Maybe its the sunshine, or the lush smell of spring in the air, but I woke up this morning, groggy and feeling every minute of my almost 30 years spent on earth. I'm not quite there yet - not till' next month, but: Craaaaaaaap.
It seems that rather than just enjoy the party hat and shots of tequila, this year I'm actually taking stock. Am I successful? Am I aging gracefully? Do I have any gray hairs? Fuck Fuck Fuck. I'm afraid to examine that last one too closely... But seriously - birthdays commemorate the passage of time, and looking back I don't think I've feared or felt one so keenly as this. *another* decade down, and now I'm painfully aware of my own mortality in a way I couldn't fathom at 20.
So what's a gal to do? Well, I figure I should make the most of this hoopla, and have been scouring the interwebs for gift ideas for myself. Before I sound too materialistic, I'd like to note that this is a first for me. But there is a decidedly gleeful feeling in clicking the "Add to Wishlist" button on an item that you would never buy for yourself. I feel bloated with consumerism, soothing my wounded pride with whimsical abandon and vanity.
For now, I'm going to ignore the fact that my most recent purchase was for wrinkle-ass-kicking foundation, or that the Retro Rock music station is playing a whole metric shit-ton of my favorite non-retro music.
Looking ahead, maybe my thirties won't be so bad. I'm generally healthy (alcohol is an excellent preservative), and am avidly working towards fulfilling many of my dreams. I'm married to the best damned man in the universe, and even made a freaking adorable kiddo. So time passes... so what? Screw you calendar, and your accurate time-keeping. I'm only as old as I feel!
On the one hand, she's a train wreck. In and out of rehab for years, and most notoriously the widow of Kurt Cobain, Courtney Love is anything but adored. Its been 10 years since Hole's "Celebrity Skin" - and the only thing of note since then is the tragically chaotic "America's Sweetheart". So I was *very* surprised to learn that not only are Hole (basically Love with a whole new lineup) on tour, but that a brand new Hole record, "Nobody's Daughter" was released last week.
Now, I like to pride myself on my impeccable taste in music. Most of the time. Sure, we all have those cherished albums kept in the secret recesses of our hearts and cellars. That song that will play on your iPod from time to time, and you can't help but be moved by it, most likely because the music evokes a memory, keen and sharp - no matter how many years have passed.
Hole is like that for me. When my peers were getting over the whole "grunge" thing, I was just getting into it. Day late and a dollar short? Yeah, that's me. At any rate, I had a copy of "Live Through This" and played the goddamned thing to DEATH. Still do, from time to time. The screeching lyrics and driven, dirty guitars were intoxicating. It wasn't until after the fact that I learned about Love and Cobain, and the swirling rumors involving his "suicide". But to be honest, it doesn't change a damned thing.
She's a terrible mother, not a particularly talented singer, and bat-shit crazy. And I can't help but fucking love her. Maybe because she thrives on the imperfect and tragic - maybe because she's so much more accessible to me than some glittering starlet. Life is dirty. Life is ugly. Love gets this, and isn't afraid to flaunt it.
Now I'm listening to the new album, and I can't help but like it. "Skinny Little Bitch" in particular has me jammin out with my clam out - its no "Gutless" or "Dicknail", but its grimy enough to put a smile on my face.
The best part? They're playing the House of Blues in June. On my birfday. Coincidence? I think not.
Rock N' Rolla. Here's to bad choices, skanky women, and aging less than gracefully. Oh, Courtney, I've got all my bases covered.
Ahh... some calm repose with the house to myself. Pure insanity - this never happens! So what to do? Why enlighten my readers with this week's edition of Super Nerd Saturday.
For starters, feast your eyes on this:
Are you nearly as amped as I am? I'm not entirely an action flick girl, although I do thoroughly enjoy me some Jason Statham, and will *always* go see an Angelina Jolie action flick. "Salt" looks incredibly bad-ass... spies? espionage? Jolie in a svelte black action outfit? ...
where was I? oh, yes. kicking ass.
I think it may have been Bridget Fonda in "Point of No Return" that sealed the deal for me, but I've always wanted to be La Femme Nikita. Weapons expert. Ass-kicker extraordinaire. Assassin. The desire has only intensified over the years. And while I know I'm far too old and infirm to lead the Okuza a la Oren Ishii, its certainly nice to daydream...
Speaking of, I almost shat my pants upon seeing this:
Are you fucking shitting me? An espionage RPG?? Be still my beating heart. Its my sincere wish that Alpha Protocol fills the gaping void that FFXIII left. I'm intrigued to see how the two game styles are integrated - leveling up and yet utilizing first-person shooter techniques to complete missions. Its refreshing to see the genre finally morph and evolve beyond Mythril and Gil. I think a preemptive apology is necessary:
Dear Mr. Anti-Stepford, I'm sorry, darling, but you'll have to fend for yourself for the foreseeable future. Pot pie is in the freezer. I think the youngling was last seen eating crayons. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure they're non-toxic. Collect me if anything sets on fire. All of my love, your devoted wife.
PS - we're out of whiskey and beer. please attend.
We'll see how this goes. In the meantime, what makes you feel badass? huh, cupcake?
