Musical Car Crashes & the Slutty Snooze Button

I’ve gotten into the habit of getting up early and…well, mostly I’ve been going to bed around 9:00pm, and waking up at 6:00am, because we are still sleeping on the air mattress in the living room, and Benjamin likes to watch breakfast television while he has his toast and coffee.  While I was sick, I would toodle off to the bedroom and flop down on the bed for another hour or so.  But then I was getting pretty slutty with the snooze button.

wake up smilinh

Officially committing to physically abandoning the bed happened around 7:15am. Technically, I should be out the door around 7:45am, but I get pretty slutty with my E-T-D’s as well, so there’s a very solid chance that when the 8:00am news starts, I am still on the highway.  The good news is I am very up to date on my current affairs, which is altogether enlightening and depressing.  After this quick run-through of all the death, war, crime, injustice and corruption, I park the mini-van and head off to spent the day with children.


And bless all these little ones, running around like drunk little midgets, in tiny little pants, crying for their mothers and calling their yoghurt “yogies”. You gotta wonder what the government, environment, the general state of humanity will be by the time these slobbering, sticky fingered, little yogie spillers are my age.  And then…there’s that crushing responsibility of having any part in molding young minds.  And you really wish you had not been so slutty with the snooze button, and had started the day on a brighter note.


Lately, I’ve been up at 630am, and it’s pretty blissful to have time in the morning.  After a leisurely coffee, I putter about, listen to the radio, and do a few housekeeping duties, or answer a few emails.  But then I get Girls Gone Wild  with my spare time, and then I have to do an Olympic speed walk through the parking lot to the minivan, and am made to face the news again.  But, I’m far more relaxed, less rushed, and I can take things like, oh the collapse of the American government, with a bigger grain of salt.


Things are achieved before work, and then I get home for a half-hour around lunchtime, and I also take care of a little business then as well.  So, come time when the work day is done, I can come home and have spare time on my hands.  Time well spent, I think, drinking a rather large glass of red wine while Googling Ryan Gosling memes.

ryan golsing, sewing

My husband is working late, and I am busy with “work”, which means getting increasingly drunk, while blogging and perving on Ryan Gosling photos.


Oh Ryan.  It gives you a little faith in this dark world, seeing  things like this.


Don’t worry Ryan, I’m not going anywhere…I’ll just bring the wine bottle into the office so I never have to leave you again.  Or…about ten seconds before my bladder bursts.  Finally Benjamin called.  He wasn’t coming home for a while as he was going to the pub with a workmate.  This is exciting news.  Now was I off the hook for making dinner, and was free to cyber stalker Mr Gosling and then do some drunk blogging.  It’s also nice that Benjamin is meeting people, and making friends.  I do wonder how men approach one another and make friends.  And I want for my husband what any woman does.  I want him to meet a nice young man.


I was pleased to hear that he was going out.  But I hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be one of those “Hangover” type situation, where he calls me from a drunk tank in Tijuana. He had committed to staying up until 10:00pm to watch the very special of Glee, where Cory Monteith‘s “Finn” dies.


I don’t really even watch “Glee”, this show is like that person you knew in high-school that you never talked to but always smiled at.  Yet I am so curious as to how they are going to handle this situation.  It will be like a train wreck of music and emotion. A musical car crash.  And I am going to be there with a box of tissues and whatever is in the bottom of the wine bottle.    So this can mean one of two things.  That Benjamin has met a nice man and is chatting about men stuff over a few pints at the pub, or that he made the story up to avoid watching “Glee” and is sitting alone at the bar while I sob myself into a Glee-induced Coma.

alonein-a-barHe’s since come home…and wondering where that delicious stir fry I promised I’d make, while I was commending his decision to go out for a pint.  When I was fresh from the grocery store and feeling like a productive wife.  Before the red wine and drunk blogging.  And now it’s nearly 8:00pm and I should have been to bed hours ago.  Damn you Ryan Gosling, you did this to me damn you!  I know I said I would stay here forever, but I’ve got a pressing stir-fry. But thanks for the dreamy eyes and positive affirmations.  They need to put these on the ceiling at the dentist and gynecologist offices.  Because sometimes, your spirits just need a lift.

ryan gosling glassesImages Courtesy of Google

Beautiful People

Occasionally, if I really want to splash out and treat myself, I buy a magazine. Because I am terminally frugal, I usually go for the ‘three for ten deal’ at Walmart.  We’re stocking up on supplies, and as it always does, my patience for this store runs paper thin before I’ve even said hello to the greeter.  Ben is lingering over belts, and I decide to do my own lingering over my precious 3-4-10.  Sadly, every cover has Glee’s Cory Monteith on it.  And I’m of two minds about that.  For one, I do find the whole scenario devastating and fascinating.  I mean, you couldn’t write a tragedy better.  And that’s the other thing, it really does make me so sad.  So there I stand, with little options otherwise.  Lesser quality magazines feature Angelina Jolie proclaiming that she was pregnant with twins, another one with the Kardashian’s on “Who Cares?” magazine, and a National Enquirer with a rather tired looking Regis Philbin on the front.  And so, I chose my three, two of which have Monteith on the cover.  (Thank God Kate Middleton has had her baby, that will cleanse the pop-culture palette).


