I know you are but what am I?

Shit Mark Says: Take One

2012-02-10T13:50:00.000-04:00

This is just a little look into the reasons why my friends are extraordinary (read: marginally sane and AMAZING) human beings without whom my life would be a meaningless and humour-free existence. My partner in shenanigan crime Mark and I, aka Probs and Mayhem, were out last night at it again. Nothing but ruckus trolling around the city mixing more drinks than we should have. Good times. Along the way I decided I should share with the world some of the ridiculous shit this clown says to me regularly. Keep in mind, everything he says below happened within 24hrs.

On film and literature:

"You should get this book 'The Love Dictionary.' I highly recommend it. Oh and also watch 'The Troll Hunter'! I would give up good head any day for those two things."

On kah-rah-taaaay and fight tactics:

"We should wear masks like ninjas. Definitely."

"You should just be like, kick..." *demonstrates and accidentally kicks a guy who's walking past just then* Kicked him. Swear.

On music:

Me: "I wanna learn to play the guitar. I'll be much less impressed with these niggas when I do. Like, 'Oh you play the guitar? Me too so gftoh.'"

Mark: "That's a good idea. Clouding your mind with some wood and a few strings. Smh."

On my taste in men:

"Really? That nigga is one chromosome away from being a woman."

Me: -_-

On becoming ex-pats:

"We can't be in New York together. Ever. We'll get arrested. We'll get deported."

----------------------

And there you have it.

Your keeper of the worst good company,

Allycat

6 Signs You Need More Estrogen In Your Life

2012-02-04T21:11:00.000-04:00

Allow me to preface this by saying that if you know me/this blog you know that this is in no way going to be a scientific breakdown of the effects estrogen - or lack thereof - has on your life. If you're looking for science find a book. This is about me maybe morphing into a penis-less man (The best kind! Oh wait...). For whatever reason this year I have been surrounded by my male friends much more than my female ones. I don't know why and I actually don't mind it at all, the interactions are less complicated and I save myself a lot of explanation but this isn't to say that I don't love the banter with my girlfriends. I am however, noticing some side effects of said increase in male interaction.

Here is my list of 6 things to look out for as indicators that you need more girlfriends.

1. Increase in Food Consumption

Guys eat. A lot. And a lot of crap at that. With girlfriends you tend to make more conscious decisions about what you put into your system which is usually limited to home-cooked meals, salads, Subway and cute cocktail parties. I love food a whole lot as I have previously expressed, but this is a major issue with me because exercise and I have been back and forth in a ridiculous beef like Common and Drake. Sigh. I guess we need to squash this amicably before it gets real gully. And by 'it' I mean my ass.

2. Birds Town and Birds All Around
Every girl I know and have ever known is now a 'bird'. Even if I don't say it out loud, in my mind I'm thinking, "What's this bird going on about now?" I shit you not. This is because my guy friends address girls as such when we discuss them. It's too hard to keep up with names and such ya know?

3. Dick Repellent

This is actually a great thing for where I am right now but if ever I was in doubt of a man's power to cock-block it was confirmed on Wednesday at an event. He didn't even need to say a word, touch me, nothing. Just the fact that he was there ensured that all other men stayed away because let's face it - it's a crazy ass world we live in. Better to assume that's my man than chance it because niggas be trippin out. Which brings me to...

4. Bitches Be Trippin'
I literally cannot stop saying this. In part because of my friends but also because it's soooo true! To hear the shit that we ~~birds~~ women do recounted to me by a guy makes us all seem like the most ridiculous, irrational ass creatures God ever thought of. I mean really, the whole going through the phone, Facebook screenings and whatnot - been there done that, never doing that again - and really we all need to stop that shit. Stop trippin' ~~birds~~ bitches! Do it for me so I can't truthfully say this.

5. Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass
If you know ANY man, I need not say more.

That being said, this also engages me in some slight lesbianism. Just a smidge. I'm not personally courting any females so don't exert too much energy raising a judgemental/sexually stimulated brow. You know how guy friends are always looking for the ~~bird~~ girl of their dreams and shit? Well I sometimes feel that I can locate said ~~bird~~ girl and so I find myself actually scoping ~~birds~~ girls for them as if I'm gonna walk up to this ~~bird~~ girl and say, "Hey, I have the man of your dreams do you want him?" Smh. Fem shit.

6. Talking About It
"It". As in the way you used to say sex before you passed through puberty and assumed you were grown. I don't actually believe it's quite so simple to dismiss the myth that men think about sex all day. This is because I have witnessed with my very eyes and ears that they do - in some way or another - tend to think about sexual interactions VERY often. If it's not covert then it's blatant but either way, it's there. And now, 'it' is always on my mind as well. Look at that guy's back... Ooh look at that guy's lips that look like... That smile could easily spread... Mhmm. Thanks for the dick repellent though guys. Comes in handy.

Your girl in need of girls,

Allycat

Image from cartoonstock

Introducing Dolce

2012-01-31T20:37:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine found a stray that she decided to put into a box and label "for Ally". Not literally but I got the call that she had this amazing splendid specimen of a kitten for me. Initially I was under the impression that we would "share" the cat but that was quickly clarified. So there I was with a teeny tiny flea infested starving kitten who was afraid of wind and made noise for no reason. Le sigh (as they say).

Within the first few days she turned my new gold and cocoa curtains into a restroom, peed on the couch, peed on the phone, peed on the floor of my entertainment room and continued to pee until I decided to be proactive and stop feeding her liquids altogether because the shit was getting ridiculous. No not really, but I put her ass in the porch. She got a nice little basket to sleep in, food on a regular and only gets let inside after I've witnessed some kind of excretion. That part is serious. No really - cleaning up after a cat is NO fun.

After the first week the little runt grew on me. She was supposed to be handed over to a cousin but I'm too far gone. I decided to stop calling her Cat and give her a real name. ~~Since I'm not Audrey Hepburn~~. She's now known as Metta World Peace (How ridiculous is Ron Artest with that shit? My bro and I are almost seizing when we hear the commentators call him that. Yes, they actually have to call him that!). But I digress, her real name is Dolce. Which is a man's name yes, but a gay man so I think it now qualifies as unisex.

Currently Dolce enjoys lounging on the carpet, the couch, my bed and naps in her basket.

She also enjoys horse play and has inflicted me with several puncture wounds on my toes and fingers. Case in point:

I don't make it a habit of takin strays into ma house at all (disclaimer: this is not limited to animals) but...I'm experiencing a change of heart with this one.

Your yet-to-be-confirmed-as-crazy cat lady,

Allycat

Image from: crazytownmayor.com

Thrills Sans Pills

2012-01-24T23:05:00.000-04:00

Getting my thoughts sorted and analysed by my secretary (read: therapist) has been awesome for the whole two sessions we've had so far. A whole two. I'm cured! Remember when I said I was afraid of becoming one of those "my therapist said" people? Well I haven't become one of those only because I'm far too preoccupied having discussions in my head about what my therapist would say about things I'm doing or worse - the shit that I think about doing. I'm on the fence as to whether that's better or even worse than what I was afraid of becoming to begin with.

I walk into her office and immediately the logical and more articulate version of myself decides to make an appearance. This woman must see that I am in fact not crazy and therefore seeing her recreationally to give her my money ~~because I ball so hard~~. As I sit on the chair to face her, the disrespectful, cussin, brutally honest side of myself just decides to take a seat next to me and snicker while Doc marvels at my maturity and understanding. True story. I mean what kind of person would she think I was if I said, "blah blah blah and when he said that I wanted to reach through the phone and slap him hard enough to make his head spin because that's real fuckery." She may faint. Or die. And I'm sadly ill-equipped to handle that type of stress. Clearly.

Right now our relationship is a similar sensation to getting a new bff - any and everything that happens makes me think 'Ooohh I can't wait to tell Doc about this shit.' I wonder if that happens to everyone...

Your psych convert,

Allycat

toon from: writerunboxed.com

Shit Girls Say And Other Shit That Was Said

2012-01-17T05:26:00.008-04:00

Unless you live under a rock you're familiar with the 'Shit x say' trend in viral videos. Insert whatever you want at 'x' and it's probably been done. It all started with Shit Girls Say and bring on the parodies thereafter. In all the mele there are a few videos I've come across that have literally left me either laughing hysterically or in tears. Seriously though, don't watch these back to back, you may die (DISCLAIMER).

1. Shit Caribbean Moms Say
Of course being a Trini, I had to start with this one. "DOH-TISH!"

2. Shit Fashion Girls Say

Being a fashion girl myself I can say I've found myself saying some of this shit from time to time. It just happens. I tweet and do net research on brands and designers all day and it really is kind of taxing but this is just hilarious.

3. Shit Single Girls Say

I've heard this so many times and said some of this too. But I'm glad the girls in my circle don't go on like this. Way to get an instantaneous slap from me.

4. Shit Liza Minelli Says
I have often thought about how hilarious it must be to be a fly on Liza Minelli's shoulder as she just lives her life. What a class act that one.

5. Shit White Girls Say...To Black Girls
I can't understand why people would see this as racist. It's simple facts. You know how many white girls have walked up to me and touched my hair? Just asking because I've lost count. But seriously, there are black girls with long hair who don't wear weave but that doesn't mean you have permission to touch my head. She got every reference right.

I've been thinking of doing one myself but I have so many ideas it's hard to keep up with which one hasn't been done yet. We'll see how that goes. Hope this made you smile today!

Your blogging comedienne,

Allycat

The Zap and Drop

2012-01-05T23:31:00.001-04:00

Hi my name is Ally and I'm addicted to that mosquito zapping tennis racket thing. Seriously. It's a problem.

I didn't realise how bad things were until I had my besties over the other day and they kept staring at me as I wielded it around like a masterful swordsman barely flinching at the zap as I made my way around the room. Ok, I lied, I still flinch a little. If I even see a mosquito in the corner of my eye I'm already reaching for my zapper with a sinister grin on my face to watch his little mosquito body fry before my eyes. I call it the 'Zap and Drop'; They fry and then I get a broom as they drop, smiling all the while. A psychopath in the making? Perhaps.

I'm not the only one right? I mean, there's something about holding that racket that just makes me feel more powerful. And it's even worse after one has already bitten me because then - we're talking revenge! The whole thing makes me feel that I'm brushing my shoulders off at Mother Nature like, "Yeah, I just killed your mosquito. What!"

No but really, I'm considering giving it to someone else so I won't be walking around the house with it like an armed soldier. We'll see how that goes. Bless the person who created it though. I be zappin.

Your zapper wielding psychopath,

Allycat

Why All Women Need At Least One Man

2011-12-22T00:24:00.000-04:00

Man friend that is. I'm not of the school of thought that men and women can't be friends because somewhere, somehow along the lines feelings are involved. I call bullshit on that. Perhaps that's because I don't go around crushing on my niggas but really, I value the thoughts if my male friends much more than my female ones. How could you say such a thing Ally? I mean, really women are more well-rounded with their thought process, don't you appreciate that? Like hell.

Don't get me wrong, I'm as fragile and sometimes petty as the woman one seat over but I don't often care for the addition of female fluff to pad my issues. Your male friends will never pad. And I never pad for them. Or for my female friends actually... which explains why I have so few. It all boils down to this simple fact: bitches be lyin'. You're always wrong but not really wrong. And it's always, "who does he think he is?" and "i can't believe he did that!" I have the same convo with my male friends and they're all like, "you know you should've seen that shit comin, come on now." And then I actually have to stop and THINK. Psh. Men. Burstin women's bubbles since 500 B.C.

Anyhoo, tonight I was having a convo with a friend in which sex was briefly "discussed". I use the quotations there because men don't really discuss sex. For women any talk about sex could turn into a book, for men it can be narrowed to a simple sentence. Specifically when addressing casual sex. When is casual sex ever casual for a woman? Didn't Justin and Mila just address this?! So I said to him "sex is complicated" to which he responds, "it definitely is not" and goes on to break it down in man sense.

For men it's basically as simple as a handshake, we're doing nothing but having sex - simple. That's a binding contract right there. For us it STARTS that simple and can turn into something else if we're attracted to the person outside of just the physical (insert fine print complication here).

We think, "maybe, just maybe this could be more and this will just be the funny tale of how we became mr. and mrs." (catastrophe pending!) Men think (in the words of my friend), "just don't fuck them like you love them. pull their hair and shit."

A female friend would interpret that as "ooh maybe he's just freaky" but this is why I love and appreciate ma mens. Because I know that if ever I were to enter into a casual sex arrangement and he pulls my hair I better just enjoy the ride and neatly pack my oestrogen riddled brain in my overnight bag. Simple life 101.

Your knowledge-seeking man hugger,

Allycat

Image from: cartoonstock.com

Therapeutic Gangster Rap

2011-12-15T23:59:00.000-04:00

There's just something about Thursdays that automatically make me feel like shit. And what is it with random showers of heavy ass rain on a Thursday anyway? Basically, Thursday is an asshole. It was however, interesting to (tentatively) embark on my adventure of seeing a therapist. There I was sitting in the waiting room expecting a frail-looking woman with round spectacles to peep from behind the wooden door and ask me - with a very Keanu Reeves monotone - to come in. Imagine my surprise and awkward facial expression when this bubbly adorable woman emerged smiling and chirping hellos. Ok Thursday...

There was no couch, no weird instrumentals fucking with my subconscious, and no one sitting across the table nodding and taking notes while randomly inserting an automated "mhm". She's almost as animated as I am, didn't outright gawk like my girlfriends but she reacted like a regular human being would and best of all she's HILARIOUS. Like, I think she may have been Eddie Murphy (a la Beverly Hills Cop not Pluto Nash) in a previous life. I. Love. Her.

But of course this would not be a tale of my life if there wasn't something awkward amidst the interesting social interactions. I cursed. I cursed at my Christian therapist. Not my usual F (and MF...and C...and friends) bombs but I said shit and asshole ~~a few times~~. I was actually quite proud of myself. What self control I possess! She was able to confirm my sanity (aaaaaahh!!!) and assure me that I wasn't in fact fuckin up. Did I mention she was awesome beyond all definitions of awesomeness?

Following the relief of my visit I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to listen to gangster rap. Wu Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck with. And neither is B.I.G. Thuggin Thursdays. It was perfection.

The saga continues!

Your Zen Master,

Allycat

Seasonal Resolutions And Things

2011-12-14T05:16:00.000-04:00

Following my last awkwardly obscure post (all mobsters know snitching gets you murked) I decided to do a switcharoo for the blog. Every new year I say I'm going to write more, share my rants and other musings with the world while trying not to say too much about my actual life because oversharing makes me nauseous. Time to change that. Just a little.

In order to actually write more about my random and excessively theatrical life I will be sharing a little more of ME with you. This will include my most amusing interactions, loads of aliases, maybe some video, definitely some pictures, and interesting things I run into on a daily basis. The word daily as used in that sentence does not mean I will be posting daily however. But it's an improvement, yes?

This year was full of changes and overhauls for me and now that I'm decidedly less cynical but absolutely still a comedic case I'm going to let you into my head a little. Even my dearest loves (said friends who bitch slapped me out of my quarter-life crisis) are weary of the thoughts floating around in here. Enter at your own risk of course.

The adventure begins tomorrow with *insert drumroll and other suspense-inducing sounds here* therapy. Yes, therapy. Yes, that therapy where you see a therapist who takes notes while you lay on a couch and/or vomit because of the nausea induced by oversharing. This is an adventure for me because my friends outwardly gawk at the shit I tell them about my life and I always wondered what a therapist would say, so I'm going to test one.

I know right now you're envisioning an eye-twitching, awkwardly conspicuous psychopath but sane people get therapy too! Friends and family are generally biased (yes, no matter how much they try not to be) and at times you just need an independent party to tell you when you're fuckin up. God, if my therapist curses this will be the beginning of a very long love affair. She better not be one of those, "and how did that make you feel?" types because I won't be able to stop laughing and from experience I know that can be counter-productive.

So we begin a new chapter ahead of the new year and if 2012 brings the wrath of Armageddon upon us, I'll be at my cursing therapist's office drinking tea and discussing my absurd emotions. Here's hoping.

Your silly wabbit,

Allycat

Image from toonpool.com

The Audacity of Closure

2011-12-04T17:44:00.002-04:00

Years of movies and regurgitated therapeutic rhetoric has lead us to believe that when things happen in our lives that hurt us no matter how much we try to move forward there is just one final piece of the puzzle that’s missing. This final piece that threatens to leave us “incomplete” forever is closure. Like many of you, I was of the belief that I would forever be labelled a baggage handler if I didn’t confront the person who wronged me. I somehow assumed that if I faced this person and asked the questions I felt I desperately needed answers to, all will be well in the world. Meh...

Delving into those emotions past only sent me down a path that was better off barricaded (and surrounded by warning signs and booby-traps). The thing about emotions, particularly those dealing with love and other associated romantic notions, is that you can only wield so much control over them. Beyond that point they take on a life of their own. And so, in seeking nothing but peace of mind and the mythical being ‘closure’, I got lost. Not send-a-search-party lost but I definitely lost my bearings and spent a night in the wilderness.

There is a reason this person is no longer a part of my life and despite not having gotten the answers to any of my questions (because as much as we like to see it movies, in reality dogs can’t talk) I was given so much more. I didn’t get the type of closure you see in movies. You know the thank-you-for-being-honest-I’ll-be-on-my-way-now-bless-you *cue the music* but I got the truth anyway. It’s not always as straight forward or simple as I would like it to be. Suffice to say, I can never get closure from someone else. They are the ones who have to deal with what they’ve done. My only duty is to forgive them and release myself of the burden so I can be happy.

As enlightening and devastating as that experience was, it has strangely renewed my hope. I was always of the belief that at least once in our lives, no matter where on the timeline, we all eventually get the love we deserve. In retrospect, despite the soap opera melodrama of that day, I wouldn’t have done anything differently and I’m actually better for it. You never really see me discussing intensely personal things here, because it's hard to articulate my emotions that aren't humorous, so I’ll let my love Nina touch on the issue. Really she says it better than I ever could.

