Lips, Unzipped is a space for self-expression and open dialogue. It is a space where one can unlock inner thoughts and ideas and delve into the deeper world of conversation and innovation. Unzip your lips and hear the magic revealed through the art of communication.
I would like to introduce a new vocab word into your every day speech.
Creepisode: A moment of time that is particularly creepy.
For example: The other night, a woman informed me that she did not have the boobs nor the butt to fill out the dress I was wearing, but she loved the dress anyway. Her fiance’ continued by informing me that it was true, I was in fact very curvy, he then did the whole-body-check thing that single horny men often do after too many bud-lights. CREEPISODE. From both sides.
Send me your creepisodes stories... I want to know I am not alone...
Can I just say that besides Patti Smith being a rock 'n' roll legend, she is also a goddess. Her Hopefest show February 20, at Park West was one of the most genuine concerts I have ever been to in my life. I have never seen an artist so well known that exuded so much sincerity. Perhaps I have been going to the wrong shows, but it is my true belief that honest, change-the-world-passion is a rare gem amongst creators, especially people who have been in the business so long. Most of the older artists I've seen have portrayed a sense of soullessness and the younger artists aren't getting to the depth I need. It is just so great to see someone who has been through a lot of shit, especially all the political history, and still have idealism embedded in her performance. She has made me not want to give up. To power-through even when the world is shit. To just keep using words to make my point, to create at all times because that's the way to survive.
"I awakened to the cry that the people / have the power to redeem / the work of fools upon the meek / the graces shower it's decreed / the people rule
You know some days when you don’t get enough sleep and your mind doesn’t seem to function as well as it normally does; you can’t seem to piece information together quickly and responding to someone with any remote level of intelligence is almost impossible? I had a day like that recently and it made me wonder if that’s how stupid people feel all the time. Like they’re not quite with it. Or are they so stupid as to never realize that they aren’t actually connecting properly? It’s so interesting to consider that we can never truly get inside anyone else’s mind. We only have our own brain to battle—which I suppose makes life less overwhelming but it also limits complete communicational comprehension.
This leads me to mating rituals. I do not get them. I particularly do not understand the mating ritual of undergraduates, specifically the breeder bar scene. I really want to get inside the heads of the humping couples on the dance floor. I want to reach in and ask, “what the fuck are you doing” do you realize how ugly he (she) is? Do you realize what a potentially fatal or disgusting mistake you could be making right here, right now as you continue to grind your clothed genitals against each other?
And it’s not that I am purely puritanical. In fact, I am the opposite of uptight when it comes to sexuality. But there is just something off-putting about this distinct niche in society. Perhaps it has to do with the scene not being honest—the rituals seem forced—like mutant-slut-zombie-robots are all intoxicating themselves into coming around to the idea that friction is fun. Like the sex isn’t genuine it’s just something they’re supposed to do because Cosmo or Maxim told them to.
I really can’t pinpoint what it is, but when I go into a place like that I get completely freaked out. I feel like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t and that I must go home and shower immediately. It’s like I’m in the underbelly of stupid. A place where my own personal safety and sanity is at risk. I hope I never need to have sex that badly. But even if I did I think I’d just stay home and fix the problem by hand.
Last night at the empty Empty Bottle I had quite the interaction with a couple from the band that opened the show. The band had nine members in it, one of the members, a standard white dude, wore plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt, (I mean really, PJs? he could have at least wore those pajama bottoms that look like jeans). Another musician, an Asian woman, actually dressed for a show, she wore a cloudy white-bridal-dress-esque skirt, ablack sequined top, and a purple 50’s style hat, feather and all. These two people PJ man and Cloudy Skirt Girl were either engaged or married to one another. Either way, they made a “great couple” a great couple "meant for each other", a couple "destined to be".
So, we were playing to a crowded room. Okay. There were four people. Two loyal followers of Pervertable Tongues, Elizabeth and Monica, and that Meant-to-Be Couple. (I’d like to address the lack of audience, but that’s for another time.)
PJ Man and Cloudy Skirt Girl had been drinking half-priced band beer all night. By midnight they were completely obliterated. It was around song number 4 that PJ Man decided to come to the front of the stage. It was song number 5 when he started yelling obnoxiously about rock and roll. Cloudy Skirt Girl soon joined in and they began heckling together. Telling Ryan he needed to play “more rock and roll” and calling me “Sequin Girl” and “Mermaid Girl” and informing us that we were “rock stars.”
