Oh Maggie Cho…oh…
Is it me or does it seem like the last thing ol’ crazy pants Maggie Cho needs is a warbling peacock tattoo around her arm jelly? And…are those Doc Martens in the first pic?
Oh Maggie Cho…
Gather ’round for some oversharin’!! Maybe one of the reasons I’ve been super MIA is because this rowdy African boy has made me an honest woman. It was a very sweet process where I essentially harrassed him for months until he finally gave in and yielded me complete rule over his nether-regions. We’ve been in boyfriend-and-girlfriend bliss for about a month. Longest fucking 30 days of my life.
So lately I’ve been spending a lot of time being edgy. I mean, that’s kind of a complete lie, but I want to make this next rant a bit more picturesque. So, during my recent edgy exploits, I’ve been hanging with a lot of underground, indie, hipster-hop, exclusive tastemaker type jump-offs. Scenester 30 year-olds in day-glo windbreakers who have health plans and end up looking ridiculous bouncing to Plastic Little at Hiro Ballroom. Just sadness.
I just want to say that thanks to my fancy grown people phone, I’m blogging live from Down and Derby at Studio B. Can I just say that the fact that I have time to blog from a party is fucking depressing.
I’m in line in a hot ass room with a bunch of American Apparel-clad bk, dick riders(myself included as I definitely bought spangled, gold hot pants specifically for the event.I’m a dorkus porkus).
I’ve blogged drunk before but this is like blogging from a coffin. Shit is mad hot and stupid…I kinda forgot why I’m here. Last time I came it was chill and rowdy and a bunch of cool kids looking for a drunken, rollicking roll around the block. But now, the shit is all corporate with sponsorship from URB, AA and other muhfuckas. I do see a boy who’s dressed absolutely perfectly in a leisure pants and a tight, patterned button-down unbuttoned down to there…
Either way, the music is whatever, I can’t believe I bought into this poser consumerism and making money sucks because you become so out of touch that you think things like a roller derby at a club can retain it’s luster after the first go around.
How sad that is.
UPDATE: It wasn’t that fucking bad.
People are on blast here
Here’s the thing. I love and hate Hiro. It’s a great concept: Take an upscale meatpacking bar and turn it over the most fabulous hipsters in the city who stand outside scowling and pretending they have real jobs while some instantly hot new dj collective spins the same medley of Daft Punk-Spank Rock-NWA randomness to a crowd soused with $4 Sparks. I mean, that’s what dreams are made of, no? No, is right.
It was a Monday night so I did my usual dance to Hudson Hotel to take in the latest Giant Step DJ event which was Bobbito spinning sets of my absolute favorite muh’fuckin’ music.
Or colored people time for all our pale skinned friends out there.
I know my black ass is days late talkin about this, but I could really care less. I had a horrible holiday and it ain’t a coincindence. Why? Becase Labor Day is the absolute worst holiday in existence. Seriously. And it’s time for me to learn you why.
Allo, allo, allo.
So who’s a lazy ho? …I’m a lazy ho.
I’ve had a whirlwind schedule lately, what with picking my nose and wiping the goobers on my wall after sharecropping all day. So my partner in all things fool is going to pitch in with her takes on life’s little foibles.
Presenting Lady Half-Breed!!
A few things:
Lady Half-Breed’s mother is Kansas while her dad is from the Congo.
…Which brings us to point number 2: Lady Half-Breed is a tragic mulatto.
Homegirl is blogging from Detroit. Big up the midwest. Woop woop.
Remember all those posts when I was puking Sparks outside some starlet’s release party in NYC’s MPD? She had everything to do with that.
Her acid tongue sometimes makes me blush. So her writing will likely make your head explode. With goodness.
Have fucking fun!
Ahem. You’ll notice Conny is, uh…how you say…a lazy ho. I changed jobs (I’m no longer at McDonalds. I’m now an assistant manager at Burger King! Woo-fuckin’-hoo!!), I’m preparing to move (my roomate is a crazy stank-ass ho and she must be stopped), and I professed my love (he didn’t say shit back. Fuck his couch). So basically I’ve been a hot crankin’ mess.
But, we’re back.