington d.c.: but its a wet, sweaty heat

dear dcist:

i saw the recent post soliciting additional suggestions for a d.c. catch phrase. while i personally think "all of the taxes, none of the representation" and "walk left, stand right" are both brilliant, i would like to submit my own slogan: "d.c.: we arent a service economy and dont have to be nice to tourists." or, if thats too long, "metro: tourists banned before 9:30" gets the message across almost as well.

xoxo
v/n

scat-a-licious

im posting this for my sister. if you knew her, you'd understand.

sad kermit

hurt is my favorite NIN song. i remember where i was when i first heard johnny cash's cover. i will similarily remember where i was when i first heard this:

dear corporate coffee chain: i hate you

dear cari-poo and five-bucks coffee:

unfortunately for me, d.c. has a sub-par coffee culture. unlike austin or new orleans (or seattle or portland or new york or any other civilized city!), d.c. is not dotted with independent coffee shops but rather is dominated by two sellers: starbucks and caribou, or at least it is in the area near my work. fortunately for you, my body is comprised of equal parts caffeine and artificial sweetener, making me a prime target for your product.

my daily coffee is both a splurge and a necessity. as indicated, caffeine is essential to my daily function making me the human equivalent of a walking talking diet coke flavored iced coffee blend; however, its also a splurge. at $4 a day, its my reward for spending the next 10 hours of a beautiful spring day in my windowless office lit only by florescent lights where free-radicals bouncing off my computer screen prematurely age me (i have no idea what a free-radical is, but, this is what the woman who suckered me into buying $150 face lotion told me) and where squinting at my computer screen causes fine lines around my eyes. and dont even get me started on blackberry thumb.

as a corporate chain, the one thing i expect is consistency. however, the only thing consistent about your coffee is that it disappoints. some days your iced coffee is good: slightly sweet with a nutty, chocolaty taste, but most days its either bitter or watery. today's coffee is literally watery since you just poured hot coffee over ice leaving me with four wan ice cubes floating in coffee soup. the one time i branched out and ordered an iced latte, you looked at me completely confused. and clearly you were since you steamed the milk and poured a regular latte over ice, creating an undrinkable watery mess at the low, bargain cost of $4.89. and do i have to mention the time i saw roaches climbing on your garbage cans next to the milk and sugar station? when i brought it to the attention of your staff, i was met with an amused but disinterested look. now, i dont work for the health inspector, but im sure i could find their number.

starbucks is no better. until recently i could at least depend on them to know what my drink was, but now, my normal (iced venti cafe con leche) is met with confused stares. yes, its a silly name and since im not in spain, i feel silly ordering it. and i dont think i should need three languages to order and iced sweetened coffee with milk. however, its your name, not mine. look up barista, its right on your menu!

so, again i say, i hate you, but, because its bad karma to end on a negative note, allow me to point out a few good options:

1) seattle's best: yup, its a chain, but, they get they come correct and their iced coffee never disappoints and needs neither sugar nor milk; its chocolaty yumminess is perfection all on its own.

2) sparky's: makers of the best iced mocha this side of pj's coffee.

3) soho coffee: makers of excellent cafe au laits.

4) the mudhouse: the coffee is all organic, fair trade, and the lattes are cheaper than starbucks. not to mention the honey vanilla latte is awesome and made with real vanilla and honey, not some pre-made powder concoction of who knows what.

honorable mention: juan valdez, fosters brothers

xoxo

v/n

is my butt in the light?

austin is possibly my favorite city.

if new orleans were a person, she would be amy winehouse: self-destructive, raw, and the kind of drunk who gets belligerent and incoherent, yelling things like "i am the superbowl! i am the cosmic whip cracking." a hell of a good time to party with, but, you know the night is going to either end in tears, with a one-night stand youll regret in the morning, or in jail. and since none of those things are mutually exclusive, possibly all three. austin is new orleans older, slightly more mature sister. not the one who got married to her high school boyfriend and who now lives in the burbs driving a mini van and who has 2.5 kids. no, austin is drew barrymore: the sister who successfully completed rehab but who remains quirky, eccentric, free spirited and proudly weird, and who, on a dollar bet, would probably still flash a bartender for free drinks.

i was in austin for work and unfortunately missed sxsw bythismuch (my conference was monday - wednesday, but i flew out on friday to spend the weekend with t-rock and k.l.m.). because the festival just ended, no touring groups were coming through town. fortunately, austin has loads of other weird and funky ways to pass the night, and the best independent record store in the world, hands down. i should be ashamed to tell you how many cds i bought at waterloo records. i know; im the last person alive who actually buys cds. i cant help it. a trip to waterloo is like high fidelity come to life. i enjoy wandering around listening to any and every cd that trips my fancy, and talking to people who live and breathe music. i always find bands i never would have heard of otherwise, and in the process support both local independent businesses and independent musicians. i went to waterloo every day that i was in austin, and actually drove directly there from the airport.

we spent friday on a boozy cruise of austin filling our bellies with great food and a margarita i actually have dreams about (flavored with blood orange and chili powder. words just dont do its spicy-tartness justice). saturday we wandered around an artists market where i bought a ring (a size too small as though i could suck in and make my finger smaller), and where we ended up in what literally appeared to be an artists commune filled with people who, guessing by the smell of them, hadnt showered. ever.