They were really pissing me off. Which actually improved my growling. I felt compelled to change my lyrics while I was singing. Instead of “Nightmares can be a reality, you’re reality could just be a dream” I wanted to say “Nightmares can be a reality, you’re reality could be a guy in PJs” but I refrained. I REFRAINED DAMNIT.
The show ended. I stepped off the stage. Cloudy Skirt Girl then had the nerve to compliment me by saying, “I really like your dress, I couldn’t wear it because I don’t have big boobs or a big butt.”
A big butt? Excuse you. I have a generic white girl butt. Please, I am no J-Lo.
I walked away attempting to avoid them. I said goodbye to my loyal fans. Then, the Meant-to-Be Couple cornered me. Cloudy Skirt Girl continued on the big butt rampage. PJ Man continue drinking heavily. Both keep going on and on about my curves. Talking about how well I fill-out the dress. Talking about my monstrosity of a butt. Talking about her lack of va-va-voom voluptuousness. Eventually they mention their enjoyment of the band, eventually it comes up that I have interesting/amazing vocals. Eventually I find my way out of that horrendous conversation and back to my beer, where I belonged.
I have never had a manicure. But I have the most obsessive compulsive habit of picking at my nails. It mostly occurs when I have to sit in one place longer than I can handle such as in a classroom or during a movie. It’s a never ending habit because fingers are always grabbing things and those things often get under one’s nails. Mine break a lot too, but only when I go somewhere and don’t have clippers or a file or anything to fix them. So I have to deal with this jagged sword of a nail all day long; to me it’s as annoying as a canker-sore on the tongue, something that keeps irritating me and something I keep irritating as I try to make it magically go away by bothering it too much. I am actually afraid to get a manicure now because I think if I do I’ll have to leave my nails alone to keep them looking good and I don’t know if I am capable of doing that. When I was younger I went through a phase where I felt it necessary to paint my nails every other day. I had like 40 different shades of polish. Now, I rarely wear it and when I do I feel like my fingers are mad at me for suffocating them with paint. So I pick at the polish until they can breathe again. Perhaps my nails are my ten little anxiety outlets, perhaps I need a new habit, but really, what other compulsivity is as readily available, cheap and easy to do? Definitely not a manicure. I know some people who knit, and though it would keep my hands busy I am way to frugal to start up a hobby just to wane my inability to sit still. Such is life I suppose, we all have our things, our habits, annoying or not. We must learn to live with ourselves and those around us who may be clipper happy or toe-popping mad. Our bodies are weird and what our minds make them do is so much weirder...
I have listened to him ever since I grew ears in my mother’s womb.
2) Salt N Pepa—Very Necessary
Grade school rap parties at my grandparent’s house. The album also came in handy later in life when I needed to passively express my annoyance toward old boyfriends—“somebody’s getting on my nerves” and “none of your business” were superb examples of that expression.
3) Fiona Apple—Tidal
6th grade consciousness alternation—I became aware of my sexuality, my built up emotional anger, longing and sadness. I found an album I could channel all of that through.
4) Missy Elliott—So Addictive
Dance parties with Kelsi, either in one of our cars or out in grocery store parking lots during lunch. “One Minute Man” became a brilliantly dedicated song later in my high school career as well. “Work It” has gotten me through many days.
5) Tom Petty—Wildflowers
Or any song by Tom Petty—reminds me of going over to Zac’s, Marisa and the county fair tilt-a-whirl. Tom Petty reminds me of summer days and reservoirs, and of course, the obvious drug infusions.
6) Kittie—Spit
Women-anger. Women-growling. Women-in-bands. This changed my perception on what I was capable of doing musically. I was young and sheltered and unaware of any riot grrrl movement, and well, that movement was fading before I even knew it started so Kittie was my main inspiration.
7) Korn—Follow the Leader
How lame to have listened to Korn as much as I did, but it was where it was at and I cannot pretend it didn’t happen.
8) Marilyn Manson—Anti-Christ Superstar
Made being a freak acceptable and cool.
