paper towels

Already at the young age of 24, I’ve learned when to actually shell out more ca$h for the name brand and when not to. One of the most important brand-name items I’ve learned to spend the extra bucks on are paper towels. In college, everyone is broke as hell and just trying to balance funds to afford 1. alcohol 2. everything else, so it only makes sense to save two dollars on paper towels to buy an extra beer at the bar.

At one time, Lil Momma and I were looking for a roommate after one recently moved out. We were lazy, and didn’t want to move across the apartment complex to the 2-bedroom apartments, so anyone was welcome. We invited a few people, and knew, of course, they’d want to move in us because we’re awesome. Little did we know, one of our cheap habits was a factor in not being a resident in DaSoulDen. We. Used. Economical. Paper. Towels. Extremely un-absorbent, only can be used for eating (no cleaning!), and easily use up a roll in a week. But they’re only a DOLLAR. We found it funny (and prissy) that paper towels were such a big deal. But, things change, and at some time, we did get a roll of the fancy shit and was SO impressed that I don’t think either of us will ever go back to the $1 rolls. You can reuse these paper towels! You can clean counters and stoves and they won’t tear! You can soak up spills with just one sheet! You can clean your face, your hands, AND your shirt after a meal (messy eater, here)! Even better are the “select-a-size” ones where you can choose how much of the paper towel you need. Just eating and need a napkin? Select the smallest size. Cleaning the bathroom sink? Take 2. Rubbing out that vomit in the living room carpet? At least 3 or 4. So amazing. I’ve definitely crossed over to the dark side, and will spend the extra bucks on the durable, but delicate paper towels.

There are a few other things I refuse to buy generic of…like ketchup, aluminum foil, and kitty litter. But I really do think the change to expensive paper towels has helped me get closer to winning my battle with domesticity. Mind blowing.

-big daddy

art: henri cartier-bresson

This summer I was very lucky to go to New York City (thanks big brother!!!) and went to the Museum of Modern Art, or MoMA. Usually I am super excited for the first hour or two at museums and then rush to just get out the last hour, but this one was a non-stop surge of adrenaline the entire time. While we were there, the museum had a special exhibit of the French photographer, Henri Cartier-Bresson. I was so impressed (and overwhelmed) that I bought the very expensive souvenir book so I can learn and see everything about this incredible (badass) artist. Here are my favorites:

Threesome in Coney Island, NY 1946

Very HOT (look at him grabbing his tie!) in Naples, Italy 1960

Getting hair did in Alicante, Spain 1933 (POLL: male OR female in the middle?!)

HELLO! in Italy 1933

post WWII near Strasbourg, France 1944

napping in the park Boston 1947

I asked the family about this one (Somerville is close to Memphis): basically, this picture is depicting a HUGE civil rights moment that got national attention. Tent City near Somerville, TN 1961

I’d go to church more often if I could wear hats like this. Easter Sunday in Harlem, NY 1942

AND Cartier-Bresson did portraits of some famous people:
Hell is other people. Jean-Paul Sartre 1946

Harper Lee’s best friend. Truman Capote 1947

LOVE this one (probably more for that stretching dog in the background than WF) William Faulkner and dogs. Oxford, MS 1947

Max Ernst and Dorothea Tanning in Huismes, France 1955 (Max Ernst is one of my all-time favorite artists, but I’ll save that for another time..)

Well, my brain is a little fried tonight, but I managed to finally post an entry. What I think impressed me the most about Henri Cartier-Bresson was how he could take a picture in France, another in the States, and then another in Mexico, and all the people are just people. All with the same pleasures and same worries…you forget where they’re living or what they could be representing. I digress (and starting to write funky), so I’m gonna stop there and let my frazzled brain chill out.

-big daddy

Rap Music

Rap music makes me feel like a woman.

It’s definitely not one’s typical reaction when listening to a genre of music filled with the objectification, exploitation, and violence against women; however it’s a visceral response for me.

I would consider myself a feminist.

I believe that both genders should be treated equally, and I think that there should be laws that enforce this. Yet, I also appreciate a larger/stronger male figure in my life that will protect and safeguard me from the unscrupulous world outside.

I want a man that can pick me up and have his way with me (with my consent, of course). I want the occasional meal paid for, and I’d even be grateful for the rare gift of flowers (preferably NOT on Valentines Day, though).

Honestly, this pains me to admit all of this. I’ve been raised under the assurance that I can accomplish and do anything I wish, that I can live alone, have a successful career, and be altogether independent. This sounds spectacular for the simple fact that I want to be able to wake up and take a poop, be able to lay around with my tousled hair and morning breath, without being concerned of impressing anyone. I want to allot however much money I so choose on expensive clothing and fashionable accessories. I want an everlasting amount of alone time with which I can fill however I wish (crafting, diary writing, reading, masturbating, etc.)

The grass is always greener

Right now, I am “livin’ the dream.” I just graduated college with an actual, usable degree and teacher license. Instead of using this actual, usable degree, I am traveling around the country (actually, the freaking world) playing with a band that is getting a decent amount of buzz. We are on tour on and off (more on, than off) for the rest of the year, with no end in sight. Yes, it is fun. Yes, it is crazy. But it is also tiring. Tiring in a way that I have never experienced. Staying out all night, every night. Driving all day, every day. And repeating this daily routine for a month or even longer. All of my friends are off getting promotions, going to medical school, or nesting in their new grown-up apartments, while I am just getting drunk and playing violin. Okay, it sounds awesome when I type it out like that, but I can’t help but feel like I am on permanent playtime (and I don’t mean that in a good way). I keep telling myself that this is what I want to be doing, but it is hard to remember that fact, when I am nearly broke from not being able to work a steady, normal job. I can’t help but be jealous of my friends that sleep in their own bed every night and eat regular food.

