If you ever wanted to know why I'm a Skirt...

I'm sick of the bro club, and I don't want to play.

I don't need to be overtly sexual in order to garner male attention. My male attention comes in the form of people with penises who actually enjoy my fully-clothed company. Is there anything wrong with someone viewing me as attractive? Fuck no! Actually, I love to hear about it when it does happen, but my point is that I don't need to wear sex on my sleeve 24/7, especially when I'm doing the things that I love such as playing music and riding my bike. I feel like these Playboy standards of beauty are leeching into the subcultures and scenes that I circulate in and these boys are acting no different then the Pi Kappa Alphas I went to college with. Where have all the enlightened, educated, and most importantly SOCIALLY AWARE men gone?

Maybe it's a maturity level. Maybe that's just what happens when you have certain levels of testosterone in a group. Maybe I'm just making excuses for petty behavior. Regardless, my femininity or lack thereof should not make me feel better or worse than anyone. Nor should it make any other woman feel that way.

I can't wait to live in a world where this is a non-issue. Too bad I'll never see it in my lifetime.


If you've got something to say feel free to discuss in the comments below.

HOW HAVE WE NOT TALKED ABOUT THIS?!

So... life is getting there.

Started a new band with old friends the end of 2008. It's called Porch Fire and is the result of Screeching Weasel, Dillinger Four, and Paul Westerberg's bastard child. Though, at this point it really just sounds like noise... but I do feel lucky to be in a band with such talented kids as Eric and Matt. Even if we tease each other like siblings 24/7. It's a totally different dynamic than I'm used to and we're starting to do a lot more together outside of just playing music. Which is great, because I love those kids, and I'm all about expanding my horizons. Oh, and cold-pressed coffee is amazing - thanks Eric.

We're currently trying to get our shit together. Our first show was laughable, but we motored on through. Hoping to get into the studio at the end of this month to record a demo, and looking to play out again in April. Keep an eye out for us, but don't blink or our set will be over.

Doll Parts is becoming even more of a priority in my life now. We're all ladies, and we're finally writing songs on our own that are pretty catchy pop-punk tunes. We're in the market for a new name (as I'm sick of the Hole references) but other than that, I couldn't be happier with them. All the girls are fun, the drama level is next to none, and I have a really big part in the direction the band is taking... all of which have been abscent in my latter musical endeavors. We're playing our next show on April 4th at New World Brewery with St. Pete's finest: Car Bomb Driver and The Spears (featuring none other than the legendary Chris Barrows)!

The Skirts are moving on up. We're becoming an incorporated entity, and applying for non-profit status as soon as the paperwork goes through. They started out as a group of girls who wanted to get together, ride bikes, and get some brews... and we're now becoming an actual cooperative, throwing races, donating to local women's shelters, and introducing new people to the idea of riding bikes. Once again, exciting stuff is on the horizon for us, and I'm glad to be a part of the board. Oooh. That sounds so fancy.

I'm really trying to put my priorities in line, and setting my own attainable goals for myself. Life moves slow, but it goes fast. I used to think that learning from my past will help me in the future, but the only purpose it serves is to depress the shit out of me. Lamenting on old emotions and situations does nothing but depress the shit out of me. I want to ride the wave and hold on for dear life. I want to move full steam ahead.

I want to be anchorless again.

What's left?

The insanity is currently palpable and I can only pray that the mixture of hormones and Yuletide emotions have sparked it.

2000Great.... to 2000Hate

We had such high hopes for the year. Most went unfufilled. I'm still working at the same boring job in the same uninteresting field. I made lots of new friends this year. Trimmed the fat from the rest of the stock, which is exactly what I needed to get my head on straight. Reconnected with some oldies but goodies. Picked up the bass again. Started riding my bike a whole bunch. Totaled a truck. Bought some guitars. Formed relationships that I hope are as deep as they feel at this very moment.

There are other things I'd rather not go into detail about. Having my heart broken. Watching my father slip away slowly and painfully. Mourning over the past. Visiting too many hospitals. Fallen idols, wreckless decisions and the like.

