Meet You There

So...X Factor was a bust, but whatever.  I got to go to Chicago and have a blast!  I'll share the sordid details later, but for now I'll share my trip in pictures:

In the Escape before hitting the road!

Rain rain rain in Cleveland :(

Fuck you Mobil Gas!

Freezing in Indiana.

Yay, Chicago at last!!!

Looking fabulous in line for X Factor registration.

All registered and ready to hit the city :)

Sharing a good laugh with Bob Newhart.

A tender moment with the sculpted children of Chicago.

She totally started it.  You didn't see what she did to get this kick.

The obligatory self-portrait in the reflection of the Bean.

Cloud Gate, aka The Bean.  A stop in our exploration of Millennium Park.

A really good shot of the skyline in Downtown Chicago.

All dolled up for the auditions!  I looked good before the 2.5 hour wait in the cold rain :(

Patiently waiting.

Some of the line on audition day.

Free Fallin'

I recently acquired a guitar (Friday), thinking that since I am of the musical sort I should procure a guitar and learn to play. You know, cultivate my talent and all that good crap. Well...I'm not gonna lie to you. It's been like four days and I really suck. I'm not sure if it's my lack of guitar knowledge or if the whole strings/chords/numbers/letters thing intimidates me, but...I'm no John Mayer, let me tell you.

I haven't had time to go purchase a guitar manual, so I purchased a fine app off iTunes called Guitar Basics for Dummies, and I'm going to tell you I learned quite a bit about guitar playing. In theory. In practice...well...let's just say I have a bit of work cut out for me. I think that with proper, uninterrupted (that means you, Nicky and Mom) practice I might be able to summit and conquer Guitar Mountain. Maybe.

I'm thinking that maybe a guitar is like a puppy. You have to get it to trust you and then assert your dominance. Well, I'm asserting myself right now. I'm the Alpha, bitch. I totally own you, guitar. Yes. I also decided that I should name said guitar, because that will make it a lot more interesting and meaningful when I get mad at it and insult its guitarhood. I named my guitar Bessie Washington. I think it fits my guitar very well.

Along with the proper guitar holding technique and learning to fret and becoming intimidated by the juxtaposition of major and minor signs and numbers and letters and chords, I've learned another important thing about myself: my fingers are little sissy bitches. Seriously. I can only play for a little while before my fingers get sore and I have to stop because I have the impressions on my fingertips from where the strings cut into my fingers. I need to figure out how to speed up the callus forming process.

I honestly can't wait to be able to play a song, and I feel like Bessie Washington and myself are about to embark on a hilarious musical journey of pain, anguish, joy, frustration, anger, and that inevitable Helen Keller aha moment where it'll all come together and I'll attain guitar enlightenment.

And the first real song I hope to play, after I get comfortable with everything? "Free Fallin'", John Mayer style. Go look up his version on YouTube and you'll be like "wow, that John Mayer is a douche, but lord can he play the guitar."

Like a G6

Happy New Year my wonderful beautiful fabulous readers!!! I hope 2011 brings you joy and brings you closer to fulfilling your wildest dreams.

I can't believe how quickly 2010 went by. I must say that it was a good year, and if it were wine it'd have been sweet, with floral notes and hints of sparkling citrus. I'd buy a bottle of L. Diddy wine circa 2010.

I've taken to calling myself L. Diddy. I think it's catchy and sounds good when I talk about myself in the third person, which I do a lot more now since I have a cool nickname for myself. I made a list of obligatory resolutions, which I hope to try to keep.

Let's do this.

L. Diddy's List of Obligatory New Years Resolutions, 2011 Edition

*Lose 10-20 pounds
*Embrace exercise (and not the bomb)
*Get more sleep
*Go to bed before 3 am...let's aim for 11 pm
*Make more time for Mommy and Nicky time
*Write and finish a novel
*Record a song in an actual studio

And I'm bound to add more as the year goes on. Wish me luck, because I am sending some to all of you as you struggle with your own resolutions, or as I like to call them, "lies we tell ourselves to make us feel better about all the bad crap we did the year before".

Aha!

(Taken from Free Will Astrology, by Rob Brezsny)

Week of March 18, 2010

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21):

The Hebrew word chalom means "dream". In his book Healing Dreams, Marc Ian Barasch notes that it's derived from the verb "to be made healthy and strong". Linguist Joseph Jastrow says that chalom is related to the Hebrew word hachlama, which means "recovery, recuperation". Extrapolating from these poetic hints and riffing on your astrological omens, I've got a prescription for you to consider: To build your vitality in the coming weeks, feed your dreams. And I mean "dreams" in both the sense of the nocturnal adventures you have while you're sleeping and the sweeping daytime visions of what you'd like to become.

Paparazzi

(Note: There is no real point to today's post. I'm in a silly mood and started typing.)

I know I've said it before, but I think I'm pretty awesome.

Clarification. I know I am pretty awesome. Quite possibly the epitome of awesomeness. Who's gonna argue against that? (I'll karate chop you in the throat if you do. Be warned, friend.) I've lived a life chock full of awesomeness and kickass things. Being born, circa 1985. Selling my brother for a brief period of time in 1991. The Lashawn Fan Club, circa 1997. Taping toilet paper to my shoe in 8th grade and taking off down the hall. Falling down the stairs so many times at St. Joe's and making it look cool. Breaking Jesus and putting him back together with Sticky-Tac. Getting suspended six times in a Catholic high school. Taping a picture of MC Hammer on the back wall of my Honors English 11 class. Jumping over a box at Burger King and missing the other side and falling in the box, in front of a full restaurant of people. Walking like a really crappy drag queen when I wear high heels. Organizing a Miss America pageant in grade school and getting the boys in my class to do the "Here she is, Miss America" wave. Writing a play in 7th grade that we never performed but everyone was psyched about (the writing wasn't that awesome, but the concept was). Sitting on the floor in Honors English 12 when I really was supposed to sit in my chair.

You can't really plan or be taught these things, no. You just have to let them come to you, just let them happen. You have to be born with that kind of raw excellence.

I'm an iconoclast. I do awe inspiring things daily, whether it be saying something dazzlingly witty or making people roll their eyes or tripping over nothing or muttering to myself...I can always be counted on to jazz things up, to be the cilantro in the spice rack of life. I'm a one-woman production. I'm F-ing awesome, dude. You don't mess with that Nobel Prize winning formula. Nay. (Apparently, I'm also quite the Narcissist.)

I mean, I like to sit in my pajamas on a Friday night (when I'm broke, holla) and eat ice cream and watch Law and Order DVDs with my dad. Why? Because it's badass, that's why. No one who wasn't in touch with their awesomeness would dare admit to such a thing, but since I am the Chuck Norris of Awesomeness, I can and will admit to it. I'm secure in my awesomeness.

I'm scared of squirrels. How many people confident enough with their supreme coolness would reveal such a potentially embarrassing factoid to the world? (That particular fear is getting a bit out of control, actually. We'll address that later on, in another post.) How many people can say they had dreams about being best friends with David Beckham, called him Becks, and drank a most likely vile concoction of vodka and Gatorade? Not too many, I'm sure. How many people wrote wondrous little ditties about Erik the Red and his son, Leif Erikson? Exactly.

It takes a special person to carry the torch of insanity.