fashion update: tights

still. not. pants!

that is all.

yes virginia, it is cold outside

i swear i will loose my mind if i have to have one more conversation with someone about the weather. yes, genius, it is cold outside. does that come as a surprise to you considering its JANUARY?!? i can already tell we are going to be having the same conversation 7 months from now when you're shocked, SHOCKED!, that d.c. turns into a miserable, swampy cesspool of humidity and midwestern tourists. then i'll have to will myself not to punch you in the vagina while you reminisce about how nice the winters are here in d.c.

newsflash: despite being below the mason-dixon line, we are not actually the south. we have four distinct seasons, each of which requires its own wardrobe and accessories.

that being said, im very excited to have found a forgotten scarf in my office. (i am never dressed weather appropriate, i just know better than to bitch about it.)

wont someone think of the strippers?!?

van nasty world headquarters is so environmentally friendly that even our chairs are made of 100% recycled material.

van nasty: giving new life to lucite stripper shoes.

the state of our union is strong

invasion of the body snatchers

omg, letmeguess, there's a purse attached to that rope at your neck right? i totally used to have one like that and it always hit me in a funny place too.

abominable snowman: no longer just a legend

now just extinct. or as im going to start calling it, "they've gone the way of the polar bear."

washington post style invitational

emoo, adjective: to feel fat and depressed. bad hairdos, shoegazer music and teenage angst are unnecessary.

random musings on a series of non-random events

by the time i got home my whole hand was bloody. its amazing how an itty-bitty cut can bleed so badly. i was too tired, and not sober enough, to deal with it so i didnt even bother putting on a band-aid.

when i woke up, my sheets were completely red.

it took a minute to process that they had been red to start with.

ive noticed a trend of odd nights beginning with vodka, involving hellyeah as my accomplice, and ending at st.ex. one of them is going to have to go and since i cant break up with vodka, and am too in love with hellyeah to imagine life without her, its going to have to be you st. ex. i think im going to self-impose a ban. i see no other way.

it all started with hellyeah's birthday party. a fun-filled affair that proved d.c. is even smaller than i thought possible. i ran into a friend by association i havent seen in almost three years. we met through rcaplan and hung out at black cat; wilson and i had big plans to co-opt her as a friend, but someone our plan never came to fruition. now ive been given a second chance! later, during dinner, prima mentions her new blog, of which i am a contributor. a new friend at the table says "you're van nasty? i read your blog! i found it from dcblogs!" how strange and exciting - and somewhat masturbatory - to hear that people actually read what i write.

last night we unexpectedly returned to st. ex. i met a man who told me that i was like a ruben painting come to life, which by the way, i know what that means. i may have been tipsy but im not stupid. or as stupid as i sound. or probably looked. he then went on to call me the perfect seventeenth century wench. what exactly does one say to that?!? i chose to laugh nervously and stare at the floor. it was when he hugged me goodnight that he knocked my drink to the floor and cut my hand.

i actually just remembered the pictures hellyeah, mm and i took in the photo booth at bar pilar. holy shit does it look like we had a great time.

on second thought, i think i may need to go to st. ex more often.

lifescript says you have a drinking problem

dear judgmental bastard:

i may be the drunkard, but even i know “drinking too much more than you should” is not a grammatically correct statement. and way to tell me i could quit if i “truly wanted to.” isn’t alcoholism a disease? way to blame the victim, chief. you wouldn’t do that if I had lupus! next you’ll be telling me gay people can turn themselves straight if they wanted it enough.

xoxo
v/n

You may drink too much
Your quiz results suggest that you may have a habit of drinking too much more than you should. You enjoy drinking for social purposes but also enjoy having a few cocktails when there's no specific reason to celebrate. You may occasionally drink too much, get hung over or forget what happened while you were drinking, but sometimes these situations don't warrant a problem with alcohol. But, you could be compromising your safety, health, relationships, financial well-being, or your job. If you are concerned that your drinking habits are getting out of control or if you simply want to curb your drinking habits for other reasons, talk to your doctor or another professional who deals with alcohol-related issues. You can set limits or stop altogether if you truly want to.

the murse, a horror story

men should be forbidden from ever wearing what amounts to large man-purses. unlike women who have had years of training, men lack the skill to deftly maneuver such large accessories (take that as you will). to the man next to me on the metro this morning: i still have the imprint from your fake prada bag branded on my abdomen.

i would similarly like to suggest a limit on the number of bags women are allowed to carry. somewhere along the way things have gotten a bit excessive to the point where every woman carries a purse, briefcase/enormous bag large suitable for smuggling very flexible midgets onto planes, a gym bag with running shoes attached to the outside, their coffee, their newspaper and a lunch bag. i suggest a cap on bags at two. i know most of you arent going to the gym, and only read the style section. and you shouldnt have your coffee on the train to start with.