I was strangely soothed by all the other celebrity goss out there–beautiful people recommending beautiful products, with beautiful children, on beautiful holidays.  George Clooney is single again, Justin Bieber is being a little dick head, Amanda Bynes is blowing her fortune on cocaine and bad wigs.  All is right in the world.  I especially enjoyed a special on celebrity homes, where all these smug B-list bastards can show off all their awesome shit.  My favorite was the Dita Von Teese article.  As you can imagine, she has some pretty amazing possessions.

dita at homeShe has beautiful vintage furniture, and a bizarre taxidermy obsession.  She turned multiple bedrooms into spectacular closets filled with costumes, shoes, lingerie, and there’s a whole room dedicated to hats (which to me, is really a reason to never have children). “Sure, someone could carry on the lineage…but then again, I wouldn’t get my hat room”


She is such a glamorous icon, a burlesque queen, the modern-day equivalent of a golden age movie star.

dita smoking

Many of the most beloved icons from yesteryear are remembered in part of their marriages or affairs.  Marilyn Monroe with DiMaggio, Miller and that other guy, Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, Liz Taylor and everybody.  As for Von Teese, she spent the better part of a decade shacked up with none other that Marilyn Manson.

Dita_Von_Teese 2I’m assuming this was at a costume party, but that is a seriously disturbing looking fellow.  I have always wondered what the attraction was, if she would gaze at him from across a crowded room and think–”Lucky me, I get to go home with that“.


Last night, wide awake, and lying next to my gently snoring husband, I think about Dita Von Teese, what that hat room must look like.  Eventually I give up on trying to sleep, and head into the office.  I write a few notes about this topic, and then proceed to look up pictures of Dita and Marilyn.  Which is not the greatest idea at 1130pm.  Marilyn Manson…is not someone I enjoy.

Marilyn+Manson+++Dita+Von+TeeseI came of age in the advent of this particular chapter of goth-culture… circa 1996 with Antichrist Superstar.  Marilyn Manson burst creepily onto the scene, and just bled all over the place.  Parents were concerned about his presence, his influence.  He was being banned and censored, which made the fans love him even more.  Rumors flew about him killing animals onstage, and removing his ribs so he could perform fellatio on himself. Which makes no sense to me, why would you want to suck your own dick? If you have the money to have elective rib removal surgery, couldn’t you just hire someone who likes going down on freaky dudes…(and possibly be into doing a little laundry and light dusting)?  In high school Marilyn Manson was such a revelation and there was a definite social pocket of teenagers that jumped on that bandwagon.  Personally, he scared the hell out of me.  But then again, if Manson was an 11 on the hard rock scale, I was a 1.5.  I was listening to ABBA, Mamas & the Papas and the Bee Gees non-ironically.  I had pictures of Audrey Hepburn in my bedroom.  I was not in his demographic.  Simply put, going to a Marilyn Manson concert would be my version of hell on earth, I would rather be swarmed by a pack of flying monkeys from “The Wizard of Oz”, than listen “Beautiful People” in a packed stadium of Satanic looking freaky-deeks.  And you just know that they would do weird things with strobe lights…no thank you.  The fine folks behind the film “Burlesque” actually snuck a sample of that song into the soundtrack; even in a different incarnation I can not bare it.  You’re just never going to find me at a fan club meeting, and that’s all there is to it.

dita manson 1

This morning, as I’m working on my social media project, looking for pictures of Charlie Brown and the Fantastic Mr Fox, I keep running into Marilyn Manson.  And it always gives my heart a little flip.  I wonder if ever he came around the corner and startled the crap out of Dita.  “Oh my god, Marilyn, why the face?’  I read that when Tim Burton was casting for “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”, Manson expressed interest in playing Willy Wonka.  That’s a long fucking way from Gene Wilder isn’t it?  Even Johnny Depp was too creepy (who allegedly based his character on Micheal Jackson, and Manson–the two Godfathers of creepy musicians).  Even Tim Burton, who makes his own distributing imprints on the world (don’t even talk to me about “The Nightmare Before Christmas) must have been like–no, Marilyn, that’s even too fucked up by my standards.  What’s worse, I don’t know which way is scarier, Marilyn Manson with makeup….

marilyn dita

Or just plain ole Brain Warner…(cute koala though).

dita manson 3

Yes, of course, never judge a book by it’s cover.  It’s just…what a terrifying cover.  In my research about these two former lovebirds–who were both raised in middle America, living lives through audacious, controversial theatrical alter egos.  He tried to get her for a music video, their schedules clashed, but on his 32nd birthday, she showed up with a bottle of absinthe (and a stunning outfit, I’d imagine).  And the rest, as they say, is history.