This year was supposed to mean something. Supposed to be the beginning of a chapter in my life. A step in the right direction. And as I look back on 2008, the only thing I can really say about it is I hope that 2009 does not follow suit. Perhaps it is a new beginning. The chapter of a book that starts out sad and lonely, and ends on a high note. Our hero, beat down and defeated, will rise from the ashes of mediocrity and strive for something she's destined for. Reach for that brass ring the wind keeps blowing just out of reach. Because we've all got to have something to hope for.

I'm a stronger gal than I was 12 months ago. More self-assured, more indignant. For better or for worse, I'm a different person and at 26 (a mere 2 months shy of 27) I can finally say I understand that life is an ever evolving, ever changing thing. Outlooks and opinions should not be concrete. They should not be rigid. They should not be steadfast. Life changes, and so should your actions. The past is what it is, and what it always will be. Your future is the only thing you have control over... and even that is limited to your ability to recognize and act upon it. Something I've taken for granted in my formative years.

So, for 2009, I wish myself the best of luck. The strength to do what needs to be done. The courage to see it through. The wisdom to choose between right and wrong, and the heart to keep on moving.

I wish all of you the same.

Vroom, vroom. Screech!

I am not a "car girl." But, considering my new-ish truck had just been totaled by some coddled bitch from Brooklyn (who is, officially, fighting me on fault for the wreck -'nother story), I've gotta turn into one, quick.

This involves some decisive decision making.
I am not known for my decisiveness.
Ever.

So, I had band practice with Matt and Eric yesterday at the Kiss of Death/Fueled by Ramen/Vertical Merch warehouse in Tampa. After oohing and ahhing at the industrial though obviously punk fucking rock equipment (screen presses, sticker ovens, et cetera), laughing at the 3 miles of LTJ merch, and generally feeling really depressed that I didn't get to work in such an awesome atmosphere (blasting rad music from my iPod, free records, and puppies), Eric mentioned to me that he was trying to get rid of his truck. A 1993 Dodge Dakota. With a V8. His bandmate Bryon, being the original owner, was telling me how it was an honest workhorse, and how impressive the engine was ("I could kick a Mustangs ass all over the Howard Frankland Bridge"). With 160,000 miles on it, and some minor problems... Eric told me he'd let it go for $500 bucks.

Holy crap. $500 bucks. For a truck to get me to and from work on rainy days, to and from Tampa for band practice/social events. Nothing fancy, nothing pretty, but powerful and steady, just like I like my men. So, I told him to let me know what was up with it, and since the boyfriend is an amateur mechanic (he's fixing up a '62 Ford truck at the moment), I'd see if any of it was out of his comfort zone. Called Owen, and he said "That's a fucking deal, take it. Even if it dies in a couple months, so what?"

That was, until, I got on the Craigslist to see what I could get for $2500. And I stumbled upon a '66 Chevy Corvair. Fully restored. 66,000 miles on it. Baby blue. White interior. The type of car my 16 year-old self would have died for. http://tampa.craigslist.org/hil/ctd/947954107.html

So, what am I to do? Put the three grand (that I don't have yet) away for a snowy day, or throw it all into the hands of some slimy used car salesman just for an extension of my non-existent (though, obviously HUGE) penis?

Ah well. I've had worse things to be distraught about.

Friendsgiving and the weekend that followed - quick update

Friendsgiving was a tumltulous arena for gorgeous boys and girls to showcase their bike skills via polo, and street methods. Lily and I drank lots of wine. Then Scotty bought me a slice of pizza. Seattle Amanda drank whiskey straight from the bottle, and made me fall in love with her. I fell, twice. Then I decided passing out on Pam's garage floor alone was a poor substitute for my warm bed and puppies.

Saturday, I got into a car accident. Bettie Dakota has severe front end damage caused by an out of town Bride-To-Be not watching where she was going. Hopefully they total Bettie out and just hand me some cash. I think I know what I'll do with it...

In the meantime, trying to get ahold of Allstate to secure me a rental car (her insurance company, as I was not at fault for the accident), a lawyer to make sure I didn't do any permanent damage by slamming into an SUV at 30 mph, and tuning up my bike as I'm set to be a commuter for the next few weeks...

Other than that, life's good.