A year into my quarter-life crisis, something remarkable happened. My ass wound up in Bali.
Yesterday, I inserted myself into my friend Kerry's plans and headed to the LES in hopes to drown myself in drunken noodles.
I did something so Beverly Hills yesterday. Yes, I was crystal healed.
Louis C.K. has been on my radar since I watched his "Shameless" special on HBO seven years ago. His eponymous comedy-drama Louie is by far my favorite show on television and I haven't missed an episode. Louie is not as gut-bustlingly hilarious as it is perceptively brilliant. The main character, played by C.K. who also writes, edits and directs the show is a struggling/sometimes successful comedian who is honest to a fault and his observations and reactions to life's situations mirror many of my own. I'd love to pick apart the last three seasons and tell you my favorite Louie moments, but I'd like this post to be about last night's episode, "So Did The Fat Lady," which tackled guilt-ridden fat-phobia, dating standards and self-esteem.
Who is Larry Levan? And why is everyone here so happy? Seriously, I just nudged and bumped into twenty New Yorkers and I'm not in the hospital yet—what's happening? How could this "Larry Levan" creature unite blacks, whites, Asians, gays, hookers, yuppies, puppies, Aussies , babies and oldies all in close quarters without a brawl? Let me take you into the world of Larry Levan. Don't be scurred…
I love dark humor. Even the occasional dead baby joke. And sometimes I wonder if my vagina-having self is allowed to enjoy humor so sick and twisted. Women are supposed to be well-mannered and nurturing, they're not supposed to laugh when someone says, "how do they know Princess Diana had dandruff?…they found her head and shoulders on the dash board." Gross, uncreative and insensitive. I chuckled and I'm ashamed.
"I love black women, I swear I do," said Blood, Sweat and Heels star Demetria Lucas as she spoke to an audience of black women at her book launch event. Those eight words sent my eyes through the back of my skull as I watched Bravo cameras pan over a crowd of successful black New Yorkers while she finished her speech. For those unfamiliar with shitty reality television, Blood, Sweat and Heels is a show on Bravo! that documents the lives of young, affluent black women trying to make it in New York. It stars a bunch of fashion bloggers, former video vixen Melyssa Ford and the sanctimonious Demetria who is constantly rolling her eyes and calling out cast mates for their bullshit, whether it be drinking incessantly, snooping on their boyfriends or not being feminist enough . I tend to agree with Lucas on most issues, but her judgey tone leaves me at a loss. Lucas doesn't love black women like she swears she does. She reluctantly stands in solidarity with a group of women with the same color of skin. Many of whom she can't stand.
I celebrated Easter Sunday with my handsome friend, Brandon. Brandon and I met the summer before our freshman year at Indiana University and we've been friends ever since. I've learned a lot from Brandon about style, makeup and how to get shit for free.99. He does so all the time, unabashedly.
Hosting a friend's first NYC trip is best way to Treat. Yo. Self. I mean, your friend who is visiting. You should probably treat them...
One bitch's quest to love NYC.