throwbacks!

Studying for finals is boring.  I mean, damn!  How many A's does one broad really need?  (...whomp whomp).  All this studying has me reminiscing about the summer of '94, circa back in the day, when the only studying I participated in revolved around my personal investigation into Marlena's puzzling demonic possession on Days of Our Lives and my studious memorization of BET's Top 25 Countdown.  That was also the first summer Bigg Jer and I familiarized ourselves with cable TV, though we still enjoyed tuning in to the local broadcast stations every now and again to witness fools destroy the art of Plinko.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is this: in order to fully appreciate the following mixtape, you're gonna wanna mix up a big batch of red Kool-Aid and claim dibs on those packets of cured ham you've been stashing away in the margarine bin.  Then, just like Xscape suggested, kick off your shoes & relax your feets to this collection of bumpin' throwback jamz.  And remember kids, the line between "throwback" and "jam" is so fine even Whitney Houston wouldn't snort it (oh, really?) so use caution when attempting to recapture your sunny youth with this formula at home, because probably not all of these songs are even from '94 (eat me).

throwback mixture!

Ill Na Na - Foxy Brown & Method Man

Right Here - SWV

Ask of You - Raphael Saadiq

Thuggish Ruggish Bone - Bone Thugs 'N Tasha

Who Can I Run To - Xscape

Bag Lady - Erykah Badu

Around the Way Girl - LL Cool J

Love You Down - INOJ

Paper Thin - MC Lyte

One Time 4 Your Mind - Nas

Spydermann - Another Badd Creation

Poison - Bel Biv DeVoe

The City is Mine - Jay-Z

You Used to Love Me - Faith Evans

Baby-Baby-Baby - TLC

Sexy Noises Turn Me On - Salt-N-Pepa

Can't You See - Notorious B.I.G. & Total

This Lil' Game We Play - Subway & 702

Sweet Thing - Mary J. Blige

Flava In Ya Ear - Craig Mack

At Your Best You Are Love - Aaliyah

                                  Push play  L O  U   D !

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

i love you, jean grae

How's everything in the pimp business?

dimebags, dames & dives

Every once in a full blue moon I feel the overwhelming urge to abandon the sulky catacombs of my homebody existence and go out for a prowl on the town, fashioning myself up like a renegade Jezebel.  The intoxicating promise of liquid provisions and unwashed meathooks pawing my person is not my true incentive for straying from home.  Believe me.  Copping a squat on a wobbly piss-soaked and duct-taped stool while the thuggish growl of a lead-bellied bluesman vibrates off the juke box is more up my alley.

If I were loitering at a krusty dive with a juke box and some spare change...

Lots of spare change...

These dingy dirges would pretty much be right on the money.

Submerge yourself in the swampy sounds and get ready to feel woozy with love.

Time To Get Tough - The Aggrolites

100 Yard Dash - Raphael Saadiq

Midnight Blues - Detroit Cobras

Is It You? - Vic Ruggiero & Lisa

Got To Give It Up - The Dirtbombs

You're Wondering Now - Amy Winehouse

Where Eagles Dare - The Misfits

A Little Bit of Arson - Matson Jones

Four Kicks - Kings of Leon

If Love Is a Red Dress (Hang Me In Rags) - Maria McKee

Pure Dirt - Dragbeat

Boogie Chillun - The Gories

Hand Springs - The White Stripes

Uptown Top Ranking - Althea & Donna

Gentleman Junkie - White Zombie

Anti-Love Song - Betty Davis

It Happens All the Time - Wanda Jackson

It Was You (Outtake) - Aretha Franklin

Need U Bad - Jazmine Sullivan

Dance Hall Music - Murder City Devils

Dollar In My Pocket - The Come Ons

I Can't Stop Thinking About It - The Dirtbombs

Corpus Christi - Miss Derringer

23rd & 2nd Avenue - Vic Ruggiero

Too Hot - The Specials

Wreckless Love - Alicia Keys

You Can't Turn Me Away - Sylvia Stipplen

objet d'barf

Some people curiously collect tiny spoons, salt & pepper shakers, dishes, dolls & dust.  As far as I can recall, I have never really been an avid collector of anything.  However, upon examining my possessions after a recent foray into what I like to call Adventures in Spring Gleaming (not really), it has become apparent that I actually do tend to a garden of crummy collections:

Hair Bows

If you ever see me up at the Wag mulling over the many hair strand intermixing devices that exist in aisle 6, promise me you'll make it your priority to slap me silly and call me Jackie Shawn.  It appears I have enough elastic bands, barrettes and bobby pins to adorn even Crystal Gayle's glorious waterfall of tresses, and you know that lovely lady's locks can really rock a ponytail or twelve, o-kay.