(ahem...as those who know me can attest, im worse at this than most. the cap therefore applies only to everyone else.[naturally!]).

what not to wear, exhibit 1

we appreciate that you, much like our model... lets call her "january"... are probably cold, miserable, and sick of winter weather. however, as our model is demonstrating, pairing up two summer shirts does not create a winter outfit. especially when said shirts are made of LACE meaning no amount of layering will ever create an outfit warm enough for january, "january."

prior to last night, i would have told you lace is impossible to pull off during winter (or, possibly ever but thats a personal bias) but i am happy to report that my friend a.h. proved me wrong with the most adorable outfit (white and black lace dress, black tights, white heels). however, this is an advanced maneuver and is not to be tried by anyone who has yet to pass advanced level classes in "hats: parisian goddess or alexis carrington on dynasty during the dreaded turban years."

"I'd do it if I could, I hope you understand."

the other day during an afternoon of inebriation while celebrating mlk by lifting a glass, my friend made the most brilliant observation: much like dating isnt what it used to be (assuming it ever was what it "used" to be), communication also isnt what it used to be. within the realms of "hanging out" as the kids call it these days, text messages are the "coffee" of dating; emails are the "drinks," and the phone call is the equivalent of "dinner."

my question is (since im not-so-secretly a 13 year old girl): where does myspace fit in? say for example, someone leaves a comment on your myspace page, assuming they arent a random, that has to be the equivalent of a text message, right? now, being more specific, what about a comment on your myspace picture page? i ran that by the quorum, and they seemed to think that was actually worse than a comment or a text. i have to disagree. for those of you who are actual adults, and arent addicted to the crack that is myspace, to leave a picture message, someone has to actually click on your profile, then click to see more pictures and then leave a comment. comments are public so anyone who views your pictures can read them. another friend suggested that it was the equivalent of holding hands, which i rather liked, because who doesnt remember when jordan catalano takes angela chase's hand in the hallway?

my life, however, has never been much like a t.v. show; mine's more like a movie.

where's big edie?!

i had no idea that mary kate olsen was playing little edie in the musical version of "grey gardens."

"this is the best thing to wear for today, you understand. because i don't like women in skirts and the best thing is to wear pantyhose or some pants under a short skirt, i think. then you have the pants under the skirt and then you can pull the stockings up over the pants underneath the skirt. and you can always take off the skirt and use it as a cape. so i think this is the best costume for today."

black cat, black cat!

Hipster dance party: non-assertive, ambiguously gay white boys with girls haircuts and beards thrashing around the dance floor to any rhythm other than what's actually playing. Super tight tee-shirts and cigarette pants are a must. Apparently ironic tee shirts are still in fashion with the under 20 set. The girls, sadly, are no better. Its all intentionally bad haircuts and mismatched prints over leggings with 50s cat-eye glasses in funky colors. Don't even get me started on the fact that they're dancing around to "retro" 80s songs they're too young to have heard anywhere but the oldies station.

miss ochita: red beans and rice didn't miss her!

is it just me, or did someone go to a lot of extra time and effort to give that woman one hell of a booty?

fun with camera phones

i actually just needed a url address for something, but i decided to leave these up. after all, i wont have cleavage like that forever, y'know.

i think this one is perfect if i ever decide to become a dominatrix. or asian. i also call this "small head. big boobs."

black flag? minor threat? haagen daz at wisconsin and o street?

the playpen and i decided to venture over to naan and beyond for lunch. on our way back, while passing the national geographic building, who do we see but henry FRICKIN rollins?! as we walk by, i did my best to establish eye contact, smile, and let him know that i would like to pull him into a dark corner and make-out. i definitely got eye contact and a returned nod of acknowledgement, but i think the "hello silver fox! i love you and broke a toe moshing to the henry rollins band at hfstival when i was 13 , and would like to now fulfill my life long dream of getting to know you biblically" was lost in the message.