Your soldier of love,

Allycat

What an appropriate description! :)

October: The Month of Early-Onset Insanity

2011-10-21T09:45:00.002-04:00

Mere days before my birthday I found myself sipping some wine and slowly but surely sinking to the bottom of the glass. My life, which was previously believed to filled with love and laughter and yes, ~~many~~ a few ~~disastrous~~ failures, morphed into a dry wasteland. I haven't done enough, seen enough, been disciplined or productive enough - it's not enough! What have I done with the last 23 years of my life exactly?!

Still unanswered, it turns out this enigma was brought on by a quarter-life crisis. I know, I also shook my head. This usually happens to people between the ages of 25-30 but of course in true Alicia fashion, I'm experiencing it at 23. It's essentially a phase where you begin questioning and over-analysing your life. It would appear that my introverted ways are catching up with me, thus causing this shit storm that wasn't due for another 2-7 years (sigh). Throughout the process I was able to maintain a substandard of sanity thanks to my spectacular ~~and impatient ass~~ friends who aided me through the bouts of depression ~~and told me to stop my shit~~. I love them.

Symptomatic of this early-onset crisis I was introduced to (and overwhelmed by) loneliness, perhaps even fructifying the crisis more so than being a product of it. Not only was I taken aback by this (finding myself using the word 'lonely' in conversation is quite the experience) but I am now submerged in it. Originally I assumed it was because I went from a long-term relationship to an ephemeral pseudo-relationship to now being absolutely singular. But despite being the girl who loves to go the movies alone, take long solo walks through the city and generally living the live of a seldom-socialised hermit - I find myself constantly on the verge of an anxiety attack. I still savour the time spent with my family, my brilliantly entertaining little cousins, my friends, my friend, yet I'm still aware of a void I can't currently fill.

As recently as 4 days ago this void was a canyon, but as the dust starts to settle on 23 the downward spiral is becoming more of a startling dip into a pothole than me plummeting to my spinsterly death. As for the other aspects - an inactive social life, an even more inactive love life, my hatred of college, my ~~lack of a~~ career - I figure they'll all sort themselves out in time. For now I'm trying to focus on being ready for the great things I want to happen. That's a full-time job so technically I'm not a total bum.

I'm not sure how long these things last according to science but for now I feel like I've been through the worst of it and heading towards recovery. Hopefully this isn't one of those "calm before the storm" moments. Fingers crossed.

Your lonely beaver,

Allycat

Her Majesty The Cynic

2011-08-23T17:14:00.001-04:00

I was once upon a time (yes, I just said 'once upon a time') proud to call myself a cynic. I would turn my proud cynical nose up at the optimists (the majority only briefly visiting the disposition) and laugh at their naïveté, mocking. Cynicism was a dose of reality that I had a tendency to overdose on. As I went through my many developmental phases over the years, I began scrutinising the cynical way I had honed for so long. The lingering taste of bitterness started replacing my saliva, like somehow being a cynic had turned me into something other than just an average human being. The Cynic took over, thus becoming Her Majesty.

Her Majesty ruled with an iron (albeit bejewelled) fist, seldom smiled and when one did appear it was oft a sarcastic smirk or pretentious greeting. Though glorious and splendidly irreverent at first, she soon became tart and inappropriate. When Her Majesty starts meeting the family, it's gone too far. Her Majesty is like the girl you take to bars and casual social gatherings, often introduced to acquaintances but only fleetingly socialising with friends. She's great company when you have nothing better to do and is a distant memory when your life is filled with more meaningful matters. She is never, under any circumstances to meet the family. And so, we parted ways.

Recently, I have been bumping into Her Majesty everywhere I go. And by recently I mean two days now. Very recently. She looks radiant and reminds me of our good times. She was a good friend. Loyal. But I still refused the offers to have a drink and drown my accumulation of sorrows. I told her that I fell in love with the most wonderful man I've ever known and she scoffed noticeably as if to remind me of the other "most wonderful" men we've known. I wanted to knock her teeth out but that's exactly what she'd like me to do so instead I took a deep breath and smiled, warmly. She seemed astonished. Bitch. That's what the old me would think anyway. I've been ignoring her calls, deleting her emails and yet, I look back on the times we've had and a part of me wants to believe that her scoff is accurate, that she is the kind of friend I should have in my life, instead of these fleeting bouts of optimism and faith (which she considers to be a legitimate illness) that I've clung to.

Perhaps her barbed wire exterior isn't aesthetically pleasing but at least intruders can't run in and out, stealing all her valuables. Not much is precious to her but the few things that are remain well guarded around the clock. I sometimes wonder if even she can still access them. Maybe there is something to Her Majesty's ways. She never smiles, or blushes, or laughs heartily, but she also never cries. Yet, despite the displeasure of tears (and snatty noses), I have decided to keep Her Majesty exactly where she is - in the far reaches of my mind. I never much cared for barbed wire.

Your Highness The Ephemeral Optimist,

Allycat

image copyright http://www.creativedisease.com

A Wise Man Once Said...

2011-06-29T13:35:00.003-04:00

A friend of mine recently sent me the book 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho which I delved into this morning while having my first cup of tea. I was immediately intrigued but unsure whether my interest stemmed from the book itself or how relevant the book is to my current stage in life. Either way, it was simply written - in an elegant fashion, and a wonderful place to start my day. One part in particular stood out to me though, a story told to the main character in the book, that I feel compelled to share.

Paulo Coelho - The Alchemist: Part One

"A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness

from the wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert for

forty days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain. It

was there that the wise man lived.

"Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main

room of the castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went,

people were conversing in the corners, a small orchestra was playing soft

music, and there was a table covered with platters of the most delicious

food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone, and

the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the

man's attention.

"The wise man listened attentively to the boy's explanation of why he had

come, but told him that he didn't have time just then to explain the secret of

happiness. He suggested that the boy look around the palace and return in

two hours.

" 'Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something,' said the wise man,

handing the boy a teaspoon that held two drops of oil. 'As you wander

around, carry this spoon with you without allowing the oil to spill.

"The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace,

keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned to the

room where the wise man was.

" 'Well,' asked the wise man, 'did you see the Persian tapestries that are

hanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master

gardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my

library?'

"The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing.

His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had

entrusted to him.

" 'Then go back and observe the marvels of my world,' said the wise man.

'You cannot trust a man if you don't know his house.'

"Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of

the palace, this time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the

walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty of the

flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected. Upon

returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.

" 'But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?' asked the wise man.

"Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.

" 'Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you,' said the wisest of

wise men. 'The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world,

and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon.' "

The shepherd said nothing. He had understood the story the old king had

told him. A shepherd may like to travel, but he should never forget about his

sheep.

_______________________________________________________

I need not comment, expound, or share my perspective on this story. I would just like you to think about this and hold on to it.

Your wandering traveller in search of riches,

Allycat

cc licensed flickr photo by john_curley

Mirror Mirror on the wall...

2010-11-15T10:07:00.001-04:00

A few nights ago, in a taxi zooming through the streets of Port of Spain, I was lost in my mind taking in the drama and the noise of the city. I love town. It’s chaotic, filthy, unpretentious and alive. On pause for a few seconds at a red light, I stared at this vagrant who was very intensely staring at his own reflection in the glossy window of an establishment. He was standing there with a sac over his back that I can only assume was filled with his worldly possessions and treasures. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he looking at who he is now and wondering how he got there? Was he wishing he could retrace his steps back to where he used to be? Or was he just high out his fucking mind looking at his reflection thinking it was another man and trying to intimidate him? Of course I will never know which it is, but I felt in some way that I could relate to that vagrant.

Shouldn’t we all have that moment (or several) where we stop and look at ourselves and evaluate our lives? How did I get here? Where am I going? Am I happy with who/what I have become? I believe these moments of reflection and questioning are paramount to our development as we go along on this journey – for those of us looking forward to evolving that is. Some of us prefer to use the mirror solely to examine the wrinkles of worry that have accumulated over time.

As we continue to deny ourselves these moments of pause do we risk becoming zombies, going about our routines void of any thirst and love for life, thereby condemning our entire species to non-existence? As it is, the degeneration has already begun. We spend so much time teaching our children to have discipline, compete, work hard, study, have manners, say this, do that but we never put enough emphasis on laughter, love, personal growth, caring for others and taking time to just do nothing but talk and develop their imagination. In some ways this works for the benefit of mankind, we now have more doctors, architects, engineers, artists, etcetera to propel us closer to the futuristic world we all had in mind since The Chrysalids. But now, there is also more violence, crime and suicide. Have we taught ourselves to sacrifice happiness for stringency? We are constantly going at a pace with our schedules and plans and plans to make plans.

If there were no red lights to make us stop, would we?

Just some thoughts.

Your aspiring traffic conductor,

Allycat

Who said anything was wrong with moving at a snail's pace anyway?

Spinning Webs of Wisdom

2010-11-09T07:37:00.001-04:00

There are times I truly believe I have lost my mind. I don’t know when nor where I lost it, if it is entirely lost, but I am certain there are some fundamental chunks gone awry. The combination of life experiences – real, imagined and modified – have driven those parts of my mind to either vacate or mutate without warning. I wonder if I can grow and develop with what I have left and cling desperately to the hope that I will not be this way forever; the selfish, hot-tempered, and unfocused person who I am occasionally ashamed of. We’ve all been there. It’s all part of the vicious cycle of attaining the ever elusive “maturity”.

Playing Spider Solitaire (my new obsession – don’t ask) at 5am this morning I was (repeatedly!) informed that whether I quit and start a new game or restart my current game it will be counted as a loss in my statistics. Here is this game telling me that even I start over and ultimately win, the fact that I even had to start over means I’ve lost. Sipping on tea, legs crossed sitting with my laptop on my bed (very much like the illustration), it got me thinking about life. Having been a strong believer in the dust-yourself-off-and-try-again philosophy, now I can’t help but wonder how many losses I’ve accumulated over the last 22 years of my existence. And exactly how important are those losses? It also made me think about shortcuts, as I – armed with a victorious smile – reset my current statistics. Oh the joys of a fresh start!

But do we always have to accumulate losses to win or can we all just be winners? If we are always reminded of our “life statistics” will this make us strive for a better record, or just feel miserable and burdened?

I’d like to think we all continuously strive to be better people, good people, and conquer the things we have been taught make us “civilised” and “respectable” adults. Whatever that means. Can we all be the she-has-her-shit-together lady, or are some of us just destined to be the helter-skelter types? I understand that reaching this place of emotional and intellectual maturity is a process, and I continue to trudge along in my journey, but I often wish I could just be the “new and improved” me without all the trials and errors. I’m running in circles like a puppy chasing its own tail when I would rather be the smart and cunning cat observing and taking note of life from a high perch, casually swishing my tail while I harvest my wisdom. When do we become the cats?!

Just some thoughts.

Your work in progress,

Allycat

Fashion Internships: New York, Los Angeles and beyond

2010-08-06T03:51:00.001-04:00

For all the latest info on internships in fashion and related fields you should all follow @FASHIONISMYLIFE. These are the ones she tweeted wee hours this morning, there's more coming so follow her! She tweets you the info with the quickness. Instead of filling up your FB newsfeeds and posting repeatedly on my Twitter (follow!) I made a listing of all the internships. Get to it worker bees!

New York:

RACHEL RACHEL ROY DESIGN INTERN (NY): Have experience in Design field or in school for design. Visit: WWW.JONESAPPEAREL.COM/CAREERS.
ARCHETYPE SHOWROOM SALES & PR INTERNS (NY): 3 days a week. Can start ASAP. School credit available. Resume & brief CVR Letter to press@archetypeshowroom.com.
LOUIS VUITTON PR (NY): 3 days a week, full-time or part-time. Starts now. School Credit only. Experience in PR a plus. Send Resume & CVR Letter to r.singh@us.vuitton.com.
MARIE CLAIRE FASHION INTERN (NY): 3-5 days a week. School Credit only. Long hours. Send Resume & CVR Letter with start date and availability to MCFashionista@gmail.com with “Marie Claire Fall 2010 Fashion Intern” in the subject line.
GLAMOUR MAG PR INTERN (NY): 2-3 days a week: Aug - Dec. Word, Excel, Internet research important. School Credit (must be in school). Send an email telling a little about yourself as well as your resume to Samantha_Storch@condenast.com.
TOPMAN PR INTERN (NY): Unpaid, 3 Days a week. Microsoft Excel & Word, verbal and written skills. Send Resume and cover letter to TopmanInternship@gmail.com.
MIGUELINA DESIGN INTERN (NY): 3 days a week. Photoshop, Illustrator & Microsoft Office. Can lead to full-time employment after 3 month review. Send Resume to sathya@miguelina.com.
MIGUELINA SALES & MARKETING INTERN (NY): Start now, must be available at least 1 day per week. Photoshop. Send Resume to heather.green@miguelina.com.

Los Angeles

THELOOKBOOK.COM INTERNSHIP (LA): Database updates, red carpet credits, social media. School Credit offered. Send Resume to thelookbook.internship@gmail.com.
ROMEO & JULIET COUTURE SHOWROOM INTERN (LA): Interest in Fashion a must. Send Resume in body of e-mail to rjcintern@gmail.com.

Nationwide

BALL AND BUCK BIZ DEVELOPMENT: Needs interns for LA, Boston, Miami, Chicago, Atlanta, DC, Marthas Vineyard Nantucket, Nashville, Austin, Dallas, San Francisco and Greenwich: Not afraid to sell. Commission based salary. Can turn into full-time employment. Send Resume to Mark@ballandbuck.com.

Your fellow aspiring fashionista,

Allycat

Image from http://blog.vintageshoppingguide.com/?p=368

City Gyal: A stroll through Port of Spain

2010-07-21T23:23:00.004-04:00

I like walking through the city after dark when the respectable citizens lock up their businesses and leave their jobs to go home and the notorious and otherwise entertaining characters emerge. People watching is one of my favourite things in the world to do. You’ll learn more than you will in any education institution. I felt like Jodi Foster’s character in “The Brave One.” I really love Trinidad.

I’m going to walk you all through the journey of my city stroll.

8:20 – Walk from the beautiful Savannah down Dondonald Street, careful to avoid roaches on the pavement. Nasty bitches.

8:23 – I hear music blaring behind me on the street and assume it’s a car but this band of bicycle riding teens pulled a fast one on me. There was one of them with a huge speaker attached to the back of the bicycle blaring Jamaican dancehall music. I laughed loudly and shook my head while thanking God that the music was so loud they couldn’t hear me. Don’t want to take any chances.

8:25 – Walk past the strip club. Yes, there is a strip club sitting betwixt businesses and schools. Only in the city. The man asks me if I want to come in, I steups and keep walking. In my mind: I’m not a stripper you shit face.

8:30 – Walk past 3 guys talking and laughing on the other side of the street. One shouts, “Goodnight nice girl. I would give you anything you want, anything, a Benz, a X5, a big house on the hill, tell me what you want!”I laugh with my eyes but keep walking.

8:32 – Slow my pace to walk behind two women with outrageous weaves who chatter and laugh loudly. They’re talking about installing kill switches in their cars while I examine their hair. I imagine them at the hairdresser getting it done and then leaving thinking they’re the flyest people on the planet. I imagine the other people in the beauty parlour endorsing this fallacy.

8:35 – Listen to a vagrant ask a man behind me for money. Always money, not food. Never food. I see the hard and cracked soles of his feet in my mind and wonder what they were like years ago.

8:40 – There is a man sitting opposite the casino in a Police Service t-shirt diligently polishing his shoes with a toothbrush and shoe polish. *shhh – shhh – shhh – scoup polish – shhh – shhh – shhh*

8:43 – I look into the car park of a building and see fully costumed dancers saying prayers before their rehearsals. Two more steps: Tassa Drums. Hearing Tassa Drums always makes me feel like doing an African dance ritual.

8:45 – Jehovah’s Witnesses. Too busy thinking about African dances and didn’t see them in time to cross the street. Smile politely and take the booklet. It reads, ‘Would you like to know the truth? Does God care about us? How can I find happiness in my life?’ In my mind: Pay attention Alicia, damn.

8:49 – There are six old men avidly debating politics in the Square. Go home and take your pressure pills na pops.

8:52 – Stop dead in my tracks to avoid a roach touching my feet. Step into the street and inadvertently step on another roach emerging from the sewer. *CRUNCH* Deep breath to stop my skin from crawling. I drag my feet for two more steps to ensure the yellow gunk is removed from the sole of my flip flops. Why the fuck are there so many roaches?!

8:55 – Look into the showcase of one of my favourite stores from across the street and examine their layout marking things I approve of.

8:56 – Look into the showcase of the store I hate and scowl. Any merchandiser who sells low quality goods at a high quality price deserves it.

9:00 – Heart of the city. Pass the nuts and newspaper vendors. Boldly cross the street and imagine myself being hit by a car if I was in another country. I am admittedly a wayward pedestrian.

9:02 – More Jamaican music blaring. This time from a pirate selling CDs at the side of the street. I sometimes forget that I am in Trinidad and not Jamaica.

9: 05 – In a maxi (the equivalent of a small bus in Trinidad). The man next to me is holding a box of food. I imagine what’s inside. You don’t want to know.

9:07 – Maxi stops and a girl with her hair in an afro ponytail sits in front of me. I imagine that they’ll honk if I squeeze them. Briefly wonder what she would do if I did. Flashback of that viral video of the white war vet beating that black guy on the bus. Worse yet, ‘Soulja Girl’ going crazy on grandma in ATL. No thank you.

9:10 – Honking pom poms gets out the maxi and flashes me her pink and white striped underwear as she bends to pay the driver. Sigh and look away.

9:12 – Close my eyes and savour the smells from the various Chinese Restaurants lingering in the air. I love Asian cuisine.

9:13 – Fantasies of Asian food come to a screeching halt with the maxi as the driver almost hits a man crossing on the green light. They curse each other out. Life goes on.

