Back in Blog

So I leave the online blog-world I like to call home for maybe two weeks and what happens? A new American Idol was named, Rachael Ray promoted terrorism via a scarf in a DD ad, Clay Aiken "knocked someone up", Miley dropped Hannah and Wentzson tied the knot and finally announced their pre-marital pregnancy.

Phew, a lot to catch up on...Hollywood never sleeps and neither should I!

Obv I'll touch on these juicy gossip slices in blogs to come (very soon). I can't let these delicious drippings slip through the cracks of my laziness/procrastination. Summer will bring me more free time to do nothing but watch E!, read IN Touch and People while blaring my new duel personality free Miley CD (Breakout, 7/22).

This WILL be the first of many well tanned-bikini clad-fruity drink in hand-summer blog post.

So as the text savvy might say, "TTYS <3".

No more teachers, no more books

Yesterday was my last day of classes...wooo hoo! Right? Not really.

Sure, summer vacation is bitchen. Homework blows. Finals = sucky when it's beach-worthy weather. Meh.

All this may be true but I really don't care that school's out for summer. I (for the most part) kind of like my homework because it involves: post on my blog once a week...which I'm doing right now. Or write a portion of my memoir which I want to do anyway. My professors were all amazing and I had a kick ass schedule.

The three or so months between classes are not all they're cracked up to be. Follow me--we have to pack up all of our shit that has accumulated over two whole semesters, move out of our dorms where we are free to live by our own rule-free rules and we head home most likely far far away from friends. Personally, I have no friends from like high school or in my town so leaving UMass can be very lonely. I do love the extra quality time with the fam but even they get sick of that after like a week.

Luckily all of my close friends are just that- they live within in a not so distant trip. Since I totally don't have a car however (different blog for another day) no matter where my amigos rest there academic hats, I can't get to them.

And summertime jobs. How much do those suck? Not everyone is lucky enough to spend their summers vacaying on Myrtle Beach all tanorexic (both too tanned and skinny for this matter) sipping umbrella trimmed, sugar rimmed drinks. Last summer, I spent my days in high waisted, highly unattractive khaki pants and an equally unflattering too big t-shirt touting the logo of Smokey Bones: BBQ Grill. Swimming laps around a vat of mustard based barbecue sauce instead of fresh salty sea water = not my idea of an enjoyable break. Not to mention the horrific pay and mediocre tips.

Later this month, or next week for that matter, I have nothing concrete lined up. A few applications will be in the mail, an interview in place but nothing salary guaranteeing. No income to assure a road romping trip with fellow cabin fevered folks. Between shifts of buff-a-cue chicken serving in Summer 07, I was fortunate enough to be one of the elite beach dwellers on the exclusive isle of Nantucket (only affording the trip because of a friendly invite and free bed).

It may be too late to assure a more invigorating May-August 08 but I know at the end of it all I have September to look forward to and my (eek) senior year. School has friends within walking distance, no curfews or regulations and a workstudy job which is like free money. My 21st birthday does fall nicely between spring and fall which holds potential for making this vacation worthwhile.

We'll see how the sizzling season unfolds but until then, I will take advantage of the university and the free two weeks of no finals or classes where I can enjoy what college is really for--staying up till 4am riding around town, an iPod on shuffle and a slurpee with amazing people and waking up at 2 in the afternoon to repeat the more than fulfilling cycle.

Famous people get sick too

All the Beautiful (but mostly slutty) Girls and their stripper pole boyfriends came out of the Dartmouth woodwork for Sean Kingston's UMD spring concert.

The (not so) much awaited performance sponsored by Campus Activities Board was a semi-success. Other schools get Kanye, Paramore or Fall Out Boy...UMD got Kingston and Blessid Union of Souls (they were big in the 90's with that song "Hey Leonardo"). Apparently, these bands were all CAB could afford, so the campus had to settle.

After a killer 65 minute set from Blessid, including their few singles and a Queen throwback, the Jamaican teen wonder and his hype man cleverly named "Hype King" took the small black stage.

Suddenly, all 575 audience members stood up or rushed the stage. Too small tube tops struggled to stay put, mini-skirts inched up bouncy legs and guys positioned themselves accordingly for their chicks to grind up on. Yeah, college kids at their absolute finest. Sean was only joined by his crowd pumping partner and a DJ. Right off the bat, the barely legal Biggie look-alike wasn't quite up to par. Assumably out of breath due to his teddy bear frame, he was just kind of walking back and forth, singing with the track every so often.

About 35minutes flew by and Sean was sneaking off stage and sending a peace face his fans' way. Left a little disappointed, the $20 ticket holders filed out next. As a tech worker, equipped with a backstage pass, my friends and I slipped behind the curtains and formed a line in front of the makeshift tent housing the "Take Me There" rapper.