to rub salt into the wound, the playpen had no idea who henry rollins was. or minor threat. or black flag. what are they teaching kids these days?!

back at the playpen, j.b. says he saw henry rollins too, but only knew him as the "old dude in black flexing his muscles in a tee shirt."

for those keeping track, this is the second time ive been with work folks and seen a celebrity that only i recognize, and apparently who only i have had dirty thoughts about. thank god for the deputy. i ran immediately to her office where we giggled like the 13 year olds we are on the inside. god i love her.

ella's: bringing drunk girls together

the place: ellas
the people: l.l.g., her husband a.g., jess, and me
the coincidence: picture it: ella's, a thursday night, a pitcher of sangria. l.l.g. walks (or more accurately, stumbles) to the bar to order another martini, and who does she run into? her friend jess, who she hasn't seen in three years.
the conversation:
jess:"oh my god! the last time i saw you was at pharmacy bar, like three years ago! what's new?"
l.l.g.: "well i moved to chicago, and just moved back to d.c. and remember that guy i hooked up with that night at pharmacy bar? he's right over there. we're married now."
the moral: sometimes drunken hook-ups last more than just one night.

golden globes

is tom hanks having a stroke? why does he keep talking about warren beatty's balls? and by balls, i mean artistic vision.

what you can do to prevent drunk dialing

dear verizon:

in college i had a nasty habit of sending drunken, late-night emails. i know this doesnt seem like your problem, but trust me, im going somewhere with this. the problem with drunken emails is that they perpetuate drunken, hazy, non-sequiturs which never really go away, so much as they go into hiding until you decide to run for public office. thankfully, i dont have a home computer anymore, so drunk emailing is no longer a problem. impulse control, however, still is.

this, dear verizonwireless, is where you come in. i propose you offer a number blocking service. i know from your helpful faq that you dont currently provide this service, which is fine, because what im suggesting is actually a little different. rather than blocking incoming calls, i would like to be able to block outgoing calls to select numbers during peak hours, which in this context would be defined as "happy hour" hours (6-9 p.m.) and "booty call" hours (1:00 a.m. - 4 a.m.). these numbers would include, but not be limited to: ex-boyfriends, ex-friends, current frenemies, crushes, boys-who-string-you-along-by-saying-one-thing-doing-another-and-never-answering-their-phones-when-you-call, and boys-who-dumped-you-for-other-girls-but-who-come-sniffing-around-again-when-their-girlfriends-are-out-of-town.

because i cant always rely on my own judgment (as evidence i submit my ownership of a baby blue sequined mini-skirt and not one but two pairs of birkenstocks), or the successful intervention of my friends, i turn to you verizonwireless.com in my hour of need to provide the kind of clear headed rational thinking i can rarely count on from myself. in the absence of a number block, i would suggest the use of an operator/grief counselor during those hours who is able to provide professional intervention. it would be this person's job to place the call for you after conducting an interview and approving of your reason for calling, because maybe, just maybe, 3:30 on a saturday morning isnt the best time to have a conversation about your relationship, or why he's a buttfaced miscreant for having dumped you.

it goes without saying that a similar ban would be placed on all outgoing text messages sent between the same hours.

thank you for your consideration,

van nasty

if i start saying "rotflmao" you can shoot me

the playpen at my office convinced me to join facebook. i am officially devolving as a human being.

myheritage confirms:

i do in fact look more asian these days.

taking the sexy out of sex

recently i took a "stippercize" class. i havent blogged about it because i really needed some time to marinate on it, and digest. i hoped that, with time, words would come to me, but, much like men and anti-cellulite cream, they continue to fail me.

picture it, potomac maryland: a housing development with a sign depicting a woman on horseback warning you that a fox hunt may currently be in progress. houses so huge you have to employ the buddy system to prevent getting lost. it's a place where lawns, and women, are both perfectly manicured.

the three of us arrived late, as usual. and naturally everyone turned to stare. we were about 25 years younger, and millions of dollars poorer, than everyone else. our instructors were probably in their 40's, but were nip/tucked into looking more like 60.

it was a night of contradictions. a demo class being taught in a million dollar home where the hosts idea of hor d'oeuvres were green olives, cracker barrel cheese and wine from a handle. now, admittedly, those are all things i love, but ive seen a better spread at an overeaters anonymous meeting.

