Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Within My Means

My birthday weekend gluttony.
What's exactly does 'living within one's means' entail?  This is a concept I surely must learn, as money seems to be flying out of my bank account like expletives from Roseanne's mouth (if you haven't watched her new reality show "Roseanne's Nuts", set on a nut farm in Hawaii, you are truly missing a fine piece of mind-numbing television.)  I suppose in simplest terms it means you must only spend what you can afford with your mind always toward savings and the future.  I'm sure Suzy Orman has the phrase tattooed in a tramp-stamp. 

How is it that I can be 30 and still living above my means?  Who do I think I am?  Do I really need a closet of clothes I've only worn a handful of times a piece?  Do I really to pay for a month of tanning to get this terrible farmers tan off my back in time for my beach vacation?  Do I really need a beach vacation after being gone for three months on the Camino?  Do I really need to pay $2300 to fix the dent in my car I got pulling out of the parking lot after watching "Harry Potter" (isn't a dent like a cool scar but for your car)?  Did I really need a birthday facial and pedicure on top of my hotel weekend with the girls?  Do I really need to spend a bit more on the studio apartment in the towers when I can get a one bedroom for less in the villas?  Did I really need that sushi last week?  Or the Jamba Juice today?  Do I really need to buy new trail runners (aren't there people somewhere who just run barefoot)?  Do I really need to fill my life with fun experiences and beautiful things I can't afford? 

The answer is quite frankly, ye--- NO!  I don't need them.  But I really really really really want them!!!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

I Deem Thee The Decade of the Bizarro!

Your author in her 'yute'.
Thursday, July 14th, 2011.  The day that will stand in infamy as the day Blackheart turned 10 x 3.  (If you're intoxicated reading this, that's 30.)  As Dylan Thomas wrote, "Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Amen, brother.  Why should it be that when we women (and I say "women" because studies show that men don't consider themselves old until 58, while woman consider themselves old at 30... gross) are supposed to suddenly feel that our youth is past us when we click over to this fine decade?  Youth is relative.  Working in elderly facilities, I have overheard 90-year-olds call 60-year-olds "kids."  If I live to be 109 like my great grandmother, that means I will be a kid until I turn 80! 

Now, I'm not saying to hell with maturity.  Maturity is a fine institution.  I'm simply expressing a simple truth - that turning 30 is not, and never will be, "old."  "Old" is wearing adult diapers and watching "Wheel of Fortune" with the volume turned to full blast, while your dinner gets fed to you with a straw.  30 is simply a bench marker.  It says, "I can now afford to have fun"... and "I am good in bed" (practice makes perfect)... and "I can discuss books and theater and politics without sounding like a naive, pretentious ass."  30 is a badge of honor, not a cry for help.  My uterus isn't going to suddenly shrivel up and die nor will crows feet attack my face as I lay sleeping, having nightmares about not having yet set up an IRA.

So, what will the 30s hold for Blackheart?  Well, I've decided to deem this "The Decade of the Bizarro."  By that, I mean, I want things to get weird.  Really weird.  I want to try new and wild stuff.  Stuff that seems like a really bad idea at first.  I want to befriend people on the fringe with names like Ursula and Blaze and Dirty Mike.  I want to taste food that freaks me out.  I want to travel to places where crazy sh** goes down.  I want to watch movies that make my eyes pop and my mouth gape open (starting with Trash Film Orgy's midnight film "Humanoids of the Deep".)  I want to say out loud all the weird stuff that pops into my head.  I want to write without censorship.  I want my mind to be blown over and over and over again.  I want magic and fireworks and whimsy.  Your 30s shouldn't be a "slowing down period" or "a time to grow up."  They should be a circus with you in the spotlight wearing a glorious sateen top hat while gripping a lion tamer's whip.

On that note, anyone know where I can by a sateen top hat?

Saturday, March 26, 2011

I Birthed A New Blog!

Wanna see the spanking new baby blog grow up?  Then follow The Camino Gypsy Chronicles, which will take over for The Blackheart Chronicles from April 9th until July 4th, give or take a week or two.  I promise, you won't be disappointed.  Golden-hearted Momma K and a snarky Blackheart walking 1000 miles through France and Spain with only three changes of clothes?  I mean, honestly, can you think of anything more entertaining?  Well, other than the this blog, of course...