9) Britney Spears—Oops I did it Again
Theater and kissing boys and breaking hearts and being sexy cool.
10) Slipknot--Slipknot
The best album ever for angst anger and just getting all that built up shit out of your system.
11) Nirvana—Nevermind
Duh. It is impossible to have not been influenced by Kurt Cobain and especially for me, Courtney Love.
12) System of a Down— Toxicity
Drinking with Andrea and Mary and Marisa. Teasing and pleasing and cruising around the countryside. And also, that one guy, with the IMAGOD license plate, OMG.
13) The Doors—Strange Days
People are strange. And that’s okay.
14) Led Zeppelin I-VI
Of course, the albums cannot be separated. I mean they could and they were but they all mesh together into beautiful harmony for me.
15) Weezer— Blue Album
Undergrad. 308 dance parties. Pete. Mario. Jumping. Always Jumping through the whole album. Say it isn’t So.
16) Beulah—Yoko
Opening the mind.
17) My Uncle is a Cannibal – My Uncle is a Cannibal
Jeering commentary at Semolino with Alicia. Trying to get the band to get naked. Falling heavy for the guitarist/lead singer; who hasn’t yet left me, which is still quite a shock.
18) The Beatles—Abbey Road
Yes. I was able to pick one Beatles album, so there. Why Abbey Road? Because it’s the best.
19) Yeah Yeah Yeahs—Fever to Tell
Brings me to tears imagining a life without Karen O.
20) Madonna—The Immaculate Collection
Express yourself. Don’t repress yourself.
21) Sleater-Kinney— The Woods
Don’t push me I am not okay. They were there when I was cubicalized. They got me through rush hour and downtown Chicago bullshit every day for a year.
22) Bikini Kill—The Cd Version of the First Two Records
Seriously. Suck My Left One. My only regret is that I didn’t hear them sooner.
23) Patti Smith—Horses
Complete and total change of consciousness. I don’t know if it was just time or if it was the album, but she moved me along.
24) The Gossip—Standing in the Way of Control
Because they are necessary for change.
25) Lady Gaga—The Fame Monster
To grow on, for a good year, I’m going to “Just Dance.”
“It’s not a measure of good health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society”
—J. Krishnamurti
I’m not very good at self destructive behavior. Since I was 15 I’ve been trying to find my “thing,” all the while testing out different destructions that might fit my personality. I tried anorexia but that didn’t last through the afternoon because I’m obsessed with food, so I tried bulimia—I’d at least get to eat it even if I had to puke it up later. This didn’t work because I have the strongest gag reflexes of all time. I could stick my whole arm down my throat and I wouldn’t barf. I tried to just eat to excess but once I gained five pounds I thought of all the new clothes I’d have to start buying and stopped over-indulging.
I decided to move away from eating disorders entirely. I tried cutting, but, well, that really fucking hurt. I mean, I understand the concept of hurting one’s self on the outside so the inside doesn’t hurt as much, but I actually don’t think that happens. I don’t think the pain bleeds out; you just layer on the issues.
I’m pretty good at drinking to excess but I get hangovers so easily that I really couldn’t make it a habit. I’m too cheap to even consider trying hard drugs.
So. What’s a girl to do? My self-destruction is my non-conformity. I’m not sure if I could ever accept anything at face-value. I do not accept in how our culture is designed so almost everything that is main-stream is something I find problematic. This has caused me to be misunderstood, to be laughed at, to not make friends easily. Sometimes, I wish I would have remained ignorant to patriarchy, to capitalism, to feminism, to everything ending with an ism, but alas it is the path I have chosen. Perhaps I will end up in a mental institution. There is only so much screaming and fighting I can do before the crazy permanently sets in. But at least I’m not sleeping through it; at least I’m not sheepishly following the stereotypical path of heteronormativity, even if I am slowly deconstructing myself.
On the redline today, two semi-to-completely retarded men were having an obnoxiously loud conversation that the entire train car could hear. Most of the riders immediately began ignoring the men. But then about 3 stops in, out of nowhere really, this woman screams "WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP???!" She then goes into this minute long rant about how annoying they were and how they were giving her a headache. It was perhaps one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. This woman has completed a very common fantasy of mine: telling the annoying people around her exactly what she thinks...--a vicarious moment sure-but none the less a worthwhile experience.