Two at a time. One photo. One autograph.

We followed instructions and got another celeb pic for my ever growing collection. While trying to wrap my arms around the big man, it was clear he was not well--all sniffley, congested and wheezing. Aww, his invincible fame-immune system was tarnished by the flu of sorts. I told him to feel better, feeling like some sort of mother myself. Who else was around to care for him? The DJ? Hype King? No one.

I felt bad for snagging a photo at this point but still wished him well. On our way out, we stole the rest of his freebie food and drinks, bragged to those not fortunate enough to sneak a meet-and-greet, and lectured the head of CAB on who to get next spring. Magician Justin Kredible, crooner Jason Mraz. Who knows who we'll get, but I'll be there no matter what for a good star stalking time.

Four eyes (minus two...)

We are all born with two eyes.
They vary in color, size, shape and usefulness.
Some of us are lucky enough to get two more eyes- glasses.

Since I was 7yrs. old, I have been a member of the quad-eyed population. My first pair was circular, hot pink and shiny gold frames. They covered a large surface area of my face just under my curled, poofy bangs and always caused a bright glare spot in every school photo. I loved them.

Even at such a young and impressionable age, I wasn't ashamed of my optical enhancers. The name calling, "four eyes! geek! nerd!", none of it affected me. Most weaker children would have cried their way home and fed their frames to the dog.

Over the years my eye shields got progressively cooler- from edgy frameless lenses to artsy blue square specs. Contacts were never a thought that crossed my mind. Obviously it was brought up, but it never stuck.

Until last week.


I didn't lose any self-esteem- the fact that I wear over-sized yet stylish sunglasses over my spare eyes didn't embarrass me. The fact that my blue plastics sat crooked on my nose didn't bother me. It was one conversation with my girl friends about make-up.

We are all attending a prom-like dance (Theatre Ball) next week and everyone was pumped about flashy eye shadows and lengthy fake lashes...they all looked at me and said, "Well, we'll find something fun for you."

But-but I wanna play too.

So I went out and got contacts. Yeah, it happened that fast. 13yrs. of ocular confidence out the window.

After a $90 tutorial fee and one hour of watery eyes and probing fingers, I got rid of my specular friend.

Seeing me in public will be the testament to whether or not I won the battle that morning with my eyes' natural instinct to fight back when being poked with foreign objects.

I hate them.

My "friend" once told me my face looks fat without glasses and now I believe him. I hate being without my face shield, my spare pair. No one has even noticed! Unless you knew me back in kindergarten, you have never seen me glass-free.

I will continue the daily battle but will not win the war. After Theatre Ball, you can all call me four eyes again.

Music, magic and make peace

Tuesday night was one of just that- music, magic and peace, all rolled into an organic joint of love.

No I was not getting high listening to my iPod while watching Criss Angel. I was seeing singer Jason Mraz and magician Justin Kredible in concert.

These two handsomely wholesome boys ventured out on a tour together with some other clean cut cuties earlier this year. Bushwalla and The Makepeace Brothers joined Mr. A-Z and JKreds on this journey to spread the love across North America.

The lights faded and the black lights glowed. All we could see was the signature glowing white hair of Everclear lead singer Art Alexakis. For those of you drawing a 1990's alt.-grunge band blank, these guys sang "Father of Mine", "Buy You a Garden" and "Wonderful". Talk about a concert bonus feature, these guys weren't even on the bill. This group of middle aged rockers may have looked old on the outside but the second their picks hit the strings, they looked like teens jamming in a garage.

Following that painfully long break at concerts between sets, the magic finally happened. The in-Kredible man gave my bf and I a wink then proceeded to make tables float in mid-air, 3ft canes appear from nothing and then he swallowed a balloon animal whole. Following Justin's latex late night snack, three young brothers in matching organic T's and khakis played some mood music for the next trick. These dewy-eyed dudes by the last name Makepeace (no joke) each carried one instrument- a ukulele, a bass and a harnessed wooden box.

Their trip down hippie lane ended with a tambourine jam by the concert headliner himself and then the audience, approaching the three hour mark of standing, was introduced to Buswalla. After a quick juggling session and a promise to "Funk your brains out", the original gangster from Cleveland stripped off his brown polyester 70's swag to reveal a one piece yellow spandex bodysuit. At this point, the whole tour is on stage singing, dancing and feeling the love.

Finally Mraz got his chance to go solo. Magically appearing from inside of an empty tent, he grabbed his guitar and the audience fell into hush. "The Remedy" morphed into "Wonderwall" and melodies transformed into short philosophical mentoring. Leave here and make peace with everyone. At the first strum of "I'm Yours", the whole audience in near perfect unison grabbed their phones and speed dialed someone they loved so Jason could croon the love song via long distance call.