saturday night we saw little richard play the ut austin quad, which, if it hadnt been such a sad mess, would go do in history as the best performance art ive ever seen. when you see little richard, you expect him to be the black liberace: over-styled, flamboyant and boasting about how pretty he is. what i didnt expect was for him continually offer to give his shoes to the audience. or to repeatedly make racial slurs or comment about how he wants a bunch of fat women to come up on stage. it was a sad and surreal experience where laughing or crying were equally appropriate responses.

in an effort to cleanse our palate, t-rock and i ventured to a party being thrown by a middle eastern restaurant that was closing down. the back of the restaurant had a mini amphitheatre set up with a stage and some nooks decorated with pillows and tapestries and promised a party till dawn. little did we know what we were in for. t-rock and i got there after 10 pm and settled in on a couple of vacant chairs. the first bellydancer to perform was wonderful, setting a high standard for the rest of the night. though it wasnt at all what we expected, we certainly werent disappointed.

after the first belldancer finished, women started swarming the crowds hand feeding guests, who they referred to as gods and goddesses, chocolate dipped strawberries. sensing that we had failed to b.y.o. enough to this b.y.o.b. event, t-rock ran nextdoor to procure more booze while i watched a drag king lash two women together with whips before ripping their tops off and exposing them in all their janet-jackson-on-superbowl-sunday finest. were they not still on stage wearing nothing but pasties, i dont think t-rock would have believed me when i told her what she missed.

the next act was a 30 minute fire dance routine which was 29 minutes too long for my taste. im not saying its not impressive to swallow fire, but after 10 times in a row, it begins to lose its impact. and when you drop your fire, or it goes out repeatedly, it makes you look like amateur hour. clearly she was not a bellydancer, or, a dancer of any kind, but your basic baton twirling former texas cheerleader who discovered hair dye and industrial music. (or maybe im just bitter because she performed a routine to facing east by thievery corporation which our company also dances to).

if you think the previous two acts had prepared us for what came next, you would be wrong.

the drummers, several of whom also doubled as drag kings, "performed" next, and i use that term loosely. the all female drummers formed a line behind the their king while s/he sang a song that went something like this: "spank my ass/make it red/spank my ass/make it red." naturally the ladies in waiting did as they were told. this segued into an improvised rap portion of the performance where the king told the other girls to "pull my pants down/is my butt in the light?/ is my ass red?/is my butt in the light?" which by the way, is my new catch phrase. at this point, t-rock and i were nicely buzzed on gas station wine and utterly fascinated by what was taking place on stage.

we were convinced nothing could possibly top what we'd just seen, but, this is austin, and weird is only a mic stand away. the next performer was a slam poet. now, i dont mean to imply that white girls cant or shouldnt do slam poetry, im sure somewhere in the world is a feminem slam poet; but, i am 100% convinced that they shouldnt perform poems called "to the single mamas and they broke ass baby daddies." while the rest of the beatnik, hippy dippy audience snapped their fingers in agreement, t-rock and i were doubled over, clutching each other and convulsing from the silent laughter that threatened to loudly erupt any minute, which undoubtedly would have gotten us a stern talking to from all the self-satisfied, do-gooders in the audience who did not approve of our "stifling of the performers expression of their goddess nature." we left before anyone could force us to trade in our pumps for birkenstocks or our chanel for patchouli.

all of this to say, i love austin. yes, its self-satisfied and masturbatory, but hell, so am i. not to mention it seems to have more tattoo shops and coffee shops, and in more than one case, tattoo/coffee shops, per square mile than any other place in the world.

besides, where else is a man going to follow you to your car meowing like a cat?

coincidence? i think not.

while googling velveeta,* i came across an amazon wish-list belonging to someone with his name. naturally, i clicked to see if it was his. the wish-list contained exactly one item: a book called "99 ways to tell a story," which illustrates the same one page comic 99 different ways. a book which probably only one person in america owns. and that person is dewey decimal; he showed it to me a week ago while we sat at ellas drinking beer and sharing cigarettes (none for me since i quit. and sharing doesnt count - i dont care what you say!) the day before i left for austin. while it turned out not to be my velveeta's list, it did turn out to belong to a man with the same name from austin texas.

* i know i should probably be more ashamed of having googled velveeta, but lets be honest, we all do it. if i know your first and last name, ive probably googled you. if weve ever gone on a date, ive definitely googled you. hell, what is myspace, facebook or friendster if not google for the ones-we-loved-who-got-away(or in my case, turned out to be gay); the ones-whose-last-name-we-doodled-on-our-trapper-keeper-in-6th-grade; the-ones-we-mildly-obsess-over-but-cant-tell-because-theyve-already-dated-our-friends; the-ones-who-emotionally-scarred-us-by-head-fucking (but never actually fucking)-us; and that-guy-from-craigslist-just-to-make-sure-he-isnt-really-in-prison?

spring in australia

which is to say, my life is boomerang city. its been my experience that boys never really go away so much as they go into hibernation. lately, ive been feeling like its time to make some decisions about dewey decimal; ive been downgraded from "girl i date", but upgraded from "girl i avoid," meaning im now forced to navigate the uncomfortable and landmine infested grounds of "unsatisfied girl who wants more but is afraid to ask for fear of getting nothing." rarely do i put forth this much effort (and am possibly only doing so now because i know it wont work?) or let things drag on this long. so while im debating whether i can be satisfied with just being friends, a few boys from the past have come out of hiding. i spent about an hour today chatting with velveeta, who is currently imprisoned in a relationship but is requesting conjugal visits from me, and from another nickname-to-be-determined boy from the past. they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. clearly the voodoo dolls arent working; maybe its time to take drastic measures.