They were together for five years, got married in a civil ceremony, before having a lavish affair at some castle in Ireland.

dita von tease marriage

And a year after that, Dita moved out of their home on Christmas Eve.  She never publicly stated what had happened (cough-cough-Evan Rachel Wood), but that it was bad enough to call a moving company the day before Christmas.

marilyn-manson other woman

And, that’s all there is to it, the marriage ended and she never said exactly why.  But there is enough speculation that Dita could hang up her props, lingerie and boobie tassels, and just be plain old Heather Sweet; whereas between the drugs and the impressionable young female fans, Brian had a much harder time hanging up his Manson cap.   Von Teese lamented her divorce, and claimed that despite their appearances, they were a traditional couple, who valued the institution of marriage.  She intended for the relationship to last forever.  A Von Teese source said that–she just wanted to be at home on the couch with the dog with Marilyn Manson.  And I can’t imagine him just fresh faced, kicking back in his sweatpants and slippers.


As for Marilyn, I’ll be happy when he’s no longer haunting my image files.  I did come across more recent photos, and it looks like he has a sort of–Gothic fat Elvis thing, and it’s just not a great look.


So, Miss Dita with her many endorsements, is clearly the winner in this break-up face off.  She was classy dame that didn’t point fingers or name names.  She didn’t take a red cent of Manson’s money either.  But I wonder, if she ever misses him stealing her eyeliner, sneaking her corsets and pantyhose, or getting his red lipstick over her alabaster complexion after a passionate smooch in the kitchen.  Or if she now wonders what the hell she was thinking, and is happy to be back in the company of only the most beautiful people.

dita von orangeAll Images Courtesy of Google

Crying Shame

What a pop culture buzz kill, I go away from the internet for one night, and the cutest boy from “Glee” overdoses and dies in a Vancouver hotel room.


Argh, that shit is so sad to me.  This is Heath Ledger all over again.  And you know, I call him a ‘kid’ but he’s exactly my age.  It feels like a blip, and then…it’s gone? Bummer.  Needless to say, people are really going ape-shit over this one.  It’s always difficult when attractive, talented people die.  It’s easy to criticize this fact, but it’s true.  It’s fine, I’m not judging, that kind of thing saddens me as well, but I can appreciate how someone could flip through a newspaper and say “Yeah…so?” We do tend to lose perspective in the news, in a world of civil war, genocide, rape, poverty, natural disasters–where unspeakable atrocities are happening right this minute, and we all are politely aware, but then boy oh boy, watch out, Finn from “Glee” dies and there is an unexpected emotional impact.  Why? Because it’s a singular tragedy.  It’s a fucking waste.  An unbelievable waste of potential.  And yes, while it is being deemed a tragic accident, his actions were a bit like Russian Roulette. There was always a bullet waiting in the chamber.  Judgements are flying, because of how he died, that somehow he should be exempt from compassion because it was self inflicted.  Sadly this will be his definition…the guy who had it all, who then died of a heroin overdose in the fancy hotel….

I keep pausing.  I keep trying to wrap my brain around the choices that lead us down ill-fated avenues.  It’s just a crying shame, that’s all.


As a general rule, I don’t follow “Glee”.  I’ve seen the first few seasons and saw a few out-of-order episodes on a very long plane ride.  (why do they do that by the way? Scattered episodes of a series, what good does that do me on a ten-hour Auckland to L.A?)  But it’s adorable, and the singing is fun, and I cry at least once an episode.  In New Zealand, I once left mates at a pub to go home, curl up on the couch to watch “Glee”, and it was wonderful.  But I wouldn’t call myself a ‘gleek’.


Still, Monteith’s death is the perfect mix for a media frenzy.  It’s fascinating stuff.  There are so many articles. So much speculation.  Final moments, last sightings, crystal clear 20/20 hindsight.  And the tweets, my god the tweets!  There are a lot of tweens out there that could fill the Grand Canyon with grief.  Poor @GleesAllINeed, tweeted that she was just realizing that life…”Glee”, twitter, will never be the same.  When I came across the tweet:

“I’m not even close to being emotionally ready for when lea michele makes her first tweet about cory monteith

I didn’t so much smirk, but I rolled my eyes, with an Oh puh-lease when I realized I was a woman, hunched over the computer, well past midnight, who had gotten distracted from research and writing and reading misspelled tweets about Cory Monteith’s ‘heroine’ overdose. And then I think to myself “Oh my god, neither am I“.  Uh oh, here I am, throwing stones from my glass house.  Time to back away slowly from the computer.  But then, the next night and my brain is still pressing on this tragedy; and our obsession with celebrity, that some girl is tweeting about missing someone she’s never met.  But you do, in a sense know who these people are.  You turn to particular programs and characters for comfort or amusement, and I reckon Gleeks are a sensitive, emotional sort right out of the gate.   In a way, the characters belong to you.  And therefore, while I’m sure that @GleesAllINeed is legitimately struggling with losing a television character and celebrity, he was in fact a real person, somebody’s talented and troubled son.  And he has left behind so many people that have to live with the “what if’s”.  He didn’t invent a thing, dying the way he did, there’s a long line of those ahead of him.  Those who could not bear the weight of success, or was unable to exorcise the ghosts that haunt your insides and refuse to let you go.  And you make a choice, and for some, it’s the end of the road.  And you wish it could be different.  But it’s not.

Cory-cory-monteith-14913622-1280-1024All Images Courtesy of Google