Now, if I could only find someone who would push cement-hogs off sidewalks...
I’m pretty good at complaining about every holiday that our society has invented, but nothing beats the pettiness and lameness of Valentines Day. There is no other holiday that is so completely heteronormative and not to mention monogamously individualistic…what I mean by that is that the world separates into twos for the day. Though Christmas is capitalistic it has elements of unity and giving that make it half-way redeemable. Valentine’s Day is a holiday for suckers. If you are in a loving respectful relationship V-Day is pointless. It exists to make singles feel desperate and out of the heteronormative loop that they are supposed to fit into. It is a cop-out for people who are not romantically creative; men who can’t come up with a better day to propose and the women who expect to get the bling bling or else.
Though I am sure some people are perfectly content with monogamy I think it is presumptuous to think that most people can be happy spending their entire lives with just one person, especially since we have the potential to live so long. People change, and even if people don’t change a couple consists of TWO people and those two people have different interests, whether they want to admit to them or not. And because their interests are different they may not always agree upon doing those things together, thus they need FRIENDS. Friends are people you are attracted to, maybe not sexually, but at least attracted in some way. Where do we, as a society, draw the line between friends and “more than friends”? If the friend’s hand touches our body somewhere that gives up a warm fuzzy feeling in our genital regions? How silly does that sound? How problematic is it for someone we love to share their love with someone else? Is there really not enough love to go around? Do we really only have enough love within us to give it to one person at one time and if so what is this love thing we’re talking about? What does it consist of? Support, communication, laughter, shared experiences, touching, caressing, dealing with life’s bullshit. Are those qualities in limited quantities?
Do we really need a separate day out of the year in which to prove that we do this 364 other days out of the year? And does it really need to be confined to couples? If it were a day to be extra loving and lovely to everyone, if we all had chocolate parties and champagne keggers, where everyone got a card expressing love than maybe it would be a holiday worth celebrating. But the pressure to conform to monogamous normality bores me. It’s predictable, it lacks creativity; it lacks actual thought, and forces love that may or may not be there.
Walking down the street in Andersonville last Saturday I was pounced upon by two men looking for interviews, besides them really just assuming I wanted to talk to them and rushing the recording process, I was intrigued by the topic. What did these two men want to bother me about in the dead of winter and what would make me actually stop in the dead of winter and stand in it longer than expected? COLOR.
Wearing a purple coat, green scarf, carrying a rainbow beaded bag, I am sure I stuck out as a perfect candidate for an interview on the subject. The men claimed it was to determine my "color" personality, though when I finished they didn't tell me what my color personality was--I probably don't want to know...it probably means I'm narcissistic and egotistic and overly sentimental or some snap-shit I don't want to admit to. But I do like the idea of thinking about how color affects one's day, one's life.
And I do believe you can tell quite a bit about a person by the colors they choose to align themselves with. I for one, like bold rich colors. Others like pastels, others like beiges and browns and grays. The colors I choose are dynamic. They can stand alone, they can accent or be the center, they don't fuck around. I believe that when people stop thinking about color their lives become boring. I'm not talking about color literally--though that is important too--I'm talking about glitterizing one's life--about making sure there is sparkles and shimmers and radiance every day...that even when it is cement gray outside that there is yellow sunshine happening in the glimmer of one's eyes.
So, in the end, when they asked how color affects my life--the only thing I could think of was that it is completely necessary... and I can't imagine living without it... this isn't a Leave-it-to-Beaver-world, life isn't in black and white, it's full of vibrancy, which makes it beautiful and worth breathing through every day just to see it.
Yesterday a certain someone said I was narcissistic, I sort of just love the way that word rolls off of my tongue. Narcissistic. It also sort of sounds like a disease of the muscles, but alas, it's just a mental attitude. An obsession really. According to Webster the definition means that you have an abnormal tendency to admire ones own perfections. Okay. I dig it. But then the Merrier definition said that it means: love of or sexual desire for one's own body, umm no, that does not fit me. It's interesting to deconstruct the difference--where perhaps I admire my own perfections, but those perfections aren't necessarily related to my amazing body...What I think he was going for was egotistic, also known as selfish. IDK. Most of the time I'm pretty thoughtful, but I have read several books by Ayn Rand and I do live in this capitalistic individualist society so I how could I not be, just a little... I mean I am no Mother Theresa, my body is not a vessel designed to deliver the message of God or Allah or Lady Gaga. I'm just trying to get by the best way I know how, and if I happen to think my thinking is the best I'm not going to get upset about that, call me whatever you want.