9:14: A car is overturned into a ditch at the side of the street. The driver smokes a cigarette and talks softly into his phone holding a beer. Wonder what happened?! The woman behind me promptly calls someone to relay the news. All Trini people are natural reporters.

9:15 – Another passenger gets out and flashes me her ass crack as she pays the driver. Switch seats or keep your eyes to the window woman!

9:16 – Thankfully, I arrive at my stop. The driver speeds and has no regard for road safety regulations. I am also thankful that my outfit prevents underwear or ass crack flashing of any kind. Goodbye asshole, try not to kill the other passengers.

9:17 – Home. Flip Flops thrown aside, hair down, glass of milk. Possibilities are endless.

Your stripping, roach crushing street walker,

Allycat

Image via cartoonstock.com

Walk It Out: A profile of footwear for the fashion forward

2010-07-08T09:49:00.001-04:00

Confidence is the key ingredient in making an outfit successful - how you wear it will determine how others interpret and ultimately imitate it. A must-have for a look that comes together perfectly is without doubt a wicked pair of shoes for you step in. While working through my insomnia last night I compulsively tweeted images of shoes I'm currently too broke to afford but ambitious enough to desire. So instead of commanding the feeds of my followers I figured I would share with you all 12 shoes I think represent the brilliant artistry that is shoe-making.

Enjoy!

1. Maison Martin Margiela High Tops (via ssence)

Info: Beige leather made in Italy. Can be worn with practically any outfit - functional and fashionable. Need I say more?

2. Kris Van Assche Wrap Heels (via ssense)

Info: Black leather made in Italy. 5" Stilleto Heel. It's basically sex on a 1" wooden platform. It's the business.

3. Jeffrey Campbell Jackie Heels (via needsupply)

Info: Canvas bootie on 4" of fierce. The type of shoe you want to find an excuse to wear. Jeffrey Campbell (as you will soon see) is currently on my list of favourite shoe designers. I now follow the brand on Twitter for continuous updates.

4. F-Troupe Black Mesh Lace Up (via needsupply)

Info: Jazzy flats made of mesh panels and patent leather detail. I love the Oxford look and they seem like that pair you go to first when leaving the house.

5. Style Adventure Boots (via modcloth)

Info: These 4.5" heels are aptly named. It's cargo casual meets city chic. For the girly girl trying to tone it down.

6. Excalibur Flat (via modcloth)

Info: Faux leather looks good on this pointed toe studded flat. A nice way to make a casual outfit look more polished.

7. United Nude Block Pump Hi

Info: Abstract 4.5" heel. Architecture for your feet. That is all.

8. Y-3 Natsumi Sneakers (via ssense)

Info: Adidas revamped their game with the Y-3 collection and judging by what I've seen thus far, especially these insane leather high tops, I'm on board.

9. Jeffrey Campbell Biz Boots (via ssense)

Info: Jeffrey Campbell snatched my heart yet again with these boots. I'm a sucker for a flat comfortable boot that reflects my punk/rock style and these hit the nail on the head. They are the Biz.

10. United Nude Lo Res Heels

Info: As soon as I saw these for some reason I was reminded of the days when games like Mario Bros were blocky and distorted. It's a gem. Literally.

11. Jeffrey Campbell Foxy Platform (via nastygal)

Info: Leather T-Strap Platform Sandals that really are probably the most comfortable type of high heel you could ever wear. Jeffrey, Jeffrey, Jeffrey!

12. MMM Here Comes Trouble Studded Boot (via nastygal)

Info: Pow! What else could there be to say about these?

And there you have it. Ladies, wipe up the drool, get your shop on and stay fly.

Your web-window-shopper,

Allycat

Love Zombie

2010-05-27T11:09:00.006-04:00

Rummaging through my house last week I found the movie “Edge of Darkness,” that new (ish) Mel Gibson flick where he’s an ex-cop and whatnot. The movie was ok because I like when there are no happy endings in movies. It’s often quite boring when the hero survives and ends up with the love of his life living happily ever after and all that Mills & Boon greatness. That may just be a reflection of my deep dark fear of happiness – or realism. Label it as you wish. In the movie there was a line that struck me as profound (more profound than it would have been had I not been lounging in a pool of depression and chamomile tea, which as we all know sharpens the mind).

“It’s not what it is. It’s never what it is. It’s what it can be made to look like.”

Let the reality and pertinence of those words sink deep into your bones because I don’t believe I have ever heard more true words ever spoken in my life. What’s the first thing that came to mind when you read and understood it? Well, it made me think about love and how it can be so counterfeit and yet so real all at once. Prior to watching the movie my last few days were spent attempting to understand if love is real or imagined. I ponder whether it’s a matter of love being real enough to be truly attainable or just fantasised about enough to endure. It’s my most recent conquest, though I don’t think I’ll get very far. I’m too brainwashed. Like most of us.

I’ve been consumed with fantasies of love and its beautiful distress for as far back as I could remember. As much as I enjoy my own company and don’t long for that of others, the lifelong companionship of a “perfect” match is the ultimate goal in achieving well-rounded happiness. Whether or not we’re willing to admit that to ourselves (and furthermore embrace it). It’s one thing to have brief rolls on soft mattresses and have babies by a suitable mate, but it’s an entirely different matter to actually be happy and enraptured by someone for the rest of your life.

I can’t help but think the thoughts of Hollywood and Publishing houses have long become those of our own. Do we even actually believe in love or is it just what we were taught to believe in? Kind of like religion when you think about it (which is another matter entirely. God and I will work it out someday perhaps). I mean, love IS practically its own religion anyway. There are the sacred rituals like marriage, which is supposed to be consummated in LOVE, though I think marriage has long since been forgotten as loving or sacred. It’s now just something to do for most people. There are also things you do to demonstrate this love like having sex and giving gifts which I suppose (due to the insinuated regularity with which these things take place) can be compared to tides and offerings and well...prayers? I seem like such a heathen right now but, moving along.

My point is, before I further tempt the super devout SUPER-DUPER extremist Christians to crucify me, is love something we believe in and are willing to stand by (and perhaps be martyrs for) or is it just something we were taught to abide by through being forced to go to church and say prayers and go to bible study classes? I used to be sure. But now I’ve grown up, and after being dragged through the mud and being bruised by sharp stones along the way, I have paused for my moment of reflection and I’m forced to reconsider. I’m forced to face the reality that perhaps, like God (according to some), love is something that was invented to give hope and keep people believing so there can be happiness and kindness and, ultimately, securing the survival of the human race through procreation.

I always think the possibilities are endless. And it certainly isn’t impossible with all the elements for broadcasting we’re exposed to on a daily basis. The lucrative success of Valentine’s Day is a prime example of this. It’s quite a load of rubbish. In general terms. I still think it’s a nice day though. To see everyone walking around all smiling and kissing and basically it’s Paris, just ...everywhere. But I still ask myself, why is there a DAY dedicated to buying roses and chocolates and being romantic? I wonder who sat one day and said, “Eureka! I shall create a day where we will broadcast to the masses that they MUST give gifts of love and all sugary and cuddly things to the person they’re with for them to be happy and I will call this...Valentine’s Day. I am brilliant. Suck my toes for my brilliance bitch.” Ok that last part was random. Quite Rick James of me to even think it actually.

Once again, I digress. Let me not go along that red bricked road with Valentine’s Day actually because the argument could easily be expanded for practically everything we celebrate: Birthdays, Christmas, Mothers’ Day, Fathers’ Day etcetera, etcetera... Why just have one day for them all right? I’m working through this as I write, trying to make sense of it all so I hope you can bear with me and share your thoughts. Truth is I’m a hopeless love zombie. But I no longer want to be. I almost HOPE it’s all just a fallacy. Then all our failures in love won’t count because it was all bullshit to begin with. I don’ really know what to think anymore but I will acknowledge that both possibilities exist. If there were to be a battle betwixt the two I won’t know what side to fight for. I may just observe from a reasonable distance and allow my cowardice to bow to the victor.

Fuck it – it’s all gibberish. My brain is mush after this week. It’s a big herbal tea sap and you probably don’t understand a word I wrote but, I wanted to share my thoughts and hopefully in you sharing yours I will be able to gather information and come to a conclusion. Or at least seek solace in those of you who are still willing to be martyrs.

Your Allycat has been condemned to high treason in the Court of Love and will be imprisoned in a cell covered with hearts and filled with clichéd Valentine’s Day gifts. She will also be forced to view a chick flick every 4 hours and is also under the parsonage of Father John Mayer being taught to write love songs and poetry until further notice.

You WILL believe in love, you WILL believe in love...

Love is...

2010-03-13T09:27:00.001-04:00

After enduring yet another sleepless night this thought occurred to me: what does it really mean to love someone? Can you embrace all the things you love about them, you know those easy, loveable qualities that make you smile thinking about them all day and night as well as those stubborn, temperamental ways (like myself) that make you think about slowly wrapping your fingers around their throats? Is it truly possible to do both?

I’m not going to get all deep and philosophical on you with this one (not this time) I am far too traumatised by the dark circles under my eyes. This is just me barely scratching the surface but like a scratch and sniff, I want you to get a whiff, share your thoughts, and pass it around for a big open forum of opinions. So here it is.

The ever popular Bible verses I Corinthians 13: 4-8 says:

Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.

Sigh. Where do I begin with this perfect idea of what should be? Which is not wrong, it SHOULD be but we do live in a real world and I have always been of the belief that the bible provides you with a series of rules and stories some of which are open to interpretation and should not be taken quite so literally. One of my issues with Christianity but let’s NOT go there. All I have to say on those verses is this: we would like love to be all these things, but it is not. Love, when done right, makes us better people. It makes us strive to achieve the necessary patience, trust, truth and forgiveness as aforementioned but more often than not love temporarily turns you into crackhead. You can’t stop thinking about them, you want to spend every minute with them but you’ll probably end up killing each other if that were to happen, you try not to be rude but there goes this bitch again flirting with him IN YOUR FACE and you can’t help yourself, you try to always trust but there is that thing that sometimes prevents it, what is it called, oh right BEING HUMAN! I could go on and on and on but I like to think I’m dealing with intelligent people who understand by now and can complete the list themselves.

I have realised when it comes to love the quickest thing for us to do is to take the easy way out. I pose this (as many of may have experienced, done or seen): I love you. Your laugh, your personality, your fire, your big heart, your intellectual mind, your sexy body, your sex...but... I think I’ll just go for someone who may not have all those things but is less stubborn, less opinionated, less of a pain in my ass, less likely to have a temper, and less likely to amuse and love me the way you do. But hey, at least I’ll be sane (Sometimes I think sanity is so overrated, sane people act like robots).

What is it about love that always seems to produce the “but...” factor through every explanation of why that love can’t happen? I think we are all entirely too selfish, myself included. We are so wrapped up in our own lives and wants and needs that we can’t see and appreciate a good thing when it comes our way. We all want the good, ‘please Lord send the good man or the good woman and I’ll find something far too inadequate about this seemingly perfect match and begin my search all over again for EASY’. Yes she makes me laugh and is full of passion and interesting thoughts but damn I just want a woman who’ll cook some food, have sex with me and shut the hell up, where’s she at?

It’s kind of like those advertisements for Staples where they have the easy button. We all just reach for the easy button before we stop and think, maybe there’s another way to do this that, granted, may not be as fun as pressing that big juicy red button, but will also be effective and maybe even more thorough because the easy button will miss some things I need that aren’t on the list in my mind. What’s wrong with just going to the store and getting stationery the old fashioned way, testing the pens on that scrap of paper and eventually winding up getting a Dora the Explorer notebook for your baby cousin? I like the stationery store. But I digress.

Why are we obsessed with easy? We’ve seen it over and over in life and in movies, the girl and the guy, he’s great and she’s great but he’s broke and has little hope for the future so she marries the stiff ass accountant who doesn’t laugh, or play, or cook WITH her and (let’s be real) can’t, and doesn’t care to, make her cum. Skeet, skeet and roll over. It’s almost like we’re programmed to settle for fear of being alone. Because of course, that’s the worst thing in the world that can ever happen! It’s like 2012 the love edition, everyone head to China there are more than enough people to love there! Come on people. Wake up. There are too many people in this world for you to ever truly be alone. And it’s a modern time, if you feel the need to embrace promiscuity to satisfy the urge who’s to judge? Psh! Ok that was a joke people, calm down (but really though...)

All jokes aside (I could never stick to that), we all need to realise that we’re never going to get that perfect person. We’re never going to get someone we love EVERYTHING about. Not even in our closest friendships. My temper has my friends on EDGE thinking today just might be the day Alicia goes to jail. I’m sure it’s very uncomfortable for them to watch someone give me attitude of bad customer service. They probably shake their heads in the background looking around for police like, this is it. So much for ‘all jokes aside’ (told ya). There is NO ONE in the world who has everything you want. There is however, someone who has everything you need, and then some. You need to embrace what you love AND what you dislike about them because all those components put together make them who they are. And you fell in love with them in the first place because of who they are. Guess what? You’re not perfect either.

So deal with it and stop being a whiny bitch.

Your 9am wake up call,

Allycat

My 2010 "resolutions"...and then some

2010-01-06T13:21:00.005-04:00

So the new year is here! I'm a bit late (as per usual) with adding my flavour to the mix of all the new year rants and resolutions. Bring on 2010 and whatnot and so forth.

Happy New Year to you all. I wish you a year filled with love, opportunity and adventure. Just what I would hope for myself :)

I don't have any distinct resolutions, I don't find it necessary to wait until a new year begins to decide what I want to change about myself and/or add to my roster of things to do. HOWEVER, I will say that I am going on crazy ass cooking and health rant this year. So when I blog about what I'm cooking and what I'm currently salivating over, don't wonder if someone else took over my shit. It's me. Julie and Julia style, sorta. Not really. But I am expanding my horizons regarding my previously expressed (http://bit.ly/4Evsga) love for food.

I'll be going to restaurants and sampling dishes from every culture (though I've already ruled out sushi thanks to Benihana. Ugh!). I'll be cooking (gasp!) and I'll also be posting some recipes I tried that blew my mind for you guys and gals to sample.

But I'm not going full fucking Betty Crocker on you guys. *Says "but wait there's more!" in advertiser voice* I'm also going to be (drumroll please) leaving Trinidad and Tobago for the first time! Yay me. No set plans yet, I'm actually going to renew my passport this week (or next) so I can get the ball rolling.

Desired destinations: Jamaica, Japan, NY and Barbados. Now, I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to do that yet considering my bank acct balance is $0.00 and my pockets match that BUT, where there's a will there's a way! Right? Hopefully. Maybe I'll just keep playing the lottery just in case.

So from Barbados, Jamaica, Japan (DYING to go!) and NY, I'll be bringing you the goods in video, pics and blogs. You're practically travelling in my tote. It's something I always wanted to do but never thought I'd have the means to do anytime soon. But I'm going to make my means possible and update you as I go along.

I also need to blog a lot more this time around. And do some videos so you can actually put a face to the crazy person. Before, my issue was not having a laptop and having limited internet access, NOW my issue is that I have a laptop and no time to really use it outside of work. That's one lousy aspect of journalism. Doesn't give you time for much else. But I need to make the time because I find myself feeling like I could just yank all my hair out when I can't write in my style and say what I really want to say. So I will now. At least twice a week.

Other plan: Get a fucking car!!! About damn time. Well first I need to get my driver's license so I could drive legally (yawn) then I could move on to the car part. Oh these rules of society! I can't wait to have my own little gas guzzler and beg friends for contributions to foot the bill to the beach. Ah yes, I can see it now.

My dream car, since I've always loved jeeps and old model cars, is a Suziki Jimny. Also known as the Suzuki SJ, Suzuki Samurai, Sierra and Holden Drover. I absolutely <3 it. Can just see myself in one. Picture it...

And then picture me in it...

I know right? Sigh. Dream come true. When I get it you'll see how I actually look in my jeep in case you don't have my amazing foresight.

Well, that's it for now folks! Until I blog about cooking later this week that is! *wink* So, in the mean time between time, I have work to do so later!

Your 2010 globe trekker to be,

Allycat

Perfecting the Craft: The Potty Mouth

2009-12-07T10:15:00.004-04:00

Hello my dear friends. Today I bring forward a topic that is close to my heart. One that I think is essential for us to learn. As a professional in the field of obscenities, I feel that it is my duty to give you a step by step on how to control that dirty mouth. The art of potty mouth etiquette.

It’s probably happened to us all, a slip of the tongue “fuck”, “shit”, or “ass” overheard by people among whom you definitely shouldn’t use obscenities. It’s always in front of your boss, granny, mom/dad, a child who repeats everything, a client, and your partner’s parents. Shit! Right? Definitely. This is why I’ve come up with a short but interesting way for us potty mouths to exercise some etiquette with our obscene tendencies.

Here we go!

Step 1 - Practice makes perfect:

If you know you’re going to be somewhere granny, the boss, your parents, or you in-laws (or potential in-laws) will be, the key is to practice the act of substitution. Words like “fuck” and “shit” just slip off the tongue like the delicious morsels of the English language, however, on these occasions it’s best to practice saying words like “fudge”, “shoot”, “shimps”, and if you’re into it try foods by saying things like “oh strawberry shortcake!” and “oh fish and chips what the shrimp is going on?!” You get the drift. Yes, it’s not as satisfying neither as mellifluous nor humorously harsh on the ear – but it has to work for these occasions. Practicing preppy will make a good impression because people like preppy people (I have no idea why) and they will respect you for your ability to exercise self-control. Good for you!

Step 2 - The covert cuss:

Stealth is the main ingredient here. If you MUST curse, which is often times the case for me personally, whisper your most vehement obscenities away from the masses. Just set yourself aside in a corner and let it out – in a murmur. Curse in a very powerful whisper that will make you feel like your blasphemy had its usual punch – just minus the harsh stares of the aftermath. Once you have mastered the art of blowing your blasphemy right under the table people will be tricked into thinking you know how to act right. Mission accomplished!