class began, accompanied by pulsating "stripper jams" last popular in 1993, and no one (including our instructors) could walk on beat. though in their defense, they were weighed down by dozens of carats of diamonds. nothing we learned in class even resembled stripping. there was marching for fuck sake. unless this is a strip joint in germany in the 1940's, stippers dont usually "march."

in a corner was a man i can best describe as "preparing-for-his-graduate-role." 22, preppy, all american, and competing in the olympic trials for swimming, he sat in the corner watching twenty 40something women gyrate and pretend to be sexy. im not completely sure what his role in the whole evening was, but i think it involved hourly rates. and, frankly, im kicking myself for not personally finding out.

once again proving that the rich are always kinky fucks, there was a rolling pin in the basement in a basket next to the couch. oh the places its been...

and for the record, it takes about 1.2 seconds for your bodies movement to make its way up to your silicone tits forcing all your dancing off beat and out of rhythm.

google search

these are the last 10 google searches that led people to van nasty:

10. pink taco
9. vans nasty
8. list of homicides in DC in 2006
7. vans nasty
6. tarot card daily
5. end of the world countdown clock AND Donnie Darko (not and, no! AND!)
4. ucla cheerleaders without undies (seriously? people use that word?)
3. nasty birthday wishes
2. hot bitches on escalator
1. did dorm mothers spank in all girl Catholic colleges (i love that this is in the form of a question)

im a little sad to see that neither "spanky pants" nor "being pale" have topped the list. strangely, those are huge ratings generators for me. i am, however, pleased to be the link between sex, violence, the occult and skater shoes.

redundant

my tarot card for today was the 10 of swords. again. i get it. really, i do!

i know, i know.

i called him. it was stupid. he answered, which was shocking (i firmly believe he only answered because he didnt realize it was me calling). we discussed plans for the following night; he mentioned inviting some friends and said he would look into getting us tickets. then... wait for it... he never called. and, never one to retain a shred of dignity when i could instead humiliate myself completely, i called him again. not shockingly he didnt answer this time. and hasnt returned my call.

apparently 2006's moto of "because i enjoy inflicting pain upon myself" has continued into the new year.

resolutions

2007 is going to be a banner year for van nasty. i can feel it. in the coming year i resolve to:

16. describe things as having gone "pear shaped" more often.
15. continue to resist the "allure" that is leggings, or, the dreaded stir-up pants.
14. not date boys who have more drugs than a cvs pharmacy.
13. contribute to the "eat a sammich" campaign: feeding celebrities since 2005.
12. crocs: still hideous (not a resolution so much as a statement of belief).
11. direct an educational video instructing starlets how to successful step out of a car without exposing their coinslot to the world.
10. wake up sober more often than i wake up still drunk, passed out on top of my bed wearing my clothes from the night before.
9. not put my contacts in a glass of water by my bed. you would think drinking your contacts would be the sort of thing that could only happen once; turns out, it isnt.
8. be ever vigilant against extended periods of abstinence.
7. continue my feud with the evil, embittered old lady who lives in my building. i think hating me is her only hobby.
6. never read books containing any combination of the following words and phrases: burning loins and or desire, heaving bosoms, engorged, tumescent and quivering. books with the phrases sweet-tits and cock-diesel are, as always, welcomed and encouraged.
5. start a new trend of dating boys who *gasp* actually like me.
4. continue my 5 year streak of not wrecking a car, or getting any tickets.
3. fulfill my manifold destiny.
2. reduce instances of foot-in-mouth disease.
1. alternately, buy cute shoes for times when foot-in-mouth is unavoidable.

and one to grow on: never be so distracted that i dont remember having already met a hot man with a nice southern drawl.

new years

ben's chili bowl. 3:30 a.m. i do not recall taking this picture.

of course, i also dont recall forcibly molesting a female co-worker, so that's par for the course.

a week in pictures

creepy.

im beginning to think the world will not be happy until it has completely destroyed my love for bunnies.

i took this in the parking lot outside an elks club in the shaw/howard neighborhood. in case you cant read it, it says "exalted ruler." im thinking of having it painted on my parking spot at work. if i had one. or a car.

seriously? what ad genius came up with that slogan? how do you think that meeting went? "hmmm. what word can we use to convince people to buy something old, smelly and thats been sitting around fermenting in someone's basement for years?" newsflash kiddies: that only works for clothes with expensive labels, and even then youre still wearing someone else's pitstained discards.