1D, Please Rock me.

Before you ask why the heck I came to Vegas, allow me to explain 2 u a thing.

My sister is One Direction Fan #1 Forever and Always Amen. I’m guessing that my mom got tired of hearing my sister’s pleading 24/7, so that’s why I am currently in the lobby of the Mandalay waiting for the shuttle to escort me outta hurrrr, to da plane, and back to DAT MIDWEST.

Prior to this trip, I, like many other humans in the world, recalled Vegas to be tawdry capital. The only reason I decided to come was because I wasn’t doing anything else this summer and I love the southwest. Ahh… dry heat and scenic drives everywhere. How kind is the God in this corner of the States.

Once we checked in and hogged the fancy soaps in the bathroom, we went out to the strip. The anticipated wholesome family entertainment came in the form of girls in gaudy peacock uniforms and clothed men. Needless to say, I was very upset at the social inequality that oppressed the men here. I’m sorry, men of Vegas who didn’t feel as though you could have flaunted your probably amazing bods as easily as could women. Vegas has failed you. Society has failed you. I am so sorry.

Saturday was One Direction. I walked into the venue wearing make-up and a nice dress, but I walked out with pajamas and the hotel flip-flops. About 10 minutes after sitting down, I decided that I was not about to spend 4 hours sitting down in a tight-ass dress and lipstick. I returned to the room, put on my P4K volunteer tshirt and running pants, and languidly walked back to my seat. I didn’t foresee myself singing along to anything (mainly because I knew half of one song and three-fourths of some other). I took out my Russian for Travellers, and sat reading for a while. I have to say, I think that I will be a fluent reader of Russian by my birthday… not that I’ll know what the hell I’m reading, but I’ll for sure be able to sound out words holllllaaaaaaaa~~~~~~~~

More importantly, I was wrong about everything. One Direction was really amazing (and sexy). Like, I am a new woman after the concert. It took me back to my Backstreet Boys days when I would wear the tshirts and beg my dad to buy me CDs and all that jazz. I also really enjoyed seeing my sister cry for the entirety of the show because she was so happy. (not as sadistic as that sounds.) ANYWAY to elaborate a little bit more on how attractive the band was, let me just say that there is exactly one direction I would go on One Direction. Wait? What? Did I say that? *looks away suspiciously*

Sunday I was walking around with my sister on the strip wearing what some might call an all too revealing dress, but what I would fain designate appropriate for the occasion. My sister said that she hardly felt comfortable with my parading around my boobs -which earlier that day didn’t fit into a large bikini top from the surf shop (which sucked because I forgot to bring my bathing suit)-, but that she supposed it was fine as long as I didn’t wear the dress back home. I asked her why, mostly just to mess with her, but then I realized just how important that question was. She said she didn’t want people calling me a “whore.” I told her that for her sake, I wouldn’t wear it around her, but that I couldn’t make any promises when I’m not in her immediate presence. The thing is, why would I care if some phony Puritan called me some unfortunately assigned misnomer. I don’t judge people when they are hypocrites for appearing to be saints when they are assholes. I just call it the duality of humanity.

I felt pretty damn good in the dress. I had red lipstick on, and I felt like it was appropriate, at least for Vegas. But why couldn’t I wear it in suburban Illinois? Ok, there’s the whole weather problem, but that’s beside the point. I don’t think I would want to associate with people who judge me by my dress, literally. So like, fuck you, societal standards of what’s appropriate for 1. brainwashing my little sister into thinking she can only feel comfortable when you tell her to 2. making it that much more difficult to find decent people in this world. Like, actual decent people, not just people who abide by your arbitrary dumb-ass body shaming ideals.

Everywhere should be a lil bit like Vegas. Everyone everywhere at all times should feel safe and happy wearing whatever s/he wants because flying out to the middle of Bumblefuck, Nevada just to wear revealing clothes all the time can get a lil expensive.

I’m waiting for my shuttle-carriage after an incredibly sober revelry on the strip musing about how much better my life would be if only I could play the electric violin like the guy I saw on some corner. The small vacation was enlightening in that I 1. found a reason to succeed in life (in order to afford a Tom Ford wardrobe) and 2. realized that I shouldn’t be judging anyone, ESPECIALLY little boys and girls who are just as I was when I was 12.

The only fear I had was of not finding adequate aquatic attire, and the only loathing I had was for the seaweed on our enormous Hawaiian pizza. I’m starting to think that Hunter S. Thompson should have seen One Direction instead of taking mescaline. In fact, Herr Doktor, I have a prescription for your pleasure in the afterlife:

2 bags of sass, 75 owl pellets (for dissecting in your free time), 5 sheets of coloring paper, a salt shaker full of sugar to play tricks on people (try the Houdini shop in NYNY), and a whole galaxy full of pictures of One Direction, overpriced tshirts, red lipsticks, tight dresses…. and also a quart of water, a quart of fun, a case of Lederhosen, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s to drown your sorrows in your suite, and two dozen cupcakes. Not that you need all of that for your trip, but once you get locked into chaperoning your sister, the tendency is to mess around as much as possible. You’re welcome.



Thank you, One Direction for being the most attractive boy band ever…., thank you mom for paying for a bomb-ass room at the Bay, thank you Viviana for being a spoiled brat, thank you Grandma for letting me keep all the fancy L’Occitane soaps in the bathroom (I accrued over five), thank you red lipstick for all the conversations with attractive people who felt it appropriate to ask ME for directions to the bathroom, but most of all, thank you Based God.