Step 3 - The Hahaha that-so-wasn’t-funny-but-I-HAVE-to-laugh:

Laugh your ass off if someone says something that makes you want to step out of yourself and act a fool. Laugh at the wind if you have to because the fact of the matter is; your critics are much more willing to accept delusion over disrespect. Giggle like you’re being tickled pink because once that “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” slips out...it’s all downhill from there baby. Trust me, I know.

So now that I've sent you out into the world with this knowledge, use it. I had a moment just this weekend of saying, "that's so much fucking shit" in the back seat of my uncle's car with my barely 2 year old cousin and his 11 year old brother in the car with us. But the music was loud and my uncle was on the phone so, thank God for small favours. God must hate when I drag his name into matters like this. Sigh.

Your professional potty mouth,

Allycat

My parents tried this....

The Real Deal: Behind Closet Doors

2009-12-01T02:05:00.001-04:00

"For a long time I was in love
Not only in love-- I was obsessed
With a friendship that no one else could touch
It didn't work out
I'm covered in shells

And all I wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life
And all I needed was a simple man
So I could be a wife

I'm so ashamed-- I've been so mean
I don't know how it got to this point
Oh I always was the one with all the love
You came along
I'm hunting you down
Like a sick domestic abuser looking for a fight
And all I wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life

If we met tomorrow for the very first time
Would it start all over again?
Would I try to make you mine?

I always thought I'd be a mom
Sometimes I wish for a mistake
The longer that I wait the more selfish that I get
You seem like you'd be a good dad

Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life
How'd I get so faithful to my freedom?
A selfish kind of life
When all I ever wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life
A simple kind of life..."
-Gwen Stefani, Simple Kind of Life

We focus so much on these simple things that life, and all the complexities that come with it, inevitably bends us over and gives it to us in the ass. Sans vaseline, Oz style. Bring on the bandages.

I sat here, doing research, reading, listening to music, trying to relax. However after spending some time on the phone, the music suddenly became heavier. Everything got heavier. My shoulders are suddenly strained and hurting, whereas I was originally sitting upright I now hunch over my laptop, my eyes struggle to remain open. And Gwen's beautiful melody (one of my favourites) washed over me. *ahem* > Washed fucking depression all over me.

Here it is, I thought, something's wrong with me, why am I feeling like this, why am I thinking like this? And Gwen just comes and sings my thoughts right back to me. In a better voice and probably wearing something more vogue than a big orange t-shirt of course. We all grew up wanting these 'simple things.' Husband/wife, children, a nice house, a nice car, money. Comfort.

And in our quest to achieve this comfort we have been slapped silly and hospitalized by reality. Those things aren't simple. Not by a far fucking stretch. Even more so when you add broken fragments of a heart, collected along the way, to the equation. Everything becomes substantially more difficult. The simple things are now the complicated, near inaccessible, things.

Who has successfully overcome that? Who hasn't, in the pursuit of these 'simple things', lost almost, if not just as much as they gained? In this modern society we seem to think that people don't still want these things. That we have "evolved" beyond that conventional old think; women are "independent", men are "bachelors" and the time spent in the club or the bar amounts to more than the time spent at home, with friends or with family. I too have been in denial about the things that I want, the things that I've always wanted, the things that I fight so hard not to want because of what it could mean if it all goes wrong.

What is left? If we cannot safely harbour the innate desire for these things, and are instead content to live the life of promiscuous bachelors and crazy cat ladies, what is really left for us? I almost despise the fact that I still want these things. The idea of marriage? Husband, kids, the boring routines of parenthood occasionally shaken up by a doctor's visit or pregnancy scare (not another one!), the arguments, the acquired resentment, the struggles, the life. Blah.

Though I love children, I am (for some strange reason!) very uneasy about having them grow inside of me, give me gas, upset stomach, 20 extra pounds and stretch marks to finally emerge screaming out my vagina. Uh...thanks for the opportunity Mother Nature but I pass for now.

Even if your plan is not to include the husband/wife, the kids, we all still want the money, the nice welcoming house and that car. We all still want this life that allows for the illusion of comfort and simplicity.

I leave you with this: throughout your journey to acquire 'things', is it important to have someone to hug you and tell you sweet lies about the world being a beautiful place, the child with that innocent and adorable version of your face who wets your bed and mispronounces words, the home that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe you should spend more time there? If you can honestly say that these things have never occurred to you, that you have never had the more than occasional longing for them then I say kudos. You are officially a Martian.

Your closet conventionalist,

Allycat

Don't be such a goat!

Week 1: Chronicles of a trainee

2009-11-26T19:43:00.003-04:00

"As I look back over a misspent life, I find myself more and more convinced that I had more fun doing news reporting than in any other enterprise. It is really the life of kings."

- H.L Mencken

And as I look back over a misspent life I find myself more and more convinced that the occasional blunt on a cool day at the beach being mesmerized by the waves as they crash seems like a pretty great monthly outing. People don't seem to understand how important stress relief is. I'm already borderline paranoid I think the occasionally induced high may be in my best interest. I'll let you know how that experiment goes.

I've spent the last almost two weeks going to the movies, suffering with intense medication induced migraines, chillin with my best friend, snuggling with my fogie, doing some research for classes (sike! i'm having some serious issues with school, as per usual), playing giant Ludo with mom and being told about her fish dreams (more on that another time), and getting fat. Seriously, my ass is getting fat. Plans to jog have all fallen though, early morning hours, ugh. I plan to put a more valiant effort into it...next week. When hopefully my body has adjusted to waking up at 6:30am. A.M.! :-s

On to bigger and better things, last time I updated you all on my degenerate status as an umemployed bum and now...I come bearing good news. I am now an employed bum. Yay me. I retain my bum status due to the fact that, for the most part, journalists don't really make that much until they're well known and loved by all and thus sought after to do the "big" jobs and then and ONLY then do they get paid, like, PAID. So, as I still walk the dirt road (sometimes literally) I will be posting weekly "progress reports" on my journalism training at The Student Press (http://www.thestudentpressdigital.com)

Yesterday I had my first assignment in which I had to interview (lawd) some students and their music teacher on their victory ina recent school competition. So off I went rapidly pacing my litlle feet to the school around the corner. On arrival the guard curiously studied like I was a student out of uniform, though I identified myself as otherwise, damn you petit genes, damn you. The process was surprisingly fun, I wasn't so bad after all, well, I think so. Psh! And after my final interview with the cherry sweet music teacher who reminded me of a black Santa (too bad I was naughty and not nice this year, might have walked away with a piano) I walked my little ass back to the office, in the hot sun no less, at a rapid pace to try to formulate how I was going to even begin to write my first feature story. Shoot me now.

After several failed attempts, I decided, here's the deal this story isn't just going to jump out my fucking head and into the computer, I need to go home and go through my long and overly dramatic creative process. So, I trotted my little ass down the road all over again to the mall to get a taxi. On my long winding journey I was very wary of a car pulling up to my left. This middle aged-ish guy decided to offer me a lift to the mall. Psh! Hells no. So, as I quite politely declined (I seriously surprised my fucking self with how polite I was) and continued walking he actually had the nerve to get upset. Upset! Apparently I was supposed to jumy in his car all careless and free throwing caution to the wind just because he ASKED. Nigga please. Drive your fucking car on, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. I walk two more steps and there's a private taxi tooting his horn offering a lift. Negative. As I continue to walk in the streetside grass there is yet another car that stops. "Family you shouldn't be walking on the side of the road like that you know, it dangerous," said a smiling black Arnold Schwarzenegger in an Audi. "Yeah I know, it's okay thanks," I once again responded politely (epiphany!) all the while thinking to myself that I am quite probably much safer out here in the grass (that sounds SO third world. lol) than in your mysterious car where you can carry me somwehere and rape or mutilate my body mister strong man. Psh!

And hark, a green lancer beeping it's horn stops nearby and behold! it's the jolly black Santa Claus music teacher along with two students. Yay! I feel so safe with that guy and his big smile and melifluous voice (is that a thing with all music teachers? they all tend to have these voices that flow so smoothly) So finally, I accepted a minute long lift from black Santa and his elves and then hopped a taxi to tote my tired ass home. Hot water on my skin never felt so good. I think that was actually the longest bath that I ever took. Literally, I wanted to live and die in that hot water and never wake up at 6:30 ever again. This morning rising business is a very difficult adjustment, especially when I fall asleep a mere 2 or 3 hours before my alarm goes off. I just started the journey to become a great journalist and already I want a long vacation.

Today however, it was good. Though I was still dragging myself out of bed this mornin, when I got to work and actually got to do work, all was well. Nervously executed, but well. I did video *gasp and pause for reaction* and it actually wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. At the end of it all I thought, what the fuck Alicia, you might actually be able to do this. Finally, I am beginning to see what my family and my fogie and most recently my boss has reiterated to me. I can do this. I can become a great journalist unlike those empty vessels that read the "news" and those moronic "writers" in the newsroom producing garbage. I will never represent that. I am on a journey to be the real deal, and even more, help other people aspire to be the real deal and not just the faces and mindless drones passing as journalists because sadly there are a lot of those but I hope that there are still a select few in Trinidad and Tobago that actually want to and WILL become the real deal. And I hope to remain a part of that elite as I continue along my penniless journey to journalistic greatness. Though I may not make the thousands of dollars a month that I would have made had I opted for a career in Public Relations, it's all worthwhile when I put on my clothes in the morning and can wear jeans, a graphic tee and flats to work.

Suck on that. :-p

Your tenacious trainee,

Allycat

Oh the tale of truth...

Available for Hire: Will Work for Cash

2009-11-16T14:26:00.002-04:00

Name: Alicia Viarruel

Occupation: Uncertain

Financial Status: Nothing to declare

The Mission: Make money to get a new laptop, a jeep and a fully functional cellular phone

The Plan: Sheer Foraging

I've never consciously taken into account how important financial security is. I am willing to admit that I have always taken for granted the fact that I'll get what I want no matter what. Whether it was mom, dad, my favourite aunt or uncle, granny. I ALWAYS got what I wanted. Until one very sombre day when my forehead smacked into that withered and worn pavement that is adulthood. I now have to earn what I want (for the most part) and I find myself continuously wondering (sometimes aloud), "what the fuck happened?" Adulthood has ruined my youthful carefree spending habits. Oh how I miss the old days! Though my boyfriend would disagree and say that I'm a spoilt little runt who is completely void of the ability to spend prudently. He's totally wrong of course, however I have had to cancel a visit or two as a result of the purchase of some cute dress, scarf or must have handbag.

The fact of the matter is that I am a hopeless spendthrift living above and beyond my means. Always. I know it's easy for the first thing to be, "get a job like everyone else." And though I have seriously thought about it, that's as far as it ever goes. A stray thought running through my mind every so often whispering 'get a job', but it's very easy to ignore when you really consider the options. Offices, offices, offices. I absolutely loathe the office environment. From the suit that must be worn, to the building, to the desk and computer that i have to sit behind ALL DAY, to the cut throat hypocritical coworkers. Yikes. Majorly devastating and not to mention destructive for my free spirit and creative mind.

But now, at the stage of seeking desperate measures, I find myself actually considering purchasing some office clothes for my closet (the act of shopping is intensely more appealing than the items being purchased in this circumstance). Sitting behind a desk, typing, filing, talking to people with attitudes on the phone while desperately trying to remain calm and professional, the boss. Ugh. Aargh! I apologise, the act of leaving my comfortable bed, my comfortable house, to step into a more than UNcomfortable environment is inconceivable.

However, this is a point in my life where drastic times call for drastic measures. Literally. I found myself circling (in purple ink no less) a job to work on a farm. Yes. Me, Alicia Viarruel, even slightly interested in working on a farm doing questionable duties for an even more questionable salary. If ever you were unsure as to the context in which to use 'wtf', this would be that time to blurt it out (fake dumb blond accent and all). Though I comforted myself by saying that at least I love animals so it could be fun...Maybe. I also looked at options like:

Experienced Painters wanted :- Since I've painted my grandmother's house for the most part, my own house (alongside dad) INCLUSIVE OF the redesigning of my bedroom. Twice. There's some experience for your ass.
Maid between 25-30 years old for East Indian family. 2-3 days a week:- If it's one thing I know how to do and do well, is clean. *Has a "hi mom" moment like those kids on MTV* And I figured, how hard could it be? Unless there's a diaper-less baby running around urinating, shitting, and vomiting I think I'll be fine. And I love curry. Maybe I'll even learn how to make a roti. Why not! AND I get 2-3 free days for the rest of the working week. Shit! Only minus there being that I'm 21. Gosh darn!
Supermarket workers needed :- Who doesn't love the supermarket? Hello! All that food and you don't even have to hold any of it, you just get to push them around in a somewhat cool cage on wheels. Get the fuck out of here! That job could be majorly cool, throw in a free Coke every 3 hours and I'm game.
Hiring now. Females to do massages. Training available. Attractive salary :- In my defense, this one did seem a little questionable so there is a big purple asterix next to it. Not too sure if I'm quite willing to venture into this physical contact services. Though the mention of the attractive salary did seem...attractive. Schemers! Next!

Of course throughout all this purple pen circling I wondered how many of these people I'd actually call, but hey, I made an initial effort at least. That's step one. I think. Not too sure how "job hunting" goes. Every job (out of all 4) I've ever applied for I've gotten. Not that this helps my image but hey, let the truth be told. Two out of those 4 were office jobs (Blech!) and I despised them. Quit one and was fired from the other. Good riddance! And the salaries, all $3000 of it, were spent on clothes because I had to make myself feel better after being in that shitty office, and I would not be me if I couldn't shop for clothes and bags. I'd surely perish. The other two were in fashion. Duh. And newsflash: Jobs in fashion don't pay unless you're the designer, the model, or the photographer. Go figure!

So, in my broken degenerate state, I need to figure out a way to get some fast funds. With prostitution and pimping out of the question, I am still in search of quick reasonably earned cash to get my laptop first, my jeep second and a working phone last but certainly not least. The quest begins! I vow to circle AND call and figure it out. I'll be sure to keep you guys posted on the process. Wish me...RICH blessings and financial restraint. Tomorrow will mark day one of this journey to purposeful (and gainful) part-time employment to help me achieve or acquire the aforementioned items. So we'll start a countdown and make it interesting by setting the deadline of January 31, 2010 for the laptop. We'll work the rest out when that deadline is met. Now, excuse mu purple pen and I. We have business to conduct.

Your unemployed degenerate,

Allycat

I think I'll use this in my next interview

Fight the Power: Don't Worry, Be Happy

2009-11-09T16:30:00.002-04:00

I've never understood even the bare basics of this world. If you're good and an overall nice human being you get bitten in the ass by the angry pit bull that is the rest of the world. You are betrayed by friends that you've been nothing but good to, taken advantage of, robbed and beaten. Life tries to beat you down into the ground. Well, I correct myself, PEOPLE try to beat you down into the ground (sometimes quite literally though thankfully I've been THUS FAR spared the personal experience). If you walk the straight and narrow path be sure to keep your eyes peeled for boobie traps and manholes because they're always there to fuck you up.

The road is straight and narrow after all so preparation is best as they're near impossible to avoid. It's like being ahead in Monopoly then you're suddenly plundered into poverty by the card where you have to pay for each house and hotel or imprisoned by the go to jail card ("go to jail, go directly to jail, do not pass GO, do not collect $200," we know that bitch of a card well). You're done for. You get those cards in life too except that it isn't a game. You can't afford the luxury of being the sore loser and calling it quits to go watch tv instead.

When it's good, it's so ridiculously good that you find yourself being scared shitless at the possibility that something terrible is going to happen. And... it does. The good people in the world always go down hard. They endure more broken hearts than should be allowed any one human being. Sometimes, they may pass along some positive attributes to those smart enough to pay attention. Otherwise, they don't live long and, to be honest, die quite tragically. On the flip side, by all appearances, it pays to be a bitch! The really bad people of the world live long and hearty, get to be fat and happy, affect more lives than most good people get to (whether its through other people's ungratefulness or lack of opportunity) AND they die with a big smile on their wrinkle and blemish free faces.

Though through all of this, the thing that really irks me about being good in this life is that you really can't please anyone! If you're smiling people are disgusted or annoyed by how happy you are. If you're generous and helpful people are skeptical and always seem to think you're up to something. If you're beautiful people are jealous. If you're quiet and sensitive you're mocked and abused. If you're nice to everyone people think you're pretentious. If you're shy and keep to yourself people say it's superciliousness. People, people, people! See a trend here?

I had this way of always saying that the world is shitty but throughout the years of making my own mental notes I've come to the conclusion that people, this thing we have so inaccurately labelled humanity (the act of being human or otherwise defined as the act of being humane which is the ability to have consideration and compassion for others, which should in all actuality go hand in hand regardless), is what makes existing on this earth such a task. We've done this, created this mayhem and set this "standard" of mediocre living for ourselves. One by one we all did it. Ain't that a bitch?

These past few weeks, after experiencing these very issues I have been dwelling on the hopeless state of it all. I have been battling against crossing over to the dark side and becoming the biggest bitch you dare to know. For my own protection rather than just to be spiteful. Over the last 10 or so odd years I've become very familiar with the bullshit associated with being too nice or too trusting. I have hardened to fight against said bullshit, though still desperately trying to stay true to the me that is an absolute clown and loves to laugh and make others laugh. The me that is truly not hard at all. Like most of us who have had to go through this process, I had lost my way. I don't smile like I used to, laugh like I love to, help like I want to. People upset me. The nature of human beings upset me. I find myself angry all the time at the way the world has become.

No one smiles at you in the street, people barely so much as mumble a "good morning" or "good day". I lost my burning passion to live, TRULY live, to be as I was when things were simple and innocent, to give in to that thirst to just walk down the street smiling from ear to ear simply because I'm alive. I lost myself in the sea of shit and was drowning in it. I allowed the fucked up people who entered my life to fuck ME up rather than counting my blessings that I'm nothing like them and moving along on my mission to laugh until I die. Literally, I want to die laughing or in my sleep (because I LOVE to do both). But I know that in the attempt to protect myself from the evil people of the world through the method of acting like them, I am adding to the problem and not contributing to a solution for days ahead. I forgot to positively affect the lives of the people that I encounter on a regular basis. It's odd to miss your own self, be your own worst enemy for what you've become. As it turns out, the sacrifices we make in life, though logical, may not always be best.

