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Monday
Jun122006

Say No To Crack



"So this new moon rising isn't about freedom at all, it's just another sign that the sun is setting on women's power" - Shannon Rupp



When I was but a pre-teen with mosquito bites for breasts I was schooled in the proper way a young lady should wear a bra.
"Don't let your straps hang out!" Mom tutted whilst giving the offending strap a yank.
The fact that I wore the wrong size bra for nigh on ten years is evidence that size wasn't a huge concern during my teen years. My major concern? Dodging the bra saleslady. I'll be damned if I was going to let the handsy ol' gal in the pre-teen section of the department store get her mitts (or her measuring tape!) on my mosquito bites.

Instead I'd grab a few bra sizes (all white, of course) and hide myself away in the corner dressing room. As my chest was exploding outward at a rate similar to the number of zits developing on the faces of my male peers, I always bought the smallest size bra I could squeeze my torso into. The goal was to smash my chest (I had yet to discover the wonders a sports bra works in the chest smashing arena) so my evil brothers couldn't make fun of my 'bites' that were rapidly morphing into bona fide boobies.

Once the bra was purchased, like Mom counseled, "don't let your straps hang out!"
All one had to know about bra wearing at the time was simply this; if the public can see your bra, you're doing something wrong. Either the shirt doesn't fit right or you shouldn't be wearing a bra with that particular top. If you take off the bra are your bosoms flopping about beneath the blouse like a freshly caught fish tangled in net?... Then you shouldn't be wearing that particular garment. Ever. Really. Give it to good will or use it as a dust towel.. but don't wear it again.

I never thought of applying the bra strap policy to panties, but after spending a day in Central Park beneath a bright sun and behind the even brighter moon on display courtesy of a girl strolling in front of me, it seems I should avail myself of this golden opportunity to remind the ladies about the perils of crack.

I had hoped this tacky trend had died a quick death last year, but ass flash seems to have experienced a comeback a la Madonna. The Material Girl figures prominently in the popularization of tackiness as an expression of women's sexual freedom. Shit, after being told to hide my straps only to see Madge don a metallic cone shaped bra - my mind was as blown as Bill Clinton during the Lewinsky years. Interestingly, I've not yet seen Madonna sport ass crack, so maybe she does have a smidge of good taste. On second thought, nah.

Listen up girls! Butt crack is not now, nor will it ever be the new cleavage. Unless you're name is Giselle Bundchen or Heidi Klum and you find yourself on a photoshoot for Sports Illustrated in Bora-fucking-Bora, keep your crack to yourself. Your pants are supposed to cover your cheeks and your ass spilling over the edge of your jeans like a muffin top is not sexy. It sucks. Anyone who thinks public ass crack is hot also sucks.

Did we fight for the right to wear pants all those years ago so we could flash ass? How much class can you claim when you are letting your crack hang out like Billy Bob, the plumber who yanked the soggy clump of hair from my drain last month? Why would you want to advertise ass? It looks as if your hiney is being choked by your stringy underwear and your cheeks are trying to crawl out the tops of your jeans for a gulp of fresh air. Listen... air your ass out on your own time, preferably within the confines of your boudoir.

Finally, I've come up with a sassy little saying to help guide you along the perilous journey of clothing yourself before leaving your home. Similar to Nancy Reagan and her 'Just Say No' - you will do well to remember the following four words. Make it your mantra..

FLASH ASS = NO CLASS
Monday
Jun122006

Lazy Sunday

Yesterday we decided diner food was necessary. Turns out it was. A Carolina pulled pork sandwich, slaw and a side of sweet potato fries hit the spot. I enjoyed the sloppy sammy with my best girls; that dark haired mysterioso Kate and the always sunny blonde bombshell Anna of The Shalitas fame.. We spent the early afternoon gossiping in the kitsch environs of an old school diner right here in Brooklyn.. All red and white, relics from the fifties, checkered floors and chrome stools that swivel.

My only regret? I didn't order the dreamsicle shake that caught my eye during my fifteen minute perusal of the menu before deciding on the Carolina sandwich.
After lunch we strolled to the park to lay on warm, spongy, grass and chit-chat with Xmastime... There was the crack of a nearby bat as it collided with a meaty softball, the resulting cheers from the assembled, a butter yellow sun blazing across an azure sky, a delicate breeze that licked quietly at hair, grass and leaves.. But more importantly there were friends and good conversation..


And stuff...



And things...



Friends are the best

Saturday
Jun102006

Accentuate The Negative, Eliminate The Positive

She lets it all affect her. So much more than it should. She yearns to be carefree. Unconcerned. But like walking the streets of Manhattan, something always gets in the way. An analyzation, a nasty thought about someone else or a drizzle of self-doubt that steadily increases into a full blown London downpour. Before long she is drowning in self-hatred.

