Tag Archives: party

Literature, Music, Sex Ed

Interactions With An Anonymous Stranger Who Will Remain Nameless Vol. I

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Following in the footsteps of this centuries RadFem, The Duchess herself, Karen Owen of Duke University (the chick who wrote The Fuck List) I have decided to collect my own data. Not in that way, you sicko, it will be a sort of homage, if you will. Now I've been going out a lot recently because, let's face it, MissBleecker needs to get her party on, work hard, play hard, another rule to live by! I'm sure by now your begging me to stop blabbering and explain exactly what I'm blabbering about, and I will. As you can tell it's called "Interactions With An Anonymous Stranger Who Will Remain Nameless" (I couldn't think of anything shorter) it will (hopefully) be an ongoing series of posts dedicated to all the randos I encounter out in the world: people I will never see again, a chance encounter that would normally make no difference in my life if I'd decided to not glob about it, a person that will never ever read RadCooks, but a person that you might know or might possibly run into one day. It began with an idea of writing about men I'd meet, that would try to pick me up (and fail) but I might consider expanding it all people, we'll see, wherever the wind tends to blow this post. But we will begin this series with a pickup, a dramatization of my adventure last night, and to you, Anonymous Stranger Who Will Remain Nameless, thanks for the interaction and have a good life... wherever you are! It all began last night, a Saturday, not unlike any other Saturday before it, I was going to watch a friend's band play at a loft party in the Village... *Ripple* *Ripple* *Fade* *Fade* We walked up to a black door and entered, climbed the three flights of rickety stairs to the noise and various smells above us. A jacked out Jersey Shore wannabe was running the entryway, "IDs, $10," he repeated. In return for the party fee we were each given a gold wristband, which would be added to my left hand collection of random bracelets I would be given. When we walked in it was a bit dead, we found our friend, who would later be playing the Casio in what I would refer to as a Kings of Leon/Rock band but trippy. "I'm glad you guys didn't come earlier," he said as he surveyed the crowd, still forming in the late evening. And so we did what any 20-somethings would do as we waited for the festivities to start, we went to the bar. As I approached the bar, which, let's say just for the record, was not actually a bar, but more like a folding table from K-Mart covered with copious amounts of Cuervo Silver, Svedka, various mixers and Red Bull (which I normally hate but had been craving all night.) As I was standing by the bar, somewhat detached from my circle of friends I felt a presence lurking near me, I turned and saw a man checking me out, "Wanna hook up?" he asked me rather curtly. I just looked at him. He chuckled, "I'm just kidding." "Would you be kidding if I'd said 'yes?'" "No, honestly I wouldn't have. Because I don't know you and I don't just do that. Now maybe if I got to know you it'd be a different story." He extended his hand, "Hi, I'm AnAnonymousStranger." "I'm MissBleecker." "Nice to meet you," he said to me with a relaxed grin, "That's step one." And then he was gone, but it wouldn't be my only interaction with this AnonymousStranger. Read more after the JUMP! Continue reading Interactions With An Anonymous Stranger Who Will Remain Nameless Vol. I →
Beauty, Film & TV

NO MAKEUP WEEK: Day 4 – Sunday

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The Day Of Rest I might have taken Sunday as a day of rest a little too literally. Yesterday I slept most of the day away, finally waking up 2PM. I did the usual: recon to find all my belongings I'd scattered around my room in my altered state, recounted my weekend with a long-distance friend, and ate left-over Indian food. Before I knew it, I had to be on my merry way, for this weekend I had a full dance card and my next tango was coming up in the form of a birthday party in the ABCs. But first thing's first, I was overdue to get my lady garden landscaped by the "we don't fuck around" Russian ladies at Dyanna Spa (highly recommended.) When I got there, my Waxer/Waxologist (what's the job title?) took a look at my face and said, "You look different." She said she didn't know what it was but that it was different and nice. And so we conversed about different things, the weekend, my job, my vagina; my naked face seemed to be bridging not only a language barrier but bringing me closer to a woman who'd seen me in more positions than my yoga instructor. Sunday, Bloody Sunday I was beginning to feel more confident, especially after my weekend of partying. No one really seemed to notice I wasn't wearing makeup, and if they did, they didn't care. Which goes back to the old philosophy, people care far too much about themselves to notice anyone else. After the party, I checked out a tattoo parlor (I'm thinking of getting one,) and looking at the artists' books and the massive work that people had gotten made me question beauty. More so than putting a face on everyday, we all have beauty routines. We brush our hair, we moisturize, we accessorize, we create ensembles, we make up, we dye, we wax, we tattoo, we pierce, we tuck, we implant, we Lipo, I could go on forever, but I think you get the point. Beauty routines are not abnormal, but they are varying, both by way and extent. Now some might say certain regimens or procedures are unnecessary, and they might very well be, but they might very well not be to that individual. But where and when do we draw a distinction between normal, acceptable beauty alterations and deformation? Side Note: I know I'm raising a lot of really deep questions this week, and while I might not be able to answer all or even any of them definitively by the end of the week, they represent more of a greater meditation on beauty than just asinine questions meant to confuse the reader. I'm guessing this didn't help with that much. This post is brought to you by Original RadFem, and no stranger to makeup, Christina Aguilera.
Beauty

NO MAKEUP WEEK: Day 3 – Saturday

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So considering my body has decided to wake itself up today at 2PM, I had a fairly good Saturday night. It all started with my my Saturday afternoon shopping extravaganza. *Ripple* *Ripple* *Fade* *Fade* Shopping With A Purpose I wanted to go to Macy's to get some jeans and decided to walk because yesterday was the prettiest little day ever. So I hobbled my ass up 6th avenue and along the way I stopped in some stores and it was like the heavens opened up and placed carefully constructed items in my path that said, "I am yours, take me home with you!" I bought everything from Fall boots to my Halloween costume (Bearded Lady.) It was like the Universe was rewarding me for not wearing makeup with material wealth! When I got to Macy's the shopping was beginning to take it's toll on me and when I stepped into the classic department store on the ground floor, aka the cosmetics department, I knew I had to get away from it; the perfume girls, the makeup artists, the fluorescent lit mirrors, the free samples, oh god, the free samples! I was like Whitney Houston in a crack den. After avoiding the cosmetics areas like the plague, I went home to relax before the party experiment. Saturday Night Fever I did the bar scene on Friday and so the natural progression of experimentation with my face was to bring it out to a party with people I hadn't seen in a while and some I'd never met before. So I brought my untouched face over to my good friend Prof.PurplePant's place and we set out to embark on what would be a 6AM night. When we got to the party the dim lighting and the beer were giving me a little more confidence. That confidence boost, however, did not prepare me for the male attention I was about to receive. In my weakened state I was hit on, rather cavalierly , by two men. Being that I was not expecting it, it got me thinking. Might it be true when men say they don't care about an unmade face? Could it merely be the lighting? The alcohol? Or perhaps they're just trying to old, Hit-on-Everything-with-Lady-Parts Game. Whatever it is it couldn't possibly be because I actually look okay without a fresh paint job, or at least that's what the magazines tell us. Now I've been hit on in every outfit I have; in a dress, in pants, in sweats, men will always find a reason to hit on a woman. So this experience forced me to ask myself, if I'm not doing this to my face to present my best self when I got out into social scenes, then why am I doing it? Is it just my natural insecurities coming out when there's not a barrier between my face and the world? Or could it be possible that I'm doing it for myself without much care of what other people think?