Monday, March 7, 2011

Alpha Male

From Wikipedia: "The term "alpha male" is sometimes applied to humans to refer to a man who is powerful through his courage and a competitive, goal-driven, "take charge" attitude.  With their bold approach and confidence "alpha males" are often described as charismatic.  While "alpha males" are often overachievers and recognized for their leadership qualities, their aggressive tactics and competitiveness can also lead to resentment by others."

I took this picture today while on a sunny Sacramento walk.  The framing is a bit off, as the taking of said snapshot was a hurried endeavor.  I was afraid the Alpha Male in question might come running out of the house in his boxer shorts, gold chain and trucker hat and demand to have my phone.  Sure "alpha male" might describe someone with a take charge attitude - a leader with charisma - but for some reason, I can't picture him running out in his Calvin Klein briefs, Ferragamo tie and cappuccino. 

Now I've known a lot of alpha males in my life; however, none with the audacity to refer to themselves as such, none the less, engrave it on a car window for all to see.  I mean, it truly takes some nerve, of which, rather than criticize, I tip my hat.  In fact, I had a discussion the other day with some lady friends of mine about our own alpha female status.  We're all the courageous, powerful, feral types, priding ourselves in our ability to grab life by the balls.  However, never would I have 'Alpha Female' screened onto an American Apparel t-shirt or have it tattooed above my butt crack.  So to you, proud Alpha Male, I say 'bravo'.  Why leave people guessing when you can just put it out there.  In fact, it would be nice if all guys did this with window decals.  Some possible examples:
  • Gentleman
  • Protector
  • Bread Earner
  • Shower Farter
  • Player
  • Player Hater (a man who wants to settle down)
  • Stoner
  • Outdoor Enthusiast (would certainly turn my head)
  • Amateur Chef 
  • Perpetual Student
  • Gym Rat
  • Momma's Boy
  • Sport's Junkie
  • Metro Sexual
  • Risk Taker
  • Thug
  • Sensitive
  • Recent Divorcee
  • Bar Tender (avoid!)
  • Smart Ass
  • World Traveler
  • And my personal favorite... Dinner Bill Payer

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Scent of Love

As I completed a training walk this morning I couldn't help but notice the abundant display of red hearts and cupids spewing forth from store windows.  Uh-huh, it's that time of year again - Valentine's Month.  My favorite Valentine's memory?  Watching "My Bloody Valentine" in 3D and making a mix CD for girlfriends entitled "Valentine's Day Massacre."  In case you're wondering, yes, Track 1 was Tina Turner's "What's Love Got To Do With It."  Funny part is that on both of these aforementioned V-Day's I was in a relationship... (someone's got issues, no?)

So in celebration of this chocolate-y, sparkly, ooey-gooey love fest, I thought I'd share with you a recent CNN Health article entitled "The power of smell in picking sex partners" sent to me by a friend well-versed in the art of love.  Not only are sexual scent preferences dependent on gender, but also on region... and to hilarious degrees.  According to findings here's what women are most attracted to in the following cities:

1.      New York – coffee 
2.      Los Angeles – lavender (f'in hippies)
3.      Chicago – vanilla
4.      Houston – barbeque
5.      Atlanta – cherry
6.      Phoenix – eucalyptus
7.      Philadelphia – clean laundry
8.      Dallas – smoke/fireplace
9.      San Diego – suntan lotion/ocean
10.    Minneapolis-St. Paul – cut grass

The proof that men are led by scent is a bit less concrete, although the following smells are known to cause... ahem... some very specific physical changes in the male body:  lavender, pumpkin pie, donuts, and black licorice.  So, in an effort to make myself more alluring for the upcoming V-Day holiday I've decided to: 1.) Start wearing a sprig of lavender behind my ear; 2.) Burn a pumpkin pie candle in my boudoir; 3.) Dust my bosom with powdered sugar; and 4.) Drink Anisette cocktails.  Lock up your fellas, ladies, Blackheart is armed, dangerous and reeking of love.