I had a debate with a friend of mine about whether or not there is a middle ground between logic and emotion. And I said, "there must be something in between, there's always something in the middle that's why the word "maybe" exists. If there's middle ground I'll be sure to write a book on it and let everyone know. 'Chicken Soup' style." And though it was funny at the time, I reflect on it at this wee hour of the morning when I think best and I realize that there really is no middle ground. The word 'maybe' exists so you don't have to commit to either a 'yes' or a 'no' even if you already know the final answer. 'Maybe' is the word that allows procrastination, it was created to cater to the indecisive nature (or attempted mystery is you will) of human beings.

I admit to myself, and to you, that I was backsliding and forgot how to live. I can't remember what it's like to not try to control my own destiny, to just let go and laugh and not let PEOPLE get me down or angry. There will always be that asshole and that bitch and those who will call your name in matters that don't concern you, those who want to defame you and can't help but attempt to dirty your crystal clear waters. People won't always appreciate your brilliant light and some will want to out it just for kicks. Fuck them. Life is too good, the sky is too perfectly blue, the clouds too mesmerizing and puffy, the sun too hot and marvelous for you to be taking on the people around you and letting them fuck with you. I always like to say, if people want to exit your life wave them adieu and get the fuck on skipping down your yellow brick road. Let the wizard deal with them when you get to the top. It's going to take a while, but one by one the same way it started it can end, if we all just smile a bit more each day, say more hellos and good mornings hopefully it'll catch on and stick like herpes. Though that is a bit fucked up. Maybe.

Your obscene cynic turned...well, obscene optimist,

Allycat

Vision vs. Vixen: Kid Cudi gives hope for a hoeless future in music

2009-08-05T21:24:00.003-04:00

kid cudi - day 'n' nite

by 75_prod

Kid Cudi, born Scott Mescudi, stepped on the scene, at first discreetly, with a feature on Kanye West’s ‘808’s and Heartbreak’ album on the track “Welcome to Heartbreak.” Not many knew who he was at the time, and not many more cared since he wasn’t busting out with the latest “dance craze” or rapping about Bentleys and breasts. But I believe he secured a place in the minds of hip hop fans everywhere with his debut video “Day N Nite” which premiered on BET’s 106 and Park on February 19, 2009. The video and the song completely connected. And in a time when artistes get more recognition for having the hottest club smasher over strong lyrical content and having a message, Kid Cudi takes a step up by actually focusing on the craft. He takes me back to the days where music was about talent and not all talk. I yearn for those days. I dream of the day where music will go back to its roots and make...MUSIC!

For me, Cudi really struck a chord on my favourite track ‘The Prayer’ off his debut album when he said:

“I’m thinking God made me special,

Here on purpose, so all the while till I’m gone,

Make my words important so if I slip away, if I die today,

The last thing you remember won’t be about some apple bottom jeans with the boots with the fur”

Even the hook for this song makes me feel like the music is about the art and the love for the fans:

“If I die before I wake I pray the lord my soul to take,

But please don’t cry, just know that I have made these songs for you.”

I’ve listened to this album several times, on good days and bad days and it always makes me feel happier with the mere thought that there is hope for music. Of course we have the greats like Rakim, Nas, Jay Z, Common, The Roots, Tupac and the other rappers who paved the way and set the standard for the forward movement of hip hop. But, let’s face it, they probably won’t be making records in 10 – 15 years because they’ll be old with families, settled down and resting easy on their contribution to the music industry, and maybe doing other things like charities, acting etc. The people who’ll be making records in 10 – 15 years are hopefuls like Kid Cudi, J. Cole, Gym Class Heroes, Kanye West, among others.

It’s time for new musicians to recognise that they will set the tone for the quality of music in the future. I don’t think some musicians understand that just as Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin, James Brown and Prince influenced them, they will serve as influences for other aspiring musicians. So please stop making shit like “Stanky Leg”, “Get Silly” and all other variations of filth filtering onto our airwaves. Make music that means something. If you don’t have the talent then get a day job and stop making me despise the radio! I really wonder how people get record deals sometimes. For the “music” that I’m hearing now, I could get a damn record deal and talk about a bunch of shit and look cute and make money. When did it become all about the glam and the gimmick? There’s too much beef and chicken heads in the kitchen. Get your shit together people!

Now, on to one of the main reasons I like Kid Cudi. Hoeless music videos. I can dig it. The ‘Day N Nite’ video – hoeless (though there was a remix video where there was a white girl cop stripping down and 2 back up girls dancing, but you can tell it was for fun, that’s the difference), the ‘Make Her Say’ video – hoeless. I must say, I have a great appreciation for the lack of scantily clad “video vixens” and the lens is finally refocusing where it should be, on the ARTISTE. The spotlight is actually not on the girl in those black boyshorts who could make her ass jiggle like jello or about making it rain on them hoes. I hope this is an example that other rappers will follow. I look forward to the hoeless future of music videos. I understand that video vixens have their place in the world of music videos. But I prefer that they are used in a more theatrical way to tell a story. Hip hop needs to take tips from some R&B videos like Ne-Yo’s new video ‘Part of the List’ and Maxwell’s “Pretty Wings” video which is VERY sexy and guess what? No one’s half naked with breasts and ass hanging out! Yay! Kid Cudi, kudos to you. Please don’t make me have to take that back. Keep the focus on the craft and don’t get lost in translation. You’ve got my ears.

Your real music advocate,

Allycat

Mo' Money, Mo' Problems

2009-08-04T03:28:00.002-04:00

We all know the song by the late Biggie Smalls featuring the (then) oh so cool Mase with his double dimples and lazy boy slur and the unskilled (always) Puff Daddy (before any modern "updates" to his rap persona). Here's a sample of the hook just in case you're not a fan of hip hop (boo to you):

"I don't know what, they want from me
Its like the more money we come across
The more problems we see"

Now, initially I was all up on this track, singing along and shit, real feelin' the vibe, however, now that I'm grown (and as I told a friend tonight: "broke, bored and unemployed") I find myself asking a series of questions about this rap philosophy. Questions such as: WHAT THE FUCK?! What the hell are they talking about? How could having more money even remotely equate to having more problems? Were rappers on some super crack "Blue Magic" shit back then (as this is the only way i could see more money leading to more problems)? Was it solely about the amount of money it took to primp their "baby mommas" and "hoes"?

I was in a sound state of confusion, as you can well imagine now that I am imposing it on you at this very moment. I tried to calm myself down to thoroughly dissect this rap philosophy by drinking a cup of green tea (I'm such a thug). After much deep thought, I came up with what I believe to be a sensible conclusion; niggas a.k.a. black people a.k.a afrikans never know how to manage their money properly, THAT'S where the "mo' money, mo' problems" is rooted! Eureka! Trust me, I KNOW. Mo' money, Mo' problems is about blackness. Yes. Blackness. It's about what we do with our money when we get money that leads to the more problems and that leads to more money spending to fix those problems and that's how we end up with the MC Hammers of the world.

The first thing the money's spent on is getting fresh. The clothes, the car, the house, the arm candy, the club hopping, "the look". Achieving the ultimate swag is a main aspect of blackness in the rap world. It's the 'ideal' of the "bling bling" lifestyle that has some of these fools out here "making music" (ha!) right now (but don't get me started on them!! *sips more green tea*) Most rappers have their charity game going on, giving back to the community and all that goodness, this all comes after the freshness though. There's some prioritizing for your ass. Getting fresh takes a big chunk out of the "mo" in the money.

Then we have the loafer niggas. You know them. I know them. And we be broke, so imagine what rich people have to go through with them. Just straight up shameless loafer niggas. Rappers have to deal with these characters more often than the average rich person because most of them made their way of the slums or the ghetto and places of that nature. So they have to deal with the challenge of people saying, "Oh he done changed now that he rich, don't wanna help a nigga pay his rent," as they were apparently helping to pay the rent before...? Shameless blackness, wanna grab on coat tails and not make their own way. Sometimes those people are friends so it might be harder to say no. And the friends ask a LOT. Then there's the feeling of obligation to help "the marish and the parish" (as we Trinis say) and their list of "needs" that must be met is always the longest.

Next on the list is the ever prominent baby momma who demands her child support to pay for the baby's new pair of air jordans and 24K gold chain. An ABSOLUTE necessity! (:-S) Not to mention she has to get her nails did for the grammy awards. Hello! Women have and always will be a liability in some way or another. I accept that. Rappers embrace it. More so back in the days of Biggie than now although modern rappers still don't seem to know about condoms and birth control, as it seems sex ed. for adults is either unavailable or incomprehensible.

Last but not least is the maintenance of all these aforementioned expenses. Maintenance is often times a bitch. You can't have just enough money to build a house and build it just so, what if a pipe bursts? What about stocking the new kitchen every month? So, that ever sleek Bentley that they spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on and that sugary sweet white Range Rover guzzles gas and costs thousands more to maintain. So what's left of the "m" in the money goes into maintenance, not just of these assets, but also of the image that they have created for themselves. Swag is up kept not unkempt, everything must remain pristine.

This is my green-tea-clarity-induced conclusion to the "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems" PLIGHT of the rap world. My take on it however is that if having more money brings on more problems then hire a therapist (i refer to them as "the rapists" [get it?]), lay down on the fucking couch and let them instruct you so you don't have to deal with it. CLEARLY! Bring on the more money and more problems for me. I will have none of the above issues as my blackness has been diluted due to race mixing. Ha! I've beaten the man yet again!

Your seeker of mo' money no problems,

Allycat

"Pimpin' nigga, you know how we do!"

R.I.P. to D.B.S.

2009-06-26T02:44:00.004-04:00

Rest in Peace to Damn Bull Shit

I feel very compelled to write for several reasons. It intrigues me that once someone dies everyone is in mourning and everyone has all these great things to say and all's well that ends well. Well personally, I don't think that all's well that ends well. I think whoever said that maybe meant it in an entirely different context than that in which it's currently used. I think that if you have something good to say about someone it should be said to their face, not at their funerals, just as much as the bad things. I know for a fact that all the shit people say behind my back they would never say to my face. Perhaps because I'll cuff them down, or fuck them up in my "heights" way, or just act like they're not saying anything at all, in my way. But mostly I think it's because people are full of shit. The world is full of shit. I'll state my reasons...

Reason number one: Michael Jackson, the greatest artist of all time, the master of music, the brainchild who tapped into the true power of music videos, the alleged child molester, the father of 3 and "king of pop" is dead. I am very sad right now. I have been a big, huge, insane fan of his since I was a little fart with my eyes glued to the tv mesmerized by his moon walk and the ever popular "hee hee" that always made me giggle.

I was teased to tears by my brother and uncle for being smitten with him and for being such a devoted fan. "He's touch boys," they said. "He's a bullerman," they said. "He was the greatest of all time," everyone says now. And the very people who wrote scripts with little inserts of insults of "MJ the molester" and "I wouldn't let him look at my children even on tv" and always talking about his children's faces being covered and the overly discussed issue of him hanging the child over the balcony for everyone to see, those very people are now calling in to MTV, E!, FOX NEWS, CNN, BBC to say how sad they are and how tragic it is and how great he was.

The very same networks that tried to destroy his name with the child molestation charges who said that he was so terrible and that he was so weird and had so many psychological issues are now showing his music videos and speaking of him with reverence. I know, they're just doing their job. The boss says, "He died, keep a grave look on your face and be sure to put that note of sadness in your voice at all times. Say that we're celebrating his life not mourning his death...etc etc." I know this. I'm studying journalism for shit's sake, I know how they do it. It just sucks. That's the way it is. And I'm not taking it personally that MJ died, I'm not taking it personally what they're doing. This isn't about Michael Jackson. I just note a pattern with the world. People die, everyone's sad. People are alive, everyone talks shit. C'est la vie.

Reason number two: Facebook and Twitter. People write things along the line of; "MJ dead but what about the people who die everyday? What about the people who die right here? What about the people who die IN GENERAL?" Now, to those people who say those things, I'm glad that you're so seemingly in tune with what's going on with the world. I'm glad that you find it necessary to point out that people die everyday, because I'm sure we didn't all know that. If a friend of your were to die today and you say "R.I.P. Kevin" and someone says "Hey, fuck your Kevin, Kevin's die everyday. People lose friends to death everyday" what would your response be? Stop being an asshole.

This is not about the people who die everyday. This is not about the people who died in Afghanistan due to senseless suicide bombing. This is not about the babies who die due to stupid ass chicken heads who throw their babies in the garbage and leave them to die. This is about the death of a very specific individual and NOTHING should be taken away from that. Get real. NO ONE can mourn the deaths of every single person who dies EVERY SINGLE DAY. Do you?

You, the people who make these fucking senseless statements, do YOU go to church everyday and mourn the deaths of everyone who died on that day? Do you say "Oh Lord, save the souls of ALL who died today? Do you say that for the people who are hanged in prison? Do you say that for those in the electric chair? Do you say that for the rapists who were killed? The child molesters? The murderers? I mean, if you're mourning SHIT go all out, mourn for the world. R.I.P. to the whole world right? Bullshit. Pure, unsanitary, stinking bullshit. When someone dies and people want to mourn that person or feel sad that that person is gone, don't take away from that. Whether they're famous or not, it's their choice. You morn for the world. Go ahead.

Reason number 3: Being a human being is beginning to become synonymous with being a hypocrite. People say things like, "Live everyday like it's your last!", "Love like you've never been hurt!" etc etc. I shit on that. We cannot realistically live everyday like it's our last. We make plans. We say "Yeah cinema lime on Friday"...and it's Monday. If we want to live like we're going to die on that very day EVERY DAY then we would never make plans. If we love like we've never been hurt the world would be delusional. Everyone would make the same mistakes over and over again if we were all to follow this happy-go-lucky philosophy, willing to give everyone "the benefit of the doubt". People you LOVE are alive right now and you're holding grudges. I'm doing it myself.

People you hate would die and you say "my condolences" and you don't mean it. Is it worth being a hypocrite just to follow protocol by saying what's polite and proper? Why do we say shit behind people's backs then we see them smile and laugh and drink with them? Is it all WORTH IT? I feel like life is becoming more and more unnecessarily complex. We're all being tangled in these webs and caught up in so much.

I constantly feel like I'm being sucked into a black hole of nothingness. Being dragged into "the way" and drifting further and further away from MY way. There's always protocol, there's always the way it "should be" done. I just had the most insignificant argument with my best friend over the way things should be done and what the "necessary" steps are. It was so stupid, the drama - unnecessary, the end result - stupid. And if I die in my sleep tonight (because that is my preferred way of dying) it'll be even more stupid. STUPID. I don't use that word for lack of a better one, I use it because it's the most simple, most straight forward way to express how I feel about the way people act. I feel like the world is shit.

I'm upset. I'm a hypocrite too. I'm done.

Your Allycat is currently self absorbed and miserable.

The Reality of Relationships

2009-04-30T22:24:00.001-04:00

"To cheat yourself out of love is the most terrible deception, an eternal loss for which there is no reparation" - Soren Kierkegard

In truth I have absolutely no idea who George Santayana is, however from what he said here I'd say the guy has a pretty good head on his shoulders. Here I am drinking some coffee and well, was supposed to be writing an investigative article due tomorrow but matters of the heart are the most important! Fact is, I am almost 100% sure that I'm going to fail that class so that explains my somewhat flagrant disregard. Back to the point, I believe love is one of the most important things in this entire world, and to find love, even if it's just once and even if it failed, to experience that REAL love is as close to flying through clouds as any of us mere humans could ever experience (unless you're rich enough to have your own G5 jet in which case you are right up there with love, adrenaline rush and the miracle of childbirth, good for you!). Fear of hurt, rejection and heartbreak should never act as deterrents when dealing with love. Throw it all in the wind and just say "fuck it." Trust in the I, love is profound.

And, on the flip side, it's also many other things. Like confusing. Yes, that's right, CONFUSING! There is no book, no absurdly superficial article in a woman's magazine advice column that explains love and clarifies everything for us. And the reason for that is that there is no explanation for love, nothing can justify it, all the adjectives can't precisely describe it, no movie can truly emulate it, and no one person can make it easy. Most of our time in the initial stages of a relationship is spent getting to know your "significant other", favourite colour, favourite movies, general dislikes, just the basics.

Stage two presents more revealing information like their number of sexual partners, why their previous relationships didn't work, any issues with the family, etcetera etcetera. Now, beyond this point is where it gets complicated because somewhere along the way you have sex, you get all emotionally entangled in the other person, you start fighting, and now is when you feel the ever predominant emotion that is confusion.

They want this, but then again they don't want this and they just said that because they didn't want to express what they REALLY felt. They're breaking up with you then telling you how much they love you and making up with you. They start showing different sides of themselves that make you think twice about if this is the same person you got together with __ months ago. They suddenly have issues with things they never had issues with before and are thereby just stressing your ass out! They just fucking confuse you! I mean, this part makes you feel like saying, "this is some bullshit right here!" But of course you don't say that because now you're in so deep that there's no way you're going to give up just like that right? But how do you know when to stop trying? How do you really know when enough is enough or if you should just stick it out because hey, no one said it was easy.

I'll tell you how my friends. My sole purpose on this earth is to tell you this! NO ONE KNOWS! Everyone likes to act like they know and sound like they know, especially old people, don't talk to old people about this shit, because it's a general consensus that age equals wisdom but that doesn't stand true for every old fart on the planet. Not to mention the fact that love has evolved, yes the old crusties know the basics and that's enough most times but sometimes you need to dig a lot deeper than basic. Love will make you do things that you would've bet your bank account that you would never do. It's very much like being possessed, you have no idea what you're doing, the love demon has taken over all your controls. You're helpless.