For the past 5 days our internet has disappeared. This is so depressing. I have to admit I am addicted. I thought I was mostly addicted to facebook and my email, but really, I have discovered I am more addicted to information. I can’t handle not being able to look something up right when I am thinking about it. Even things I normally wouldn’t do if the internet was working, like entering stupid contests they suggest on the tv, I want to do and I complain about not being able to do because somehow our internet which has worked perfectly fine for at least the last four months has suddenly stopped connecting all together. And, I realize that I don’t pay for it so I can’t count on it, but I really do count on it. Especially since I’m not working and I get my homework done quickly and then I have nothing really important to do but surf the web, stream tv, read articles, listen to music etc. that is all on one little device. How unfortunate it’s been trying to come up with other things to do. How pathetic I am that I rely on something so heavily. But, I want it back. I don’t want to have to go spend $5 on coffee just to steal their internet for an hour. I generally don’t use the internet that way either, I usually jump on and off it all day long. Obviously the world is telling me to focus on other things, to see life in new perspectives, to get out of the apartment and discover reality… but it may take more than 5 days of internet free living for that concept to sink in.
I’m wondering—is it cyclical or a conspiracy or both… the economy goes under—people can’t find jobs, they join the military to go fight in an (unjust) war because it’s really the only choice after they lose their homes and can’t afford food. This seems to be just around the corner for most people, and I’m sure has been the answer for many already. But how fucked up is this--the government starts a war—the war causes the economy to collapse—and now all the poor working class people (specifically minority men) have to go fix it—either way they are riding the death line. Starve to death here or get blown up over there. The government doesn’t have to institute a draft because they’ve put so many people in such terrible circumstances that they leave them with only one viable option.
Illinois held primaries on Tuesday. Only 26% of registered voters actually showed up. The news-casters blamed it on the light snow flaking down outside. Umm. We cannot blame the weather on people’s apathy. There are several issues I don’t understand when it comes to our democracy. People love to complain about the problems of our country, yet 74% of people should not be allowed that privilege. People don’t find politics important because they don’t feel that they actually can make a difference, well you’re definitely not going to make a difference if you don’t even attempt to get a vote in. Politicians know who actually show up to the polls so they design their campaigns for those people— democracy is supposed to be “for the people” but it’s only for the people who put their 2 cents in—if you don’t vote you don’t count.
The second issue I have is directly related to women and minorities. It took federal amendments to give us this right. It took hundreds of years to have this opportunity, to have the privilege of making political decisions. I find it my duty not just to my own generation, but to all the generations of people who fought so hard to give me the opportunity they never had. I find it absolutely rude and disrespectful.
Another problem: when people do decide to vote it’s for the one position that the every day people really and truly have no control over—the presidency. In a primary, our votes are what count, the electoral college doesn’t get in the way—and the people we are voting for make up a body of people who are supposed to represent us—vote the way we would vote—so skipping the vote is skipping out on your voice.
And to wrap it back around, people will drive in blizzards to get to where they want to go if they want it bad enough so we can never blame the weather for people’s lack of doing something. The bottom line is they don’t want to do it, for probably a number of excuses. Personally, I can’t make an excuse. Yes. I am cynical and yes I find that the government generally problematic, corrupt and controlling, but I still have a glimmer of hope that if I at least vote, I can add my voice to changing that. Also, if I don’t vote then I don’t feel I can bitch about the government to the degree that need to.
Thanks BFF Kelsi for this vulvatastic ornament/plant highlighter thingy. It reflects mother nature's beauty and sprinkles twists of light throughout our sun room. Good find.
I have my Master of Arts degree in Women and Gender Studies as well as a Master's in Writing and Publishing from DePaul.
I'm currently living in Boulder, CO working for a non-profit called Fertile Action and writing about visual arts (and more) for the Boulder Weekly.
Why blog?
I think too much, hence I decided I need a space to get it all out; and there is no better space than a virtual one.