Next came about four encores one from Jason, a couple with everyone including Justin and a final farewell from the curbside prophet. At this point, the numbness in the lower half of my body was subdued by the soothing soulful sounds and peceful good bye.

I've been to my fair share of concerts and this by far was the best ticket I've ever purchased. Six hours later, no feeling left from the torso down and a $15 JKred shirt, I left a happy girl with a few hundred other fans feeling the same.

Magic + Peace + Music = concert bliss.

I CAN wait to see you again...

Dearly blog love-ed, we are gathered here today to pay our respects to the reputation of peppy-rocker royalty.

In a time when America's youth needed a fashion forward female to look up to, she was there in bedazzled jeans and matching sequin jacket.

When we all needed a good dual-personality teen rock icon, she threw on a hideous-banged platinum blond wig between songs at her insanely sold out to the point where people faked cancer to get in-concerts.

And when young Hollywood was defined by Sweet 16 Birthday parties posing as baby showers and playpen-play boy shoots, she was there merely sharing a twizzler by mouth in a non-sexual manner with a friend in a cell phone pic.

Until that tragic day when our world came crashing down on us.

Destiny Hope "Miley Ray" Cyrus' dignity was taken at far too young an age. At the age when most adolescent girls are looking forward to cell phones and licenses, Miley was sucked into the unavoidable pit of lost female idols.

On April 14, 2008- a trio of photographs was leaked of Miley in less than appropriate clothing, or underwear for that matter.

Flashing her still not quite yet developed chest wearing what can only be assumed as a green training bra, you could see the last strands of hope fraying from the lace trim. Unfortunately, it doesn't stop their Miley-ites. In a separate shoot, the 15 year old daughter of the most famous mullet known to Hollywood was laying in a seductive position with no brightly colored fun top on but instead a black big-girl bra. In these two candid’s, the photographer is unknown as is the identity or age of the guy Miley is sprawled over.

What could she have become? There were so many opportunities left in this pop tart's $18.3 million a year career. She will still sell out stadiums, she will still have total control of every radio station and teen channel but it will never be the same. This is a blemish that not even a Pro-active campaign can erase.

When Miley dropped "Destiny Hope" from her name, it was an all too frightening foreshadowing. Too soon after, all hope dropped of this harlot being the last chance at a respected tween role model.

Her reputation now rests peacefully next to those memories of Vanessa Hudgens, Jamie-Lynn Spears and Ashley Tisdale.

We only have future generations to look forward to now--maybe Jamie's baby will bring a light to the end of this un-clothed, un-inhibited tunnel heading our youth to a skanky train wreck.

A little less "Sixteen Candles", a little more "have my baby"

Touch up you guy-liner, adjust your way-too skinny bulgetastic chick jeans and rejoice emo kids everywhere! Well at least try to crack a smile- your famous brethren are reproducing!

It's really your average fall out boy meets girl story. Boy steals girl’s pants. Girl gets nose job. They procreate.

Pete Wentz, the only guy we care about from Fall Out Boy, and Ashlee Simpson, umm, Jessica's less endowed sister are making it official. The lip-syncing tartlet and the pretty in black bassist have been linked for over 2 years now being spotted at hot spots locking lips and batting their mascara-ed lashes for the photogs.

In almost every interview, Pete brags about his cross dressing tendencies and how it’s so convenient dating a girl the same size as him. I mean, I won't lie, I've swapped t-shirts with my bf here and there but pants...no friggen way.

Anyway, last week, in typical Hollywood fast lane fashion, the semi-pop rock stars announced plans for a rather shotgun wedding (confirming rumors about a certain ring on a certain finger.) It was all "we wanted our fans to know first!" followed by a polite fuck off, we want our privacy.

Just as the wedding bells started chiming, pitter patters of Chuck-clad baby feet came from the not so distant future. Sources close to the punk-couture pair (you know, those sources that always fuck over celebs to dish for cash) say that we can expect a mini-Wentzson sometime this year.

Woah woah little Simpson sister, are we forgetting the family values set forth by Jessica the chaste? She was de-virginized on national television (in between idiotic explosions from the mouth) after an elaborate white wedding to long time boy band beau Nick Lachey. Ashlee herself has never come out promising premarital purity but it was understandably assumed. She has recently stated however that she is extremely offended that people think she's preggers which is usually code for I'm fa shiz up the spout.

Only obsessive baby bump monitoring will tell if the lady and gent of pop rockdom will be needing Patrick Stump to babysit or Jess to change diapers.