Speaking of these friends, its not like I actually have time to see them anymore. As a single gal, my friendships are very important to me, and I have been neglecting them. These friends of mine keep telling me how cool it is that I am out being a rock star, when really I am craving a life more like theirs. Immediately after graduating college, I moved back in with my parents and started touring with the band. There was no time for me to settle anywhere or make a life that is my own.

That said, I cannot wait to get back out on the road. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side.

-lil momma

retail

I had never wished death upon others before working retail. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that it could be that I have some type of character flaw… possibly a kindness chromosome that I’m missing, but I’d like to the think that working at Urban Outfitters has been the catalyst in making me despise people. All people.

Prior to my employment, I never found it pleasurable to envision the brutal stabbing of young, pretty girls shopping with their mothers. I never purposely bumped into people, jabbing them with my elbows. I never came close to homicide or suicide, but in the past year and a half working in the retail environment this overflow of anger has completely taken over my life.

It’s not just a mental thing that I can coax with a couple of “count to tens” or any other anger management exercises. Lately it has become a physical thing as well. My heart immediately starts racing at the sight of someone dropping off unwanted clothing where it does not belong. I start sweating and feel my entire body go tense while witnessing customers destroy perfectly manicured stacks of t-shirts. If some bratty teenager leaves piles of unwanted clothing in the fitting room- I literally begin to shake, and after a busy Friday or Saturday night, the sale section gives me a full-fledged panic attack.

butts

The beach was full. Surrounding the beach were rocks from all parts of the world. In the middle of the beach though there was no room to move. The lines had been drawn, almost as if a battle were about to ensue. On one side sat the white tips and on the other side sat the brown tips. What these two were fighting over is really insignificant, especially if you are just a cigarette butt. However, during the summer it looked like we were ready for war.

Really, the only reason the battle lines of the cigarettes were drawn that way was because of where my roommate and I sat when we smoked our cigarettes on our patio. I would always prefer to sit on the classy loveseat purchased from Goodwill for $30 (the highlighter stains on it were freebies!), and my roommate, Chad, would tend to sit in a chair that faced more towards the left of the ash tray.

One evening in mid-June (ironically) I noticed how there was essentially an invisible line drawn right between the middle of the ashtray. For some reason, I found this to be a very neat and a very depressing thing. I found it neat because of the symmetry. I’ve always loved symmetry for some reason I cannot explain, and having all the white cigarette butts on one side and all the brown cigarette butts on the other side really pleased me. It made me feel like an artist or perhaps even an inventor who accidentally stumbles upon something great by accident. “I didn’t mean to create great symmetry it just happened and now everyone loves me.” I prepared that quote for the local newspaper, but surprisingly they never showed up to interview Chad or me. I see that as their loss, definitely not mine.

pooping

Holy shit, I am gonna write about poop.

Forever I have been shush-shush on pooping. My family never talked about it and my friends were girls, so we didn’t poop. (It is very un-ladylike.) Living in the dorm made it worse with community stalls with absolutely no privacy. I went days without pooping until we found the creepy handicapped bathroom with a private door.

I couldn’t even say the word “poop.” I always said crap, and if in the right company, shit. Now I love the word poop. Poop poop poop, so childlike and innocent. Poo is cute too. Feces can be hilarious, if used appropriately.

I was always grossed out when I saw magazines or books placed by the toilet. I couldn’t fathom sitting on the toilet long enough to need something else to do. Also I imagined tiny feces particles could fly in the air and land between the pages and then I’d have a contaminated book. I had a roommate at one time that kept her laptop by the toilet. I found it unsettling to know someone could be looking at my facebook while sitting on the shitter! Someone once had the nerve to tell me to stock up on new magazines because they had read them all; like, I need to go on a special trip to the store to buy bathroom reading. Now, I do realize how important bathroom reading material is. (Geeze, there’s actually an entire book series out there for it.) It can be a distraction and sometimes, it can just be a nice break.

quarters

“Who wants a quarter?” I can still hear my mom asking that question to my sister and me when we were kids.  When I was that age, there was something so magical about a quarter.  A quarter could buy just about anything a young child could want.  The problem with the quarter was that it sometimes felt like death by options.  I mean, do I want the big gum ball, a handful of the small pieces of gum, the jawbreaker, or do I want to get a little toy (although let’s be honest with ourselves, the little toys normally cost at least two quarters.).  If I happened to be in the right place at the right time, I could invest that quarter into playing one of those neat video games where you got to hold a plastic gun and shoot the bad guys on the screen.  Oh the possibilities!  It was enough to make my head spin.  I would sit and debate, just what I wanted to get with that quarter, and after I made my decision, I always knew I should have gone for the other thing.

my gym

Summer 2010 was gonna be the summer I got back in shape after a year of doing nothing but sitting. My workout plan began lightly with power-walks in Chickasaw Gardens every night, but with heat advisories in triple digits, that quickly stopped. I ended up joining the gym with a friend, and promised myself I would go at least five times a week. I’ve been to many gyms before, but this gym was a little different. The equipment is a little old and janky, I’m probably in better shape than most of the workers, and there’s no window to the outside world…anywhere. It’s not a prison gym, but calling it a fitness club is being kind.

All gyms have pretty good people watching–that could actually be a whole ‘nother post.  In fact, many days the people watching is all you need for a distraction, especially the insane rush between 5 and 7pm. However, two or three times a week, we’ll take a workout class to spice it up.

picture

found this polaroid in my car a few years ago. later found out it was lil momma’s who found it in chicago!

(oui, oui is yes, yes in french pronounced wee, wee)