This is not to say that everyone will find their one true love and there's someone for everyone and all that. That's just shit people say to keep you optimistic and hopefully decrease the suicide rate. The truth is, not everyone will experience this type of euphoria in their lifetime. But, on the bright side, that means that they can have sex with whatever random hot person (or close personal sex buddy) they choose! They don't have to commit to anything but life and their pet cat (which may also be interchanged for pussy or penis within the context of this sentence). Life is also very fun and fulfiling for them, trust me. I could grow old and alone and have a fun fucking time doing it, and everyone should keep that in mind. Don't make yourself miserable for something that wasn't even intended for everyone. That's like being bitter about not being born with blue eyes, everyone can't fucking have blue eyes. Deal with it.

Recently, my opinion on love has changed a lot. I never used to think about love. If it happens it happens, if I lose it it's fine, if I never get it I'm good. I still think like that for the most part. The difference is that now I've experienced the real deal and I have a lot more respect for people's emotions and for love itself. I also have a new admiration for the old couples that "made it" and are still in love. They make me kind of optimistic. Kind of. At the end of the day I realise that you have to make your own love, whether it's self-love (and yes by that I do mean masturbation) or love of another. The reality of relationships is that you get to choose your own reality by the decisions you make. Make good ones!

Your dose of contradictory optimistic realism,

Allycat

The TRUTH Behind Global Warming

2009-04-26T21:22:00.002-04:00

I was hit upside my head recently by the latest episode of one of my favourite shows, Chelsea Lately on the E! network. As it turns out, scientists are now saying that overweight people are greatly contributing to, and may be one of the main causes of global warming. The reason being that they eat more, hence increasing production, and they also drive more which is contributing to the amount of carbon monoxide in the air. I'm guessing that they also shit more, and fart more, maybe even throw up more depending on what they're eating...who knows? Meanwhile, fat people everywhere are going : "oh fuck..."

It's both hilarious and quite unfortunate that obese people are now on the chopping block for global warming. As if they don't face enough ridicule, now people are going to want to shoot them on sight for being "responsible" for the increasing death rate of polar bears and other animals that live in cold places that can't get around on ice caps anymore. Everytime someone walks by an obese person now they're going to be like, "Thanks a lot asshole!!!" (picture it...hahaha! i mean...tisk tisk tisk). Sigh.

Granted, those scientists actually do have a point with regards to the increase in production and the carbon monoxide but why not say it's because of someone else? Why not say, hey all you pageant delegates you're destroying our fucking environment with your hairspray bitches! Or blame all the club hopping celebrities who drive from place to place all in ONE night, why not also go so far as to say that the alcohol on their breath is contributing to...something. Hey, I'm no scientist ok.

So judging by this brand spanking new reason for global warming, the government's plan is apparently to get all the fat people to become even more depressed than most of them already are and make them all eat themselves to death so we can then go on with our lives in a global warming free way! Yes, let the conspiracy sink into your stomachs because we can't drive to get things to eat now, we'll contribute to global warming people! Forget the new environmentally friendly cars that run on corn oil and saliva and all natural things of that nature, fat people haven't heard about those, just the rest of us "normal" folks! It's baffling to me that these facts are revealed and then...that's it. There's nothing like, ok we realise that overweight persons are contributing greatly to the problems the WORLD is currently experiencing as a result of global warming so we're going to launch several free programs to help people deal with food addiction and encourage them to change their diets. Nooo. What? Taking actions like that? Absurd, absolutely out of the question.

The fact of the matter is that global warming is taking place now at such a drastic rate because we have all been idiots and didn't think it would happen so we threw things out the window, rolled around in CFCs, didn't recycle as often as we should and just generally didn't take the care of the environment into consideration in our day to day lives. That's it. So don't blame the fatties, they're people too...just bigger people with bigger needs that should be met goddammit!

These are just my thoughts for now, don't really have that much time today so take this as an appetizer and expect the main course soon like in a restaurant with bad service you have to wait 2 hours betwen meals, which will actually be...2days in this case.

Your other cause of global warming,

Allycat

Discipline

2009-04-25T20:24:00.003-04:00

Tonight has to be one of the most difficult nights of my life, exaggerating a tad bit but still. I am now realising that as nice as it is to know that I have been able to demonstrate some serious self control over the last 2 years and do that well promoted thing called “abstaining”…this shit is HARD! I don’t know if it was solely triggered by Janet Jackson’s song “Discipline” off her new Discipline album which I replayed approximately 20 times because it is sooooo sexy, she’s just oozing sex all over the place check it out yourself and tell me if you don’t feel an immediate increase in your “drive” .

This is insane. Although I am usually all for the self service, I don’t even think that could cut it tonight, I think I just need to say some hard prayers. Maybe I should just go to church right now and jump in the holy water (totally risking the fact that I might vaporise due to my sinful thoughts). I’m trying to take deep breaths, do some exercising and release the tension (first time I’ve officially exercised in a WHILE too so yay for me), I ran around my house like twice too just to keep my mind occupied, the only thing I didn’t try was the cold shower because (a) I hate cold water and (b) I don’t think it would be an effective method anyway unless I’m drinking cold water while soaking in it (and by cold I mean deathly cold, you get my point?!). And since I have not published a note in such a long time (on account that I keep running into a block and I want the notes to flow) and my brain is now hitting a million miles per second on this topic…I HAD to write since the words were just flowing out of me (pun absolutely intended). So let’s do this, let’s talk about sex. I will want you to post responses on this for sure because I want some feedback on how you guys deal with sexual frustration of this magnitude. And listen, all you sex-havers, do not post up anything like “well I just call up my bf/gf and show them the scene,” because you will only make matters worse so be sensitive to my plight!

Let’s start from the beginning. Here I was just relaxing on a nice Monday evening, just took a nice bath relishing the hot water and my victoria’s secret body wash, towel dried, moisturised with some more victoria’s secret and threw on a t-shirt and as usual sat in front of the laptop with my legs crossed on my bed, my big mug of Indian chai tea nearby, had no class today so, I’m on the internet doing some research on random things to write about. Everything was normal. Then all of a sudden it occurs to me, “Ally what is this familiar feeling that you are feeling?” And yes, I do mean familiar, not because I’m celibate doesn’t mean I don’t “feel the urge” and things of that nature, on the contrary I feel it QUITE often. So I just kind of brushed it off because I felt too lazy to take another bath. Then as I’m watching a video on YouTube of B.Scott singing this “Discipline” song by Janet Jackson it occurs to me that the feeling is intensifying due to the nature of the song. So I click on the link because it was a just a snippet that B played and I wanted to listen to the song in its entirety.

Now people, the lyrics go like this: “I misbehaved, done some things I know I shouldn’t do. I touched myself, even though you told me not to. You commanded me to wait for you. Ooh I tried. But I can smell you on my sheets, taste you on my skin so vividly. Daddy, I disobeyed you. Now I want you to come punish me. I need some discipline tonight, I‘ve been very bad. Make me cry, daddy make me cry ooohhhhhh.” NOW TELL ME THIS! What?! How, just how, am I supposed to respond to that OTHER than to just feel like…mmm? Janet didn’t need to do that to me tonight, she didn’t, she’s very wrong for whispering those lyrics like that and tickling my fancy with that sexy grinding beat. God dammit! I feel so violated, like she just busted into my brain and turned the words into lyrics and sang it back to me. I need to pause and take a deep breath.

So yes, now that I have composed myself I will continue. So Janet Jackson dropped it on me hot and sweaty and I am now dealing with the aftermath. And I KNOW, I just know, this has happened to some of you already. I’m sure on many an occasion you have just been minding your own business and you would see an image, a video or hear a song that just makes you feel like you could call someone up and have some hot, sweaty, kissing, licking, nibbling, rhythmic grinding, moaning…you get the point. So ANYWAY! I’m getting a little sidetracked with the imagery (like wow), sometimes it doesn’t even have to be something you’ve seen or heard, it could just be a memory of someone, of something that they did, of something that they said, or something that you did WITH them. There is always someone that did that one thing that nobody else could ever quite master. And now, in some moment of silence, it slivers back into your mind and you savour the memory like the taste of fine wine. It happens to even the most restrained, most contained, most inactive of us all. Hence, my plight.

What I really would like to know is how do you deal with it? As someone who has decided to remain inactive until…whenever, how do you deal with this kind of situation? I’m not trying to be a super human and say that I could just turn it off, because I most certainly cannot, if only it were that simple and I could just play with a switch then I would (why did I just say play with a switch??). But in all the running around the house, exercising, dancing, singing folly that I did to try to shake it off, it is still all up on me. The tingle is tingling and the hormones are being overwhelmingly hormonal. And I know that I can’t do what I’m thinking about doing, or let me choose my words more carefully, won’t do what I’m thinking about doing. I know if I pick up my phone right now I will regret it before morning because it’s just a whole awkward situation. Those who know me know that I tend to live in my mind, so there will be a million things I would be thinking about doing and I would leave it as a thought because I’m a little punkish but STILL! RIGHT NOW, I think I would literally JUMP out the box and do everything and explore every avenue that I have ever wanted to sexually explore. Lord have mercy yes. I need some kind of…something other than what I’m thinking about.

So people, I want you to rock out with your cocks out and tell me what you do to curb the urge. I need some intervention.

Your horny as a dog in heat celibate freak,

Allycat

Love and Marriage

2009-04-25T20:24:00.002-04:00

The first thing that comes to mind is most likely the Frank Sinatra song, made popular by the “Married with Children” sitcom in the 90s for which it was the theme song. “Love and marriage, go together like a horse and carriage. This I tell you brother, you can't have one without the other.” The question is therefore, which one is doing all the work while the other rests behind and is carried along? Is love the horse or the carriage? Or is it that it's not at all like a horse and carriage but more so like a horse and its jockey with one constantly riding the other in the hopes of eventually achieving success? And who says you can't have one without the other anyway (besides Frankie)? Why can't a horse just be a horse grazing in the fields, eating grass and galloping off to some unknown destination? Poor horses...always being used in analogies for something else. Can't a horse just be a horse these days?! Sometimes I feel like marriage is a sham. All one big shenanigan conjured up by some bored elite of society back in the days before Joseph married a preggers Mary (Bet that was an event in itself. Kind of takes the fun out of it for Jo, “oh shit, she's knocked up already? I didn't even get to touch it yet! Thanks a lot oh Holy One!”). Sorry for diverging, so anyhoos, who said two people have to get married to live happily ever after? As a matter of fact (I think) statistics show that less and less of us are “crossing the finish line” anyway, which further emphasizes my point. What's the purpose of it all? Wedding bells, a cliché white dress for an impure “sexually active” female, a lame tux for the male, the same old vows read by the same old crusty priest, relatives you hardly see and people you don't know (who were probably dragged to the wedding against their will or just came for the free food), a big stupid “just married” sign on a car which only means that other drivers are going to blare their horns at you (thank goodness for my dear friend Motrin Rx) and not only that but you have to sign documents. Oh great. You have one form of work to do another. And how could I forget? The rice being thrown at you by the people you invited to this joyous occasion who are now practically pelting the stale hard rice at you like they're punishing you for either getting married, or making them sit through the whole process. Oh joy, here comes the bride! Which by the way has to be one of the most annoying, most overplayed, most SLAUGHTERED songs since it's fucking creation. I bet even the composer didn't even know what he was getting himself into otherwise he would've probably passed on it. And people have the audacity to make remixes! Shame on you! Maybe people do it for the bling. You get to flash around this gold ring on this odd finger of your left hand. If you think about it, more so for the woman, the ring is really how people gauge their approval of the marriage. The convo goes something like this: Newly engaged hopeful: “Tom proposed last night Suzy! And I said yes!” Shallow future wedding attendee: “Really! Let me see the ring!” *Newly engaged hopeful presents the odd finger of the left hand for inspection to the shallow future wedding attendee* For a barely visible diamond: “Oh that's good Jenny. Hope it goes well.” For a huge rock (that practically renders your finger immobile): “Oh how wonderful! When is the wedding Jen? He must really love you to give you a rock like that!” (let's all have a sad moment for the poor lover boy...ok that's enough) Disclaimer: For the protection of all involved, names have been changed. Sad, but true. Sigh. What has the world come to? A thought just came to me: Maybe the bigger the diamond the lower the chances are that the marriage is going to work out. Think about it before you write it off in your mind as pure folly. Ok, so back in the days your grandparents/great grandparents got married and the wedding ring had a diamond on it that looked like a speck of glitter more than anything else. Meanwhile, your parents are on the verge of collapse with a medium sized rock, and your brother bought his fiancé a huge fancy rock and they're divorced after 2 years. Boom. Right? Right? Ok, so maybe it is a nonsensical theory but it deserves some thought. Our grandparents/great grandparents have made it through wars, recessions, poverty and strife, widespread disease and numerous affairs and these days marriages can barely survive a fucking argument. Different time you say? People are more educated and independent and have an “i don't take no shit” attitude you say? Well I say bullshit. It's not about right and wrong choices, it's not like our predecessors had a heightened sense of judgment that skipped our generation. So I think we can safely rule out the fact that people choose more hastily because I know people who have “courted” for several years and then got married and it all fell to shit. So what is it then? Has the human race evolved into this impatient mass of self-serving individuals who are only aware of the general concept of love but have no real idea what it means? Food for thought...and now...i resign until next time. The hiatus is over. I'm back bitches. Stay tuned. Your future anti-cliché bride/wedding guest (for the food don't get it twisted), Allycat

Single and Unavailable

2009-04-25T20:22:00.001-04:00

The myth is that once you’re single you’re free to run and frolic around and do whatever - and in some cases whoever- you want. But many people have never heard of being single and UNavailable, and when it is heard of they still can’t fully wrap their heads around the idea that a single person could not want to be in a relationship - or have some wild sexcapades all up and through their houses (or other people’s houses, or public places, or in cars, or…you get the point) or even an innocent suck face fling. Well, let me introduce you to the world of the single and unavailable. A world that I’ve been inhabiting for a few months now that I must say has been working out quite well.

In modern times, the under 25 crowd is considered to be carefree (which is the new word for loose, it‘s like an a.k.a.) and unattached and that is supposedly the accepted way of life for that age group; not ready to settle down because of a chronic fear of commitment and most of the girls are living by “girls just wanna have fun” and the guys just want to “make love in this club” and play with the fun bags of the most forthcoming female (and oh they are never scarce or hard to find). This is the age of the one night stands, grand slams, cinema darkness feel up, and back of the party finger fun flings. Not that I’m banishing them to hell or anything, life is one big test throughout which we all make individual choices and their choices are not mine to condemn.

But for me and the rest of the single and unavailable population, fun just entails a bit of partying here and there, some harmless flirting, a few drinks with friends and just scoping the guys from a safe distance because my curiosity never propels me to cross the room and engage in flirtatious conversation. Not really my thing. Not because of “stushness” or cowardice…ok maybe a little bit of cowardice, but more so because most times when I look at one guy, I can’t really tell him apart from any other guy. It’s like they’re all carbon copies, in the same shoes, and clothes, and hats, with the same “swagger” and the same attitude. Even the ones who try to be all “different” and mysterious are all the same because they’re all huddled up in a corner trying to look all indifferent and carefree and cool with their pretty boy dreads or their mohawks…different and mysterious my ass. So while they may be aesthetically pleasing (some of them only so under the influence of a few drinks and under the dim club lights) I am convinced that the majority of the time, when they open their mouth and begin to speak in their broken grammar “cool dude” lingo I’ll have the uncontrollable urge to make a U-turn and go home, curl up with a cup of tea on my bed and read a book.

Being single and unavailable also provides a lot of interesting experiences I must say. My friends always try to pimp me off to the sexiest available bachelor who is "so your type Ally!" which is odd considering I don't HAVE a type but I love them still because they always make me laugh to say the least. And people in general tend to act like you’re an alien or something, like they cannot possibly fathom why you would be single and just…single. They don’t get that you’re comfortable just being alive without having any man/woman to think about right now and leave well enough alone. But being the Curious George monkeys that we human beings are, everyone prefers to probe and try to squeeze out your answers to the most ridiculous questions like, “you have no reason to be alone, so why are you even single?” (yes and they do say “alone” like I’m living in a cave at the end of the world and my only contact with other living things is when I see bats and birds fleetingly fly by) and they make it seem like it’s insane to actually want to just CHILL and be a little introspective and spend some time by yourself, like our sole purpose on this earth is to spend every waking moment in a relationship or just with someone else in general. Honestly, sometimes I’m so tempted to give an outrageous answer and say something like “well the truth is, I’m not really from earth, I’m an extraterrestrial from planet F.OFF and if I were to mate with your human men their penises will grow to monstrous sizes and develop a mind of their own and take over the fucking world. Does that seem like a good enough reason?”… I am such a bitch at times. But that’s ok. It’s absolutely warranted.

I have also noted within my time of being in this single and unavailable phase that it’s only when you don’t really want to be in a relationship that people want you to be in relationships with them. And then the people who you would quite possibly sacrifice your status for don’t want anything to do with the relationship idea. The contradictions in life amuse me, quite often providing me with my daily kix. And I have also ever so acutely observed that people in relationships try to make us single people bear their miserable burden when they constantly bombard us with all their love woes. They go on and on… and on and you have to give advice on all these situations (that you have no personal experience with) and they always try to pass it off like “well what would YOU do?” But because I like to fancy myself as being a good friend (I’ve even been diagnosed with “mommy syndrome”) I give them the advice that I think is best and most of the time it’s from the heart but the rest of the time I’m thinking…“Well iiiiii wouldn’t do shit, that’s why I’m here and you’re there. DUH!”