Tabloids

In an attempt to go all green like the other kids and excel at my lifelong dream of being a curmudgeonly penny pincher, I've decided that I'm just going to have to make due with reading my collection of last year's gossip rags and pretend the juice is still legit.  And guess what?  It will be.  If I told you Angelina was expecting a new handbag a new baby and Jennifer Love Handles still likes hamburgers (no judgement) you'd probably believe me.

Incense

I have scientifically calculated that the number of incense sticks a woman burns is positively correlated with the number of cigarettes she chain smokes.  Since I have given up that ghoulish habit (90 days and counting) I no longer need my hefty supply of heady wands and cosmic cones to cancel out any lingering carcinogenic cancer funk.  Now I can actually put my sticks to good use as mini makeshift timers.  One wand is equal to approximately 25 minutes, the amount of time necessary to relax poolside and achieve a luminous UVB-induced summer glow.

Ding!

chocolate bunnies r cool

Eatin' snacks & takin' naps, hellz yeah!

Hope your Easter spread was scrumptious.

how stella got her tube packed

I used to work at DC's very own fabulously grungy castle of counterfeit dick, The Pleasure Place.  Often times when slurping libations with new amigos, I blurt this tasteless fact out into the universe, which usually either makes people a) chuckle mildly or b) cringe as though they just shoved a 12" plastic pleasure plunger up their punani.  As professional purveyors of porn, my fellow sex workers and I have been sassed, flashed, and gay-bashed, but it wasn't until recently that I came to truly understand the power we wielded over our pervy patrons.  Out of curiosity (that's what they all say) I recently walked into a rather dimly-lit dick den and the experience enlightened me to the fact that locking eyes with the no-nonsense clerk lounging against a wall of proudly hung strap-ons can make your confidence shrivel faster than my ovaries after a Flavor of Love lip lock session.  I thought back to the many times I seemed to take sadistic delight in staring down the steady influx of shifty miscreants on a mission to masturbate.  Now it was my turn to assume the position.  I timidly offered a half-hearted hello to the stroke at the register, but that asshole was too busy analyzing the gaping flesh that flickered on the TV mounted in the corner.  First off, no fair.  Back in my day, we used to limit our porn watching to lunch breaks only, where we could enjoy it with a sandwich and soda like a reasonable person.  Secondly, his air of disregard toward my existence made me feel rejected.  As if I were the cretinous dolt in this duo, sheesh!

This shift in porno power caused me to hearken back to when I was the head bitch in charge.  This meatball didn't even know how to truly live it up while on the clock.  I recalled the days my cronies and I used to engage in spirited dick-slap battle royales with massive jelly-coated double dongs.  I pondered the time the sweet transvestite threw a bottle of lubricating goo at my head before screeching out of the store with a handful of reading materials and a penis pump.  "I'll get you next time!" I shook my fist furiously as my faithful comrade James soothed my weary temples with a pair of vibrating vag eggs.  Ah, memories...

If nothing else, I gained valuable insight from my clever customers who knew a thing or two about turning tricks to make their money stretch.  Take, for example, the mustachioed lady who, upon purchasing a single cock ring, magically produced a soggy bill from her sagging, sweat soaked bosom.  "Keep it," I muttered.  Voila!  You might have swindled me, lady, but I got the last laugh that day.  That ring you took home will never fit around your colossal balls.

mac 'n sleaze 'n tater twats

Beloved tenderoni, just look at yourself.  Your hypnotic cheddary charms complement parmesan's perverse perfection like a truly potent paramour.  I'm incapable of resisting the lava-hot lure of your neon orange ooziness.  Throw some sturdy noodles into the mix and behold this tasty threesome.  You take my taste buds on a fiendish odyssey that's practically pornographic in its explicitness.  Just thought you should know this before I eat you.  xoxo

P.S.  Does this post make my font look fat?

la bella mafia

If you're feeling sleazy and have any desire to read a fascinating and thrilling saga devoted to sex, drugs, glamour, murder and the Mafia, I suggest you get lost in Jackie Collins' series chronicling the fantastically naughty Santangelo family.  My girl Lucky is killin' it in these juicy page turners with enough slick, sexy intrigue to hook you in and keep you chewing for days.  Equal parts sagacious mob princess and tireless tycoon, Miss Lady manages to do the damn thing in all her tawdry high-heeled, glossy red talon glory.  I won't dish too hard on any of the key plot lines, but where else can you escape into a world that switches effortlessly between classic '20s NYC gangsters and '80s Las Vegas casino pit bosses?  Shoot, even early '90s Hollywood gets some big haired, blue eyeshadow love by the third book, in which Lucky reigns rightfully supreme over Panther Studios in typical roughneck Santangelo fashion.  Jackie Collins is a hell of a writer and her dazzling creation of Lucky "Lady Boss" Santangelo has proven to be the fictional character of my dreams.

P.S. The Lady Boss miniseries is pretty scandalous as well and Kim Delaney was a hot choice for the role of Lucky.