Monday, January 17, 2011

My Future BF

Perhaps one of the hardest parts of getting used to singledom (once again) is sleeping alone at night.  Sure, at first it's nice to spread your wings or slowly spin clockwise over the course of eight hours or roll from side to side like a steam roller without fear of knocking someone off the bed or getting an elbow to the eye.  And, sure, it's nice not to be awakened by snoring or the sharp grinding of teeth or farting.  However, a few months down the line you begin to realize that, hey, you really only sleep on one side of the bed anyway and, hey, the teeth grinding was like white noise lulling you to sleep at night and, hey, you miss that manly arm snuggled around you as you sleep, hugging you safe and sound.  So what's a newly single girl to do?  Live with it?  Cry about it?  Pay her gay male friends to cuddle up?  Place an add in the Penny Saver?  Craigslist?  Heavens no.  None of those things.

Japan, the country that first brought the world used schoolgirl panty vending machines, now introduces THE MAN PILLOW.  Why I didn't come up with this in between my last two boyfriends god only knows.  It's sheer brilliance stuffed between a faux work shirt.  A woman named Suzuki in USA Today sums up its appeal ever so eloquently: "It doesn't squirm or thrash in the night, and you know it'll be there in the morning." If that isn't worth $80, I don't know what is.  Not to mention it comes in three colors and its manufacturer, Kameo, will soon offer both muscular pillows for women who prefer their pillow well-built and slender models for those who desire a "more sensitive, vulnerable partner."

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Miss Manners

I may not be the most well mannered girl in the world (yes, my burps have been known to shake a house or two), but in public I try to be as polite and well behaved as possible.  Yet, lately I've been hit with a barrage of rude, ill mannered Americans, leaving me scratching my head as to what in the world has happened to our society.  And I'm not just talking about our behavior but our appearance, as well.  When did it become okay to wear leggings as pants, for example?  I understand the necessity for them in the winter under dresses or over-sized sweaters (although I thought we'd left that particular craze back in the 80s) but with a waist length t-shirt?  Come on!  My face literally crinkles up like I've bitten into a bitter lemon every time I see a girl trying to pull this off like it's some hot new trend.  Just because Sienna Miller did it back in the early 2000s doesn't make it okay.  Camel toes simply aren't proper, and I certainly don't want to see every lump and bump of your lower half as contoured by a thin sheath of spandex.  The airport this holiday was full of them, as were shopping malls, Starbucks and even (gulp) restaurants.  I've got my own lumps and bumps to think about without the lasting image of yours engraved in my mind for heaven's sake!  I put it right there with wearing Crocs outside the house if you're neither gardening, camping or going for a walk in the woods.  I watch old movies or look through photographs of my grandparents and long for a time when nearly all Americans actually cared about their appearance.  Didn't matter if you were poor or rich, hot or busted; you put your best self forward, and in doing so, made the world a little more beautiful.  I used to be one to go straight from the gym to run errands, sweaty shirt and all, but no longer.  So, yes, I practice what I preach.

Then there's the general rude factor, as best exemplified in two recent movie theater experiences.   The first was at the Crest Theater during a screening of "A Christmas Story," which two tween girls talked through the entire time.  "Like, what is that thing?  A leg?  Why is it glowing?  Dumb."... "Oh my god, what does that ginger head keep laughing like that?  So annoying.  Dumb.  And he's ugly."... "Are those robbers real?  Why are they moving so fast?  Stupid.  Hehehehe.  He put a cap in his a**.  Sweet."  These are direct quotes.  My mother, who has even less patience for bad manners than I do, actually moved seats, leaving me to suffer alone.  Then during "The King's Speech" at the Tower Theater there were two ladies having a heated argument through the first quarter of the movie.  On and on and on they went after numerous 'shushes' and an employee intervening twice.  The King may have been struggling to find his voice, but they sure the hell weren't.  And then amongst this vocal squabble the woman two seats in front of me got a phone call and actually had the gall to answer it and start a conversation!  Five minutes later someone finally walked over to her and told her to cut it out (only the rated R version of this line.)  Meanwhile, the argument between the two women got to the point where I couldn't even focus on dialogue, whole scenes flying by like a silent film.  Finally, the employee came back and asked them to leave.  And as they began to file down the stairs, you know what I did?  I said 'to hell with manners' and began a slow clap.  Yes, just like the dramatic slow clap found in countless movies.  My mom picked up my trail and in a matter of seconds I had gotten the entire theater to clap them off stage and out the door.  Does this make me ill mannered, myself?  No.  Sometimes, my friends, you simply have to fight fire with fire.  (But never, please never, spandex with spandex.)