I wish more people would look at being single as an opportunity to work on yourself and fix the things that damn well overdue for some fixing. Like if you know you’re a self-centred ass then don’t go running into a relationship making the other person’s life a living hell since it’s all about YOU…because guess what? You’re going to end up right back where you started. Yes being single is about having fun and keeping your options open and just seeing what’s the scene with the world of the opposite sex. But there’s fun, and then there are stupid things people do that they know are damn stupid but they do it anyway and then say it’s “fun.” Like having unprotected sex with a total stranger because they’re “hot” and busted some good wine and grind moves on you a mere few hours ago at the club, is dumb. It may seem fun at the time but that’s a prime example of the dumb (not to mention irresponsible) shit people do and call “fun.” Just make the best of being single and do what's best for you in the long run to make all this time of being single actually mean something when the dust and noise settles (so exerting all your stamina on strangers and maybes might not be such a good thing by the time you find the love of your life because you'll be tired as hell!)

Me, I’m totally okay not fucking the world and everyone in it and instead choosing to just distribute sexy moves in the club and then taking my sexless ass home and take a nice long bath and enjoy the hot water. Interpret that however you choose (but if you do interpret it how I would’ve interpreted it, NOTHING is wrong with self serviced pleasure. LOL!) Meanwhile, I’ll be here living and looking at the bats and birds fly by making sure that when my time comes to burden some single friend with my love woes that I’ll actually be a full individual who won’t drive my “significant other” to enroll themselves in a mental institute by the time it’s over. I’ll keep shopping around the malls and perhaps something good and worth investing in will pop up in between all the overpriced bullshit.

Your single and unavailable alien,

Allycat

Memorabilia Music

2009-04-25T20:20:00.002-04:00

I have been reflecting a lot recently on my failed clubbing extravaganzas that were intended to be a great night out with the crew listening to some good party music in the club and dancing the night away… yet, I find myself dwelling on how unfulfilling the experience was because I was bombarded with a barrage of Jamaican dancing instructions telling me to tek way mehself and to lift the weights over meh head and was left utterly confused as to the lyrical content of the song once the chorus was complete and the verses began.

It’s fun…for a time. Then it crosses the line from being a nice break away from slow conscious or soca to making me feel like I’ve entered some teleporting device (like back in the days of Star Trek, when it used to look TOTALLY lame and would be WAY more technologically advanced now) where I am suddenly in the streets of Kingston or Spanish Town in Jamaica. If I wanted to feel Jamaican, I would migrate. It was intriguing in the beginning to get a taste of the culture, but now I just tek weh mehself and wacky dip into the nearest damn seat waiting for the music to blow over and wishing I at least had a Vogue or Seventeen magazine to flip through in the meantime. I won‘t apologise to the fans of the genre, I’m just not big on the whole “passa passa” epidemic. I feel like I’ve already suffered an overdose.

I’m getting a little tired of taking orders, I already have a problem with authority in the real world, I don’t need Busy Signal or whoever the hell else to be dishing out instructions and orders as well. Granted, instructional music had been around for countless decades, back in the days of the humpty hump (rap fans will know), ‘Do the hustle’ and ‘Macarena’ (one of the most hilarious songs of all time) and people were like robots on the dance floor all doing the same dance at the same time…“Hey Macarena! Aye!”

But then again, what ever happened to just going to a party and just partying? No instructions necessary because partying requires none; just enter the club and dance your ass off and have a grand old time with your friends. Alcohol consumption isn’t even necessary to do that, music generates a natural high… well USED to generate a natural high, these days I find myself trying to generate my high before I even hit the club just in case they decide to play the shit that is currently carrying the label ‘Music.’

A lot of the time when I’m on the way to the party with my friends we would surf stations and see what’s playing on the radio to help us get hyped and would end up having to change stations so often that eventually I just zone out (I’m not sure if it’s ADHD or musical fatigue…my mind can‘t absorb ANY MORE!). I’m always the one who’s secretly most thrilled with the idea of partying the night away because I’ve been a stay at home kind of girl for the last few years and I’m now in social mode and I will most certainly fight for my right to party.

Fast forward to the actual party experience. First of all, DJs talk too much. I think that a lot of them are now confused with their job description, which is to play good music and keep the people dancing and happy. They’re now “larging up” this and that crew and talking shit over the music and I feel like I’m listening to a damn call in session on a radio station and I‘m kind of expecting people to walk to the DJ booth and take turns with the mic saying ludicrous stupid things like, “big up man like screw face! Ploi ploi!!!” And what’s worse is that I can’t even look forward to when they stop talking and actually fulfil their occupational duty and play some music because then the music is even MORE Jamaican dance instructions or worse yet some other absolute garbage telling girls to “fuck him in a crowd ‘cause your punanny proud.”

I think I’m going to open my own club, play some good music for a change and let people just come and have a good time and not feel like blowing their brains out when they hear another one of Movado’s digitally enhanced “gangsta for life” introductions or Machel Montano’s overdone “hee huhhh!!!” I can’t even satiate myself with the idea of them changing the tune of the music, because when they actually do change the genre it then advances from Jamaican dancing instructions to what I have so fondly labelled ‘bullshit mother effin rap.’ This consists of the most filth that I have ever heard like this song (that within the first 5 seconds of hearing I was immediately offended that they were even calling it hip hop); VIC featuring Soulja Boy’s new “hit song” ‘Get Silly.’*SIGH* Fuck! Excuse the French, but I have gotten to the end of my rope with the ‘bullshit mother effin rap.’ For those of you who’ve heard it, I’m guessing you can empathise (particularly if you remember the days of hip hop being something that was more of a daily dose of knowledge and reality than just a pack of ASSNESS with people talking about grills and rims and bitches and hoes and cars and houses…MO MONEY! MO MONEY! MO MONEY!)

I have been holding on to my memorabilia music for quite some time now, preferring to download than to listen to the radio in hopes of eventually hearing something worthwhile. I hold on to an mp3 player like it stores my memoirs because … well… it kind of does. Most of my life stories are wrapped up in music. There’s a genre for every phase, a song for every break up and make up, a tune for every significant person in my life and an artiste to represent every possible frame of mind that I can encompass. Music is like a series of digital recordings that I carry with me as souvenirs of my life experiences; the good, bad and the ugly.

If only I could get into the club with an mp3 player as a back up plan to leave with my earphones on and go sit in the car waiting on my friends and really have the time of my life totally destroying my eardrums… with GREAT music instead of polluting it with nonsensical lyrics over wicked beats. You ever asked yourself why a shit song almost ALWAYS has the best beat ever? It’s like a brainwashing…they give it a “bess” beat so that your excuse for listening to the song can be “this beat soooo sweet!” and then before you know it you’re singing right along and then calling it “catchy.” The way of the world, brainwashing takes place everyday and in any and every which way you can imagine.

I don’t want to have to look back on my life experiences and hear “I’m so crispy, I’m so crispy” playing as background music. According to the crack diva Whitney Houston, “hell to the no!” So in the meanwhile, as I’m waiting on the music industry to collapse and for the underground to rise to the surface, I’ll have my memorabilia music to keep me insane in a sane way and prevent me from randomly bombing the record labels responsible for the rubbish recycling. To the rest of my memorabilia music carriers…may the force be with us!

Your garbage rejecting underground music mole,

Allycat

Phenominal Phobia

2009-04-25T20:19:00.000-04:00

I am now a thorough bred germaphobe. I have recently seen a man casually pull down his pants and pee in the wind (yes, the wind, that is blowing his pee all over the place!) and then with an even more laissez-aller attitude than before he proceeds to pull up his pants and then take money from someone waiting nearby in a car (yes, they were just chillin waiting on him to finish his gone with the wind pee version act), then walks up to the door of a fast food place and opens it! Yes, with the aforementioned penis holding pee hands that were not washed or disinfected with hand sanitizer and now he’s blessing everyone else who touches the door with the golden glory that is his urine. Just observing that action I had to pull out my little bottle of Purell and console myself with the fact that THANK GOD, I wasn’t going in there. Just to think of how he’s going to strut in there and pay the cashier with his partially pee soaked money then touch all the condiment pumps with his penis juice fingers. Aaarrrgghhh! This isn’t even the first instance, I’m sure we’ve all witnessed something matching this degree of mind-blowing blood crawling germ spreading at least once. Like when u see someone sneeze into their hands with no tissue or kerchief and then you can’t help but wonder who’s the unfortunate individual who will unknowingly shake their hand within the next 5 minutes and then be contaminated with their bacteria. Not that I’m scornful, I just take the necessary precautions to ensure that if I (for whatever reason) decide to lick my fingers that I’m not then digesting someone else’s accumulation of oral bacteria...or better yet, their urine. I think germaphobia/mysophobia/bacterophobia (yes I did my research) has to be one of the most legit phobias out there. I mean, have you ever really paid close attention to the disgusting sanitation habits that people around us practice on a daily basis? Lately I constantly tote around a pack of antibacterial wipes and hand sanitizer, out of sheer fear of encountering germ infested individuals who are on a secret mission to infect me. And this is by no means me being obsessive compulsive…maybe a tad bit actually, but I’d like to think that it is absolutely and completely justified with the way people walk around digging in their nose holes like they’re expecting to discover a gold nugget and make a quick fortune, and the way vagrants (or the homeless…to be politically correct) just grab at you or bump into you whenever they feel like it. I remember my mom once collected a solid clout from a vagrant and when she was recounting the details of the story I couldn’t help but ask, “…Soooo, did u shampoo your hair mom? Because that’s thoroughly disgusting if you didn’t.” She had a good laugh at that but come to think of it…I never found out of she shampooed. Let’s hope she did, I mean God forbid that vagrant is crazy or totally bipolar like those monkeys in the zoo that always seem really normal and cute until they defecate and throw it in your face. Not so cute to have a monkey shit covered face I don’t think. Especially the monkeys at our very own lovely establishment, Emperor Valley Zoo, that look like they’re about to either die of starvation or go steering mad and start biting their way through the cages. I figure that this will be my form of socialization in a few months…at a germaphobe version of Alcoholics Anonymous, maybe called something like “Get A Grip Germaphobes” or “Mysophobia Maniacs”: Me: “Hi my name is Alicia and I’m a germaphobe.” Get A Grip Germaphobes/Mysophobia Maniacs attendees: “Hi Alicia!” Then I’ll start my long winded story of how I became a full time germaphobe and be comforted by all my fellow humans in need of de-sterilization… But that’s just the future, as of now, it’s still in the developing stages. I think it’s time we all evolve and become bacterially sophisticated; get some wipes and some hand sanitizer (removes 99.9% of germs…I don’t know what happened to the other .1% but it’s better than nothing!) to keep handy. You wouldn’t like to rub your eyes at some point in the day and feel a burning sensation and wonder, “hmm…I hope that’s not someone else’s saliva moisturizing my cornea.” Spit is probably not a good substitute for Visine. Let’s all do it like the Monk. Get down with the phenomenal phobia! Be careful not to get scornful though, I know it’s going to be a challenge because sometimes we can even disgust ourselves, but if it’s any consolation you can always contact me and we can actually found Get A Grip Germaphobes/Mysophobia Maniacs. I’m open to suggestions for treatment as well. I wonder what treatment for that will be like? Maybe I’ll be shoved into a room of totally adorable toddlers…who all have the flu and are running around sneezing and coughing on each other and on the toys and shit! :-O… Or worse yet maybe they’ll put me in a room full of money AFTER they scanned all the bills and exposed the amount of germs on them because money is truly the most revolting bacteria transferring necessity to date! That is crazy to think about; I might really do some research on that and figure out what the REAL treatments are like. I sincerely apologise to anyone reading this that may really be a serious germaphobe and feel offended. My badness! Bottom line people, please stop being grotesque! Think of others when next you decide to walk out of the bathroom without washing your hands, which we ALL used to do back in the primary school days when our teachers had us scared to death of Cholera. Go back to the Cholera days, wash those hands and get some hand sanitizer, it’s approximately $10 for a little bottle of Purell that can absolutely fit in any size handbag and definitely in your pockets guys. Spread the word, not the germs! Your hand sanitizer abusing germaphobe, Allycat

My Forever Love...To You I Owe My Life

2009-04-25T20:03:00.001-04:00

For those of you who think this is going to be about some sappy love scene...SIKE! No my dearies, I am going to talk about a love much greater than what I have felt for any other human being (outside of family and my family of friends)...my love of food. My favourite word these days is "YUM" and yes it has to be capitalised because then it would fully emphasize the heartfelt emotion that is expressed when I say "YUM!"

Food has been there for me through thick, thin and all in between (though I‘ve never been thick or really thin but have maintained more or less the same petite size since puberty hit with the exception of a few curves here and there, thank God for a high metabolism!). Even in those times when we have had falling outs and I have had to regurgitate because of some sickness or the other, food has never given up on me. Our bond is greater than anything else, held together by more than krazy glue, bonded tighter than that new thing they're advertising that sticks stuff (you know...that thing that looks like putty...or is it putty?) and it is woven into my every muscle and swimming through my blood stream.

Like me, food has many different textures and flavours, and also like me, food can be moody. One minute you make a recipe and it tastes so delectable that you damn near have an orgasm, the next time you make it you might barely reach anywhere near the climax stage because something tastes off. Don’t even dwell on my comparison to an orgasm, I am sure we have all experienced this at LEAST once, a bess cheesecake that made you feel like… “WOW!” and a full three course meal with an out of this world dessert that made you feel like “smoking a cig,” rocking back, and reminiscing on the marvellous craving quenching deliciousness that just took place.

Food has been the cause of many a sugar flavoured dream and a just as sweet awakening with an irresistible craving for it to caress my lips, linger on my tongue giving every taste bud the attention it deserves and slowly but surely ease its way down my throat into my ready and waiting stomach and then in a few hours…exit through my regretful asshole. Many a late night I have sat in front of the television sipping on Indian chai tea (my all time fav) and contemplating what I feel for next. Sometimes it’s things that are on the other side of the earth, sometimes it’s something in the already closed HiLo, sometimes it’s something in my cupboard, but most times it’s something that I wish I could snatch right up out of the damn TV. Like those advertisements with those succulent and seductively steaming meals that practically scream at you, “EAT ME…EAT ME!” Once again I most enthusiastically say, “YUM!”

My history with food began when I was a mere infant. I began refusing breast milk at the tender age of 3 months old, preferring to diversify and test the contents of the cute little Gerber bottles with the other cute baby on it, and sampling some mashed pumpkin, some green peas and a lot of carrots (kudos to mom for my 20/20 vision). In spite of this, the love affair only began on my first birthday when that chocolate cake with chocolate icing and colourful sprinkles was introduced to my mouth with a pleasantly hefty “Pleased to meet you.” From then on it was invited into every aspect of my life, a cake to celebrate good grades, a cake to celebrate growing an inch, a cake to celebrate another blessed cake filled day of life, savouring every bite with every breath and enjoying every chew with the same fervour that I enjoy every adventure. “YUM.”

From there it only got better, it’s like John Legend said, “Each day gets better, I just can’t let her go…Oh noooo.” Except that my version would be more like, “Each bite gets better, chewing you tender…oooooohhhhh.” I’m available for a record deal if you want to hear me sing it in real life, just so you know. Anyway I’m not trying to digress from my love here…as I was saying…I have written a short piece, as a pre-20th anniversary celebration of the love that food and I have shared throughout the years….

Food, oh food
You taste so gooooood

In my mind you are ever present,
Tickling my fancy with your pleasant…
Aroma (LOL, how yuh like that one?)
Fee-Fi-Foma
You lift my somber…
Mood
Oh food

I laud your flavour
Can I savour -
You?
When I’m not hungry let not my lack of attention belie my love for you -
Boo
How do you do -
Tonight?
As I feast on you by candlelight…
And you briefly slip onto my lap and roll across my bounty
Before I gently wipe you up with a Bounty…
Food, my forever love
My blessing from the angel chefs above
Because we all know, God does eat a food too
But even He can’t see you like I do
Food…
Oh food…
Forgive me as to your tastiness I succumb
…”YUM.”

Now… in case I have any commandment referring, deadly sin crucifying, bible memorising super Christians reading this, let me assure you that this is not gluttony. This is just my taste buds expressing their appreciation to my heart which then expresses this to my brain which subsequently commands my fingers to commit it to text. That’s all that it is so please do not say prayers over my mouth and stomach to condemn their appreciation for the finer things in life, which may I remind you, God himself created. So there it is.

Even as I write this my love is whispering ever so sweetly in my ear, “What do feel for tonight Ally? Should I be sweet, spicy or mildly sour?” This kind of consideration for what I crave, I can find in no man, this is why food is and always will be my forever love and hold my heart hostage until I eventually die of totally natural causes…or high cholesterol.

Your lip smacking scrumptious food lover,
Allycat

Hateration in La Femme Nation

2009-04-25T20:01:00.002-04:00

This is without a doubt something I’ve wanted to write about for some time, but I wanted to take a little writing hiatus on account of exams. But anyhoo, my friends, particularly any females who may be reading this, I am dying to know why it is that women make themselves their own worst enemies! I fail to understand this whole competitive, back stabbing, “hating on her ass” nature that has truly become a norm amongst women, not just in Trinidad and Tobago but in the world.

Why is it that when a woman sees another woman walking down the street (and she just so happens to be gorgeous and looking really good) instead of saying, “Hey, you look really nice,” and probably making her day, they choose to contort their faces to all different degrees of “screw”? This baffles me. Ladies, I am sure we have ALL experienced this at some time or another and probably thought to ourselves, “What is her problem? Why does she have to give me that seething look like I just told her something about her mother?” Well…that’s what I think anyway (though mind you, if someone were to tell me anything about my mother I assure you they would receive much more than a seething stare in response).

Why all this hateration? Why can’t we just appreciate one another and for a damn change live together in perfect harmony? Okay I take that last line back, I still want to maintain my “realist” mentality throughout all of this. But seriously, how hard could it be to use the energy you would use to screw your face to instead compliment the person on their fabulousness? I have complimented other women on many an occasion, of course risking being looked at as a lesbian weirdo since it’s so RARE to receive a compliment from another female that it’s the primary assumption, but I will most certainly keep doing it anyway.