Ezra Taught Me: “Know Thyselfie”

I don’t really know if you think I’m pretty or whatever. In fact, I find it hard to believe someone is reading this. I am forced to think that you, dear reader, are here because you have a secret crush on me which you have been ever so cautious about keeping on the DL, so much so that my far-fetched guess appears insane, freaky, unreal. But I know all about it.

Ok, no I don’t, and yes that was just playful banter. (Just kidding, I’m onto you. Maybe into. What? Who said that?) I suppose I could oblige myself (you) by posting a selfie, right? I (you) could stare deep into my dark coffee colored eyes in other parts of the world known simply as brown but to myself (you) they are metaphorical. Oh, a selfie. That gratuitous display of self-worth and attention-seeking. I’ve met a lot of people who think of selfies as vain, as everything that is wrong with our this here culture. But… what’s in a selfie? That by which any other name would be just as sweet?

Before I knew the word, I knew the lifestyle. Freshman year, my Blackberry was a bastion of pictures of my face. I only recently heard the word “selfie.” It was probably no more than a year ago, and I hated it. I thought, why do we need a name for this action that we all do from time to time? It’s like having a name for eating cereal. Cerealisis? The act of eating cereal. I was an active member of the group trying to eradicate the nomenclature. Much to my chagrin, however, I didn’t have a choice but to succumb to the symptoms of mass madness. I want to paraphrase what the great philosopher Tupac once said: “I didn’t choose the [selfie] life; the [selfie] life chose me” (KMEL 1996).  Word.

The beauty of selfies is that anyone can take them anywhere, and I dare say that the best are not taken from the comfort, the confines of one’s bedroom. The best selfies I’ve seen have been from places like the bottom of a mountain, near a celebrity who lies in the background, and well, the bathroom. I used to feel weird about selfies that weren’t of someone smiling. You know, the ones where the artist/model hybrid wink and throw up a peace sign. Because like, I tend to think about the process of actually taking the picture. Like, the person has to consciously choose to do that, usually alone, in the quiet. It just seemed awkward. Then I tried it for myself, and I TOTALLY get it. If you don’t really know how not-weird it is to take that kind of a picture, I ask that you stop reading this for a few minutes, run to your bathroom with your phone, and take a few selfies. Do it. For science. For me. For whatever reason you need if you can’t justify doing it of your own volition.

Ok, so you’re back now. How was it? Do you think you look cute? I’m sure you do. Everyone is cute. I’ve never met someone who I couldn’t at some point, at some angle, consider attractive. So yes, secret admirer, I think you’re absolutely adorable. Tell me, was that weird? I hope your self esteem isn’t so far down the garbage bin that you honestly thought that looking at yourself in the camera was an awful experience. The real problem, I think, lies in the fact that we are uncomfortable thinking that other think they’re so damn attractive that they have to show it off to the world, and this is only worsened when we think they are just not that attractive. Also, doesn’t it feel a little bit more awkward when guys take them? Selfies, because they are dominated by girls, are more closely associated with them. I propose, however, that we change that. Well, that guys change that. Show off those handsome beards or lackthereof. Let me see those baby blue eyes or “dark coffee” eyes of yours. Got long hair? Great. Bald? Fabulous.  Also, like, fuck Eurocentric beauty standards. You, gentlemen, definitely need to take more selfies. You guys are great, and you all have great faces. By doing this, not only will you share your beautiful faces with the world, but you will be tearing down the social constructs of this here patriarchal world of ours that looks down on more “feminine” behavior among men. Apparently, behaving like a woman, whatever the hell that really means, is bad if you’re a dude. Because, you know, the last thing you want in this life is to be a woman because we’re fucking losers. I love gender norms 🙂

There are people in this world who think that taking selfies denotes exactly the opposite of having a good sense of self worth. They think that we are actually so in the shitter with our self esteem that we have to have our existences validated by sycophantic comments on Facebook. News flash: when I’m not feeling particularly attractive, I tend to avoid looking into a camera and showing off my fresh-off the treadmill look. But maybe that’s just me? I usually take selfies when I think I look O.K. Do I enjoy positive feedback now and then? Hell yeah. I think we all like attention. If you are about to say that you don’t: stop. Stop. Of course you do. That’s why you do things. You like to talk to people who like you (who pay attention to you). You probably enjoy wearing a new shirt, too (because you like feeling good because you think that other people will think you will look good in it). Why is liking attention such a bad thing? I think it’s a healthy thing to like: to a degree, need. Imagine if your parental figure(s) hadn’t given you attention when you were a lil baby–your bitch ass would have died. So please, swerve with your special-snowflake “I hate attention” comments.

I’m not saying that you’re going to die if you don’t get attention (actually, I am. What if your doctor refused to see you?). All I’m saying is that perhaps selfies shouldn’t be frowned upon. Do you think it’s annoying when twelve year old girls make duck faces? Think about why that makes you feel so uncomfortable. Believe me, I live with a twelve year old duck-girl, and I’ve realized that the only reason I hated when she did that is because I wasn’t audacious enough to take/post one. Ah, to be a twelve year old who didn’t care to appear foolish in the eyes of irrelevant people again.

Go out and take selfies, people. Anyone who thinks you’re weird for it probably doesn’t deserve to know you anyway. Or look at your attractive face(s).

I don’t think this post would be complete without…. A REPERTOIRE OF OF SELFIES FOR THE EXPRESS PURPOSE OF THIS POST

IMG_5946 IMG_5933 IMG_5834  IMG_5964

( i tried to think of as many selfie-esque pictures as i could. SEND ME UR PIX)