She accentuates the negative, eliminates the positive. Why does she do that? She's aware she does it. Knows full well that she has an innate inclination to dwell on the darker side of life but she doesn't know why.

Oh, she has an inkling. Sometimes she talks to a man on the telephone who has known her for 29 years, a few months and some change. This guy is funny, intelligent.. he's a charmer all right. But if he latches onto something, he can't let it go. He has a penchant for dwelling. On everything. He is a champion flogger of dead horses. On and on he drones. She listens to him complain and is annoyed. But she is the same way.

She hates that.
Thursday
Jun082006

What Do You Do? Oh, I'm "Between Jobs"...

Dear Mr. or Ms.

I am emailing you regarding the writer/producer (job #5345) employment opportunity as advertised on the internet. I have worked as a writer/producer in the news industry for the past nine years. I began my career in journalism at the ABC affiliate in Salt Lake City as a Chyron operator. I worked my way up the news station food chain.. from Chyron to Assignment Desk to Associate Producer and finally, Producer.

I moved from ABC to FOX in Salt Lake City and spent five years producing FOX 13 News at Nine at KSTU. In 2005 I moved to New York City where I've spent the past year freelance writing and producing at WXXX in Manhattan.

Most recently I have been smoking vast quantities of "Mary Jane" and watching daytime television..well, and prime time and late night television too. WXXX said it wasn't personal but on the day I was "let go" I noticed my weed stash was no longer in the secret spot in my desk and my bottle of Jagermeister was also missing. This strange turn of events at work was particularly fishy considering my Gay Ambassador Marco, who I would normally immediately suspect of the theft, was on vacation at the time. Similarly, all the porn sites from my "favorites" list had been deleted. For these reasons and more, I suspect my employment termination was, in fact, personal.

SPECIAL SKILLS:
I excel at breaking news, specifically; searching the wires (lie! I am blogging on your dime) for the very latest and writing up-to-date (made-up) news stories. I keep abreast (I said breast!) of current events, including pics of Brangelina's baby, Britney's crumbling marriage to K-Fed and whomever Nick Lachey is dating. That's not all! My special skills also include secret blow jobs in the copy room (20 cents!) my ability to surf the net for hours without stopping, gossiping about co-workers, stealing office supplies (including tampons!) consuming a considerable amount of Jagermeister at office functions and not throwing up until I get home! Impressive, I know. It takes practice. Well, there was that one time time in the gutter in front of that strange bar in New Jersey and okay, yeah, the Christmas Party 2004 "incident" where I filled the cupholders in my car with sick. Either way it makes for one helluva office dynamic!

I look forward to your timely response

Sincerely,


Monica Bielanko

EDUCATION: Majored in Broadcast Journalism at the University of Utah (read: Never Graduated!)

REFERENCES:
The Surge
News Manager
(212) 555-4321

SickSadWorld
News Director
(212) 555-9876
Thursday
Jun082006

More Of The Same

So. I am trying to force myself through the weirdness I'm feeling and keep typing in this here bloggy blog. When life begins to claw at me like a rabid dog I tend to do a little thing The Surge and I have dubbed The TurnAway. Trying. Not. To. TurnAWay. It's... Hard... Work. Turning away is in my DNA...Mom and brother fighting? Why, just TurnAway, read a book. Brother beating me up? TurnAway time! Fight with The Surge? Excellent TurnAway opportunity.

This blog is a weird little animal. It connects me to every single person in my personal life, as well as quite a few acquaintances, ex-boyfriends and many, many strangers. If I choose to share something personal (my sex life, rollercoaster marriage, unemployment, depression, strange vagina lips) my mom, my closest friends and even both mothers-in-law know about it within a few hours. Think about that for a minute. That can be cool. That can be strange.

When I'm depressed I tend to go inside myself, hide from folks a la TurnAway. Who wants to be the drag of the group? Or who wants to pretend they're feeling perky? So I feel paralyzed when it comes to blogging lately. Because I feel like shit. And I'll write about that. So when my friends read this blog they will know I'm depressed. Which means, if we all meet up later and I try to act perky, they'll know I'm faking. How can I hide my sorry state? Well, I can write kicky blog entries, fake my good mood online.. that way nobody will be the wiser when we meet for drinks tonight to tell Evil Peter goodbye. See the dilemma of having a blog? I know, I know.. I ain't the first person in the world to be depressed. I also know how boring it is to read about. Just waitin' for it to go away, y'know?

On a side note that you may or may not find boring.. I was asked to be in a new book that will soon be available on Amazon... Click here for more info on The Very Best Weblog Writing Ever.