One of the reasons being that I think if someone looks good, they should at least be privy to a few nice words and some kind of commendation for their efforts. But the main reason being that there was this one time I did it, I will never forget, it was a Saturday in West Mall at a table in front of KFC (which was the only available table in the food court), and this lady walked past me and stood in the KFC line and she looked so ridiculously beautiful that I actually said, “wow.” And no, I am not gay, nor did I have a lesbian lapse, the woman was just one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen face to face (no PhotoShop involved) so I was taken aback to say the least. So I figured that instead of just sitting there gawking at her and wondering if she was some extraterrestrial mobile manikin of perfection, I would walk up to her and tell her that I thought she looked great, just as an FYI.

So I did, and she was so appreciative that she did the unexpected and turned into an off-loader (you know one of those people who you tell one thing and they start telling you about everything else that’s going on in their life…yeah. This proves no one is PERFECT). So she off-loaded a shit load on me and told me that she’s actually going through a difficult divorce and she was just at home moping around and wallowing in her sorrows then she just felt like dressing up and coming to the mall and that she was so glad to receive my compliment because it made her entire day better and that it was the first time anyone even spoke to her for the day. And yes, she even offered to buy me some KFC which I politely refused, not solely because I don’t eat it but more so because I wasn’t sure what else she might tell me about her broken marriage, God forbid sex issues were involved because I am certain she would’ve had no trouble at all divulging all the dirty details.

But my recollection of that event isn’t meant to be discouraging, just take the good details out of it. Main point is, she was ecstatic, and I was probably responsible for her first genuine smile for the day, and I felt good for her and I felt good for walking over to compliment her and making her day at least a little better with my contribution of words. This is something that women should practice more often. I mean shoot, some of us are bold enough to walk right up to a guy and tell him what we think of him off the bat, just rattle off some lines about how gorgeous he is, no restraints at all. So why not do it for a fellow female, minus the flirtatious tone and “sex eyes” and just say “hey, you‘re really pretty” or if she might not necessarily be that great in the looks department but she has on a hot outfit you can say “I love your shoes” or “that top looks great.” The compliment serves the same purpose, which is to make the woman feel like her efforts are appreciated not only by the leering eyes of men but holistically, by her fellow chicas as well.

Yes the ratio of men to women are like 1:3 or something like that, I’m not much for stats and it’s almost 6 in yet another one of my sleepless mornings so I’m not going to delve into any research, use this as an opportunity to educate yourselves, but does this necessarily equate to us women having animosity towards one another? As if that’s really going to help any of us, if we were all to get like that then more men would be gay because we’ll all just be a bunch of angry bitches starting a brand spanking new World War, la femme style. Stop this tomfoolery! It’s immature, nonsensical and quite frankly, not going to get us anywhere.

I must confess though, in some strange way I am actually fuelled by this hatred generated briefly as I walk past these stupid sad women and their screwed faces, it makes me embrace my inherent nonchalance and shows me that although I may be no female version of Albert Einstein, I‘m also not a mindless drone who resorts to unnecessary negativity either. Can’t we all just get along?! Listen to Mary, we don’t need “no hateration and holleration” okay. Get a grip on yourselves. Don’t hate - appreciate, congratulate and elevate yourselves above this childish…crap. No big words necessary, it’s just crap.

Your compliment distributing non-lesbo,

Allycat

Love: Life's Greatest Unsolved Riddle

2009-04-25T20:00:00.001-04:00

I’m sure the thought has plagued us all from time to time, the forever unanswerable question: “What is love?” I mean of course there’s the dictionary definition, the mutterings of people who think they know what it’s all about but just speak in circles of clichés and make you dizzy with the thought, and let’s not forget, the definition according to the novels and movies of the league of absurdly perfect and unreal romance.

But what is it all about really? What is this insane emotion that defies all definition and also eludes reason? I have no idea. Just like the rest of us, I’m perplexed by the enigma that is love. I have tried time and time again to figure it out, and at times I feel that I have gotten close enough to grasp it, but like a country pigeon resting in the grass (I have to be specific because town pigeons real grimy and will not fly away but simply look at you like “what?”) it flees as soon as I get too close and flies away to its home of vast sky where no one can get to it unless it wishes it to be so.

Since 11 o’clock last night to the present time I have been looking at movies, 3 different movies solely dedicated to love and its absurdity.

After looking at the first one, a film called “2 Days In Paris” (which I have never heard of before I borrowed it last night from my aunt’s eclectic DVD collection) I felt a little despondent but yet amused because there was still a great deal of comedy in the film which I came to greatly appreciate after looking at the other 2. It was about a couple, together for 2 years, who live in New York (but the woman is originally from France) and decide to travel to Venice then make a quick stop in France to visit family and such. Everything was going absolutely swell until they started to run into her ex-boyfriends along the way and, I think, with just reason her bf starts to question her…let’s just say her chastity. Little by little it starts to erode, he sees her flirting more which drives him to read the text messages on her phone and low and behold he finds text messages from a man he met the previous night who she failed to mention was her ex…really sexually explicit shit. Like, wow. Needless to say he was crushed, heart broken, astonished by the revelation and whatever other fleeting emotions people may feel in that circumstance. So he brings it to her attention and she starts to say the usual that people say in movies, “you have to trust me, those messages mean nothing, we had something way before I met you, I love you and only you…etc., etc.” Of course I’m thinking the relationship is kaputz but in the usual fashion of fiction, they hash it out and all’s well that ends well. This was one example of love’s perseverance I guess. One thing that stayed with me was a line that she said winding down to the end of the show (before the miraculous make up) which was, “It always fascinates me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all…nothing.” I was actually almost rendered speechless with the sheer truth of that simple sentence and, as I’m sure you can tell, I am RARELY rendered speechless. The only thing that came to my mind was, “Word.”

My state of quasi happiness was surely ephemeral because the 2nd movie doused all hope I had of love being something repairable. It was yet another one that I’ve never heard of called “Flannel Pajamas.” Wonderful story…in the beginning. Isn’t that always the case even in reality? These two people set up on a blind date by their therapist (my initial reaction: “what the f*ck?!”) and fall in love and the skies are bluer and the flowers bloom in winter and all that’s great with imaginary love, and they have great sex over and over and OVER again (my brother actually thought I was watching porn, so imagine!). “I love you,” “I love her,” and “I love him” were the stars of the show as opposed to the actors. She’s financially struggling, he pays all her student loan debts, they move in together in an apartment that looks like the Ritz Carlton compared to her old apartment, he meets the fam, they get married. Life nice. She wants 3 children, he wants 1; they end up with none because she miscarried (after not even telling him she was preggers because he decided 2 years into the marriage that he didn‘t want kids after all). You’re thinking, “oh shit” right? Yeah I was too. It just starts rapidly sliding down the slope from there; couples therapy (a nice way to waste money before you actually have to shell out the dinero for the divorce), she moved out, he suddenly wanted children and suddenly loved her so much, but I understand that the heart is a delicate organ that can’t take too much strain so she was like “pshh!” and left him high and dry, rightly so. Then apparently he started hallucinating and imagining her next to him when she was probably on the other side of the city in actuality, he saw a man with his daughter and wife and started crying (in the middle of the street! Love apparently makes you immune to embarrassment), devastating to look at him I couldn’t hold back the tears. In the end, it was kaputz. What a tragedy, they started off as the quintessential madly in love couple. C’est la vie. By this point the depression started sinking in…

The gears in my brain started to churn at rapid pace (which I seem to have no control over whatsoever) and I kept wondering, what really makes it work? What is it that you have to have to make it work? What does it take? Is endless love like a special gift only bestowed upon certain beings at conception like the gift of clairvoyance or insane genius? Where can everyone else procure this invisible glue that holds two people together in love and devotion until they part ways through death? Why is love never enough? Unadulterated, genuine, straight from the heart, the soul, the mind, the spirit, from every follicle on the scalp to the soles of the feet, bottomless love…is still not enough. Love never seems to be enough to keep it going. There’s some other secret ingredient that the universe is withholding to ensure that misery circulates throughout the world.

The 3rd movie was the last straw. I think my heart just shut down after looking at “Becoming Jane.” Dreadful show, I won’t recommend it to any hopeless romantic who wishes to REMAIN a hopeless romantic. I’m sure most of you saw that one, it was quite popular. It was the most beautifully heartbreaking love story ever. It was kind of like a Romeo and Juliet except the only death involved was that of the heart, or the spirit…or both. Women in those times tried to marry into wealth because they were poor and Jane had a proposal from a stiff affluent guy around the way but she turned it down because she didn’t want to marry without affection. Little did she know, she didn’t even get to marry the man she was in love with. Jane’s lover boy had a rich uncle who was a judge and didn’t accept her because of her poverty and refused to consent to the marriage. So, as a result of love’s potent dose of irrationality...they decided to elope. Jane backed out at the last minute because she realised that his entire family was dependent on the allowance that his rich uncle gave him and that if they eloped the family will be in complete shambles. So they both went their separate ways, Jane decided to “live by her pen” and he decided to do whatever it is that he did. Fast forward a few years and Jane has some streaks of grey in the hair, looking distant, unmarried, and she’s at an opera gathering and who walks in but the love of her life…with his DAUGHTER who he named…(dum, dum, dum) JANE! Sigh. I felt her pain. Truly and deeply. It sucks, I could barely stop crying long enough to pay attention to the rest. It took 3 bounty tissues to bring me back to a fairly normal acceptable state minus the sniffles that make you sound like you have a speech impediment when you try to talk.

It just goes to show that not everyone is going to live happily ever after with their one true love and soul mate. Most of us are just going to have to settle for someone who loves us enough to put up with our shit on a daily basis. That weakens my will power to even try. I mean Jane and what’s his name were like MADLY, DEEPLY in love ( and it WAS based on the true story that’s what makes it even more f*cked up!) and they didn’t even get to spend the rest of their lives together cloaked in that heartfelt bliss. What is left really? You could fall in love with someone and be sure that you're destined to be together but there's no guarantee that they won't just be a treasured memory in your old age while you spend the rest of your life looking at someone who you know you could never love as much...

I really wonder...what's the point? Is it that we're all just going to have to live by the principle of "love who loves you"? Live life hoping for that love that keeps your heart beating strong and when that love goes away just kill yourself slowly by dwelling on the memory of what was and what you wish could be once again? There are only so many times you can recover from break-ups before you yourself are too broken up to go on loving. Life's greatest unsolved riddle...

Your cynic disguised as a realist who's secretly an optimist,

Allycat

Rise of The Stupid People: WTF

2009-04-25T19:59:00.001-04:00

I tried to think of a million different ways to start this, but I figure I should do it my way and just be frank. Where the hell did all these stupid rambling idiots parading the streets come from? Was there some secret society for imbeciles that I was unaware of and now they're rebelling and pouring out of their ant hill into the rest of the world? I hear people every day walking around SAYING things like "wtf" and "o-m-mega-g" and "lol" and my favourite of all "sigh"......yes, they SAY "sigh" because taking a deep breath and letting it out is exerting way to much energy that they can't afford to expend...now that requires a major "WTF?!"

I don't know if people are really aware but the purpose of these acronyms is just to abridge the typing or writing process, particularly for text messaging when you want to save a few cents and not have the 1 message that you would like to send turn into 2 messages; and also for online conversations when you don't want to take too long to say what you have to say. But the point is that once you can actually SPEAK and have a face to face conversation then you're supposed to SAY the words and not just the acronyms. I would think that would be understood but oh no, it's not. It doesn't even sound right to the ear, that should be as clear an indicator as any that it shouldn't be said. Conversations among these mortal morons sound absolutely absurd.

For example, I was in UWI last Thursday (not bashing UWI individuals by any means) and overheard these 3 girls talking. It went something like this (for REAL):

Stupid girl #1: "Girl you believe that Jason with Alexandra now? Yes girl I heard that in the p.m. yesterday (because of course it's WAY too much effort to say," yesterday evening") and I was like wtf. My jaw almost dropped to the floor and Zina was like rotfl but irdk (I really don't know) what he was thinking she's so ug (the "ly" is too much to add on apparently)."

Stupid girl #2: "Nfw! (which I gather means no fucking way,I'm guessing..ENGLISH is more my lingo) And he's so hot! Omg I'm so pissed. I really wanted to F him, but maybe I can still do it anyway. Lol (yes,she SAID "Lol" without even really laughing I might add), that would be bad right?"

Stupid girl #3: "Duh Jen, you'll be such a badess like Samantha, omg btw I heard she had sex in the bathroom with Brandon in the a.m. (it became a trend) before Math class. I was like o-m-mega-g Sam don't be such a ho."

End of...um...conversation?

Now...tell me...is it wrong for my faith in mankind to be dwindling day by day with this severe corruption of the english language taking place? Am I to think that when I conceive a child in 10 years that my mini-being will not be able to speak english but will instead be saying things like "mom wtf komdnt!"...Notice the only thing you were able to understand was "mom what the fuck", the rest meant "knock on my door next time"...I predict that by then EVERYTHING will be turned into an acronym or abbreviation of some sort to the point where it may as well be another language altogether. Maybe that's the point, maybe they're trying to entirely obliterate the english language...

I can't wrap my head around this apparent phenomenon. I think it could quite possibly be the highest form of idiocy to take place within our generation if it is allowed to continue. I think from this point on if I hear anyone speaking like that my resolve might just wither away and I'll walk up to them and smack them across the face and say, "Oh behave!" Everyone could use a good brain shaker-upper every now and again and I'll just be more than happy to provide my services. I think I'm just paying my debt to society by reviving the brains of my fellow citizens.."It's for the good of the world," is what I'll tell myself while I'm growing some cajones and gathering the gusto to smack them all.

I feel like the way they profane the validity of the english language hits me way below the belt because english is my absolute favourite thing in the world and to hear the employees of Retards Inc. treat it like something insignificant instead of something that we've all been learning since birth (or before, depends on what you believe) irks me. No, irk seems sweet compared to how I feel.

And if by chance (or by some divine intervention) you are one of these aforementioned individuals then consider yourself SMACKED. And I will in no way, shape or form retract my statements regarding your stupidity, just stop while you're ahead of the game and become aware of the annoyance you represent. STOP. Stop saying "sigh" and just sigh already! Stop saying "lol" and just laugh like a regular person and not like what some extreterrestrial (whose knowledge of human communication is based strictly on lingo collected from msn and aol) would sound like.

You're human. Be human. Speak english. Get smart. Stop the bullshit. Use your brain to better the world, not dumb it down. Don't make me smack you upside your head and rearrange your brain cells. And I would just like to say, thank you in advance for stopping this retarded revolution. Stay true to grammar. Blessings and salutations :-)

P.S.: Who vex loss. Punto final.

Your thesaurus-hugging grammar lover,

Allycat

Maslow's Horny Hierarchy

2009-04-25T19:58:00.001-04:00

In studying psychology this semester I have come to really and truly appreciate the importance of sex in society. I mean here I was thinking that it wasn't really that big of a deal and everyone was blowing it out of proportion...but no...it's a big deal. That much of a big deal that psychologist Abraham Maslow listed it as number 3 in his hierarchy of needs. Well he didn't exactly label it 'sex' but it was listed as a social need under love, affection and "intimacy"...we ALL know that in the world of stiff intellects "intimacy" is code for bumping and grinding.

The fact that sex is listed as a necessity alongside basic needs like air, water and shelter is frigging amazing. I mean, I never really thought of the need to achieve an orgasm as being equally important as making use of your nostrils and taking a breath every so often to prevent your lungs from feeling useless and giving up on you. Wow. Sex is definitely coming up in the world.

The main thing that gets me about sex is that EVERYONE is doing it ALL THE TIME. I mean it's like crack cocaine for the sexual organs, what the hell is going on? It's one thing to like it and want to do it whenever you get the urge but come on people not every minute of every day and EVERY single time you get the urge. Demonstrate a little self control and resist it every now and again and say woosah to your vagina or your penis. Talk to it a little bit and say "you need to calm down okay because this is getting a bit ridiculous, will I have to get you taken care of?" If threats work for human beings then they should work for our various woman and man parts as well.

I must say however that a little "plays" every so often does help to secure your sanity and also ensures a degree of amicability. Most bitchy people are suffering from a severe lack of sexual activity, I'm almost sure of it. The reason they're constantly aggitated is because it annoys the hell out of them that human beings are designed in such a way that certain touches produce certain sensations, they can't deal with the fact that if the breeze blows too hard on their blouse it tickles their nipples and makes them horny and they can't do anything about it. Life is tough all around I guess...even for nipples.

A little sumn sumn is always good to keep "the mojo" intact so that when you actually need it to have sex it won't be in some inoperable cobwebbed state. A little fun here and there with hot sexy people who make you horny is TOTALLY ok...mind you, I am not promoting promiscuity I'm just saying that if you're lucky enough to have a hot bf or gf then take FULL advantage. And if, like me, you're a single gal or guy then there are several DIY activities that might not necessarily ensure that you're as 'in control' of your sanity as the people who actually get to have hot mindblowing sex whenever they feel like it BUT it will definitely keep you out of an asylum. A little finger fun never hurt anyone...unless you have claw-like nails and crooked fingers in which case you're the poster child for ABSOLUTE abstinence. Too bad for you.

It's very strange how the 'horny hormone' is activated though. I could never understand how you could be doing a simple everyday task like taking a nice hot bath (strictly for the sake of cleanliness, of course) at the end of the day only to realise that your loofah just rubbed you in a particular spot that created a srtangely sexual response and all of a sudden the 'horny hormone' just ups and slaps you in the face when only a mere second ago you were wondering about that curios fungus forming on your toe nail. Tres bizarre! How does that even happen? God and his marvellous creations..

Stop abusing your man and woman parts people. Just allow the 'horny hormone' to take its course every now and again and other times treat it like a crying baby and just tolerate it until it stops. Like I like to tell my friends: sex is like gormet food, if you eat it all the time then it's as common as KFC and you wouldn't really feel like you're having something special anymore. Just take one bite at a time and appreciate the quality of the cuisine on your palette...

Your "plays" promoter,

Allycat