Joke of the day

 A chicken and an egg were lying in bed one night. The chicken was smoking a cigarette with a smug grin on its face, the egg looking thoroughly ticked off. The egg looks at the chicken and says, "Well, I guess we finally answered THAT question!"

The next Big Thing... Grace Jones meets James Brown

This chick is the new shit.  http://www.jmonae.com/   She's the perfect amount of weirdo mixed with  talent.

If I could buy stock in success, I would.  Now I have to go practice my booty shakin.

Ridiculous amounts of cuteness.

http://dailysquee.com/ 

If you're feeling down and need some warm fuzzies, this is the site for you.  SQUEEEE!  Why are baby everythings so damn cute?  Except for baby insects... those fuckers are scary.

My dreadlocks.... the mystery revealed.

Just about 5 times per day, someone asks about my hair.  It's a MYSTERY to them...  except for the ones that run up to me holding a picture of themselves when they used to have locks and tell me some reason why they had to cut them off.  I'm like, 'You carry around a photo of yourself with dreads all the time?'  I admit, it's kind of a brotherhood (and/or sisterhood, but it's always dudes who approach me about how dope their locks were 'back in the day'...)  or like a secret society of earthy people. I dig it.

That said, there are always those damn ignorant people who ask me the stupidest shit.  I was ordering a coffee one fine morning and the chick behind the counter says, "So you put manure in your dreads to make them like that, right?"  Really?! Really really?  Gee yes, I put cow shit in my hair.  What a wonderful assumption.  And thank you for that, you really made my morning.

So, let me reveal the incredible mystery that are my dreadlocks.

Yes, they are real and it is all my own hair.

No, I do not put manure, honey, mud, glue or any other kind of crap in my hair.

Yes, I wash it.  A lot.  Like 3 times per week, which is a lot for anyone with dreads.

No, I don't have to shave my head when I want to get rid of them, but I will have to cut my hair short since it will be so damaged.

No, I am not homeless, nor do I sleep on the street or in my car...  I pay rent and taxes and have a very lovely career.

No, I will not steal anything from you.

No, I am not stoned ALL the time.

Yes, my mom hates them, but they've grown on her since I've had them so long.

No, you cannot pay me to make dreads in your hair. Do it yourself, kid.

Also, I love when people play with my dreads, but come on, ASK me first.  I was at the Viper Room one night and this chick behind me just grabbed my hair... outta nowhere.  I'm never one to be rude, so I just kinda turned around and smiled sheepishly.  THEN she asked if she could touch them... hmm. Oh well, ok, since you already have been for the last 5 minutes.. keep at it.

All in all, I love my hair.  It's become a part of me...  they hold a lot of energy (Lenny Kravitz and Lisa Bonet were totally right).  It's the stigmas attached to them that piss me off, but I guess it just comes with the territory.  If you want dreads, be prepared to look homeless for the first 2 years while they lock up.  And you will lose 1/2 the length of when you started them.  Yes, HALF.  Cops will fuck with you.  Your mom will hate them.  You will be pulled out of line at the airport.  People will ask you ignorant questions.  But on the bright side, you will attract like-minded souls wherever you go... you will also get smoked out a lot.  Like, a lot.

My bungalow oasis... aka where I live... and my neighbors.. hmmm.

I love my little 1920's bungalow near the beach.  I have a patio and a garden filled with tropical foliage, lavender, rosemary, mint, and I'm planning on planting some more herbs I can use for cooking...  Upon entry, you see a long walkway through a jungle of plants, trees and flowers... A little zen-like oasis in the heart of a bustling beach town.  And cats. Lots of cats... it's like a gang.  Every time I walk in I'm greeted by them and give them belly rubs to win them over.  Ahh it's wonderful.

But I digress.  This post isn't about how wonderful my home is... it's about the surrounding neighbors that freak my shit out.  I still love them, but damn, sometimes ya'll are scary.

The secret service came to arrest one of my neighbor for 'subversive activities.'  Uhhh... what?  What the hell?!  First off, I do NOT want any government officials skulking around my bungalow.  I read the book, "1984" and I know how that shit goes down.  Secondly, I had to get to the bottom of what the hell happened.  Nothing dramatic... just a man practicing his right to freedom of speech.  But in a post-911 society, freedom of speech means something very different now.  Post a few letters online about certain 'officials' kicking the bucket, and you can be sure you will go to jail.  Very scary.  Hmm... I guess that also applies to blogs.  Welcome to my censored blog.

Another neighbor has finally given up on trying to convert me to Buddhism.  Don't get me wrong... I have much respect for people who are religious, but please don't try to convert me.  I already dealt with the crazy born-again Christians growing up in school, so if you try to shove any of that crap down my throat, expect that I will throw up on you.  Just sayin.

Then there's the goth.  I always know when her laundry is in the machine.  Black.  But she's alright in my book.  The only scariness is the life-sized mannequin dressed as a vampire in the living room... every time I walk by I'm psyched out.  Gets me every time.  It's almost like Halloween every day...  oh and Halloween with the neighbors at the bungalow oasis is another blog post for the future. Note to self.

Another neighbor is a nice guy. Actor.  (As it turns out 'actor' in soft-core porn... that's a recent discovery for me).  The day I moved in, he introduced himself and said, "I'm a freelance gynecologist, so if you ever need a checkup..."  Hmm gee yes, I will be suuuuuure to take you up on that.

My closest neighbor is an avid Burner.  She's a little fairy who carries glitter in her pocket and fire dances on her roof at 4am, and doesn't sleep a lot.  We were hangin out once and I mentioned that I need to go buy some quartz crystals to maintain the positive vibes in my apartment, and she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a huge quartz.... I'm like, "you just happen to have that on you?" Amazing.

As eccentric as my neighbors are, I'm there too, so what the hell does that make me?  No judgement here... I only state the facts.  Maybe they think I'm the weird one because I have an indoor cat and frequent 'sleepovers.'  Who knows.

Ok, so I finally freakin started a blog... not sure how I feel about it yet.

Several of my peeps have been on my ass to start a blog.  Ugh.  Ok... yet another website to maintain, and talk about myself.  

On the bright side, I don't have to inundate my fellow facebook friends with my rants and raves... I'm starting to realize people think I'm slightly eccentric, but I'm ok with that... it's better than being boring.  And shit, what if all of my spaced-out ideas turn out to be viable?  

So if you are reading this, welcome!  And if you aren't reading this, well... your loss.  Maybe.