10.  I can whine about mid 80s temperatures 100 degree weather and not be pummeled (in both the physical and verbal sense) by the eavesdropping public.

9 1/2. Prostitutes are generally indistinguishable from the rest, or rather a large portion of the normal female population is generally indistinguishable from prostitutes… guilty.

9. It’s 50/50 whether she is his date or his daughter…

8 1/2. We are the melting pot of the US melting pot… just divided into various districts and subcultures. Little Ethiopia anyone?

8. The street signs in the neighborhood actually say “Little Ethiopia.” (That’s right, LA is legit.)

7. We can drive (but we fly) to Vegas.

6. ANYONE wearing large sunglasses and red lipstick in Hollywood or Beverly Hills is a magnet for tourists and cameras.

5. Gay Pride, Bitches!

4 1/2. Other cities: OMG IT’S A FILM CREW! DO YOU SEE ANY MOVIE STARS?!? WHAT ARE THEY FILMING!?!? OMG I DON’T KNOW WHO THEY ARE, BUT I WANT THEIR AUTOGRAPHS!

Los Angeles: FUCK FILMING, AGAIN!?!? HERE’S TAKING ANOTHER DETOUR…

4. Other cities: OMG I SAW ON TMZ LAST NIGHT, BRITNEY SPEARS TOTALLY RAN OVER A GUY’S FOOT! THAT’S LIKE SOO CRAZY!

Los Angeles: FUCK!  FUCK!  FUCK! MY FOOT!

3. Yellow traffic lights actually do mean speed up.

2.  Los Angeles people aren’t snobbish like San Francisco “Northern California People.” Though we may eat 100% organic, we are 100% FAKE, and we don’t give a damn about it.

1. Los Angeles is an addiction, the greatest love/hate relationship of all time.

Oh xkcd, how you speak the brutal truth so honestly…

♥s for xkcd.

Check out my sexy robot! Click on the link for the flash version. (hint: She might dance for you!)

So many good ideas that I have read in this batch of papers, just poor, poor execution. Such a sad tragedy to read an opportunity wasted.

Oh, how we love Trent Reznor, the man with his own NIN army.

Posted on NIN.com:

I am not your stupid Bank of Brandice.

I really do not have much to say other than:

1) I am too old for this no sleep, social calendar thing that I seem to be partaking in lately.

2) It’s not like I haven’t been doing this school thing for the past 16 years of my life, and yet this first day of school feels so foreign.  I almost feel like I have been out in the real world for years, and I am returning to this college thing as a veteran adult, looking at the younglings like I don’t quite fit in.  Or perhaps it’s just because I am sitting in the business school where I very obviously don’t fit in. Maybe the universe will realign itself when I am visiting the usual buildings that I have frequented in the past.

I searched for a long time through the heartless photoshopped sludge on the internet to find one of my favorite photographs of Michael Jackson.  Despite his personal dysfunction and scandal, no one can refute the tremendous impact Michael Jackson had on performing, dancing, pop culture, and music as a whole. The legend of Michael Jackson is larger than his self and his faults; his existence as an icon will endure forever and outlive his darker side.

I learned of his death from my hairdresser in a salon far enough from Beverly Hills for the news to be buzzing but not ridiculous like the circus outside of the UCLA hospital. At the time the news seemed substantial enough; however, I was only mildly bothered that an icon had passed.  His death was no more important to me than that. I was slightly irritated while eating sushi next door between hair treatments that the news was non-stop coverage of his passing and continued as such throughout the day. Everyone talked about it, everywhere. Hollywood was a joke due to the large amounts of traffic around his stars.

A few days passed before the sheer magnitude of his death hit me.  I never saw Michael Jackson in concert, and his golden era was before my time. But pictures of his performances, his music videos, and his music began to give me the chills as I finally realized how much talent was lost that day. He is a legend, an icon, and one of those immensely talented people that only number a handful each generation.

I will never see Michael Jackson in concert.  He is one more experience I will miss out on in life.

It would seem that I have developed a new obsession, or should I say “fanned the flame” of an obsession that has been smoldering within for some time.  My recent vacation in Germany exacerbated my hat collecting; the addiction was quite apparent to the room service staff of my hotel–upon making a bed covered in various hats–and passengers of the trans-Atlantic flight from Frankfurt to Dallas. The overhead bins bored by suitcase, suitcase, suitcase were alive with glee when stuffed by my hardly commonplace hat trunk (holding at least five hats).  People just do not wear hats anymore, and attempting to find another hat trunk–because let’s face it, not all my hats fit, and I had to ship the others–is simply impossible. No one wears hats. No one needs hat trunks.

Needless to say, I wear hats, and though not all belong to such a category, a good portion of the head-toppers are of vintage sorts.  Of course if one has vintage hats one must also have vintage clothing to match, I mean it only makes sense. Thus lead to searching for vintage clothing and patterns for making vintage clothing like the one shown above.  Furthermore, if one buys vintage dresses the accompanying undergarments are also necessary.  No one would wear 40s clothing with a modernly curved bra.  Those boobs are supposed to be pointy! It is a corset or nothing!

Oh but the collecting, obsessing, and buying does not cease at corsets and bras.  Searching for vintage lingerie of course lead to viewing vintage nightgowns and penoirs. Yes, I bought those too.  Luckily, I already have a few pairs of vintage pumps.  I love my heels.

The icing on the cake just might be the vintage 40s hairstyling guides that I purchased from Amazon. I may lack the patience for such meticulous styling, but I do have the text.  We will see how that works out; I am sure pictures and frustrated words will be posted at some point to, at the least, mildly entertain the internet people.

Finger waving seems much too time consuming and the technique too outdated for the trouble, though I am looking into a large triple-barreled iron to create the same effect. Lazy, I know. Nevertheless, there are nearly hundreds of other curling methods, each with its own unique outcome, for me to attempt and most likely butcher.

While I am disgracing the art of 40s hairstyling, I will also be moonlighting as a dress maker in attempt to bulk up my vintage wardrobe.  This obsession of mine is getting pricey, as
most Los Angeles vintage stores are GREATLY overpriced. However, this plan would work better if I could successfully make a dress from scratch.  I am not claiming that cannot sew a dress, just simply noting the great void of proof that I can.

Ideally at some point in my life, preferably sooner than later, I will possess enough vintage items and the hairstyling skills so that I may make the 40s jump.  The aesthetic goal is a mixture (solution for those chemistry types) between Jessica Rabbit and Rita Hayworth with a 80% Rita Hayworth concentration.

So if you see a vibrantly red, red-head walking the streets of Beverly Hills and Hollywood who looks freshly torn from an old photograph, well that red-head just might be me.

Posted in Discourse ]]> http://scanties.wordpress.com/2009/07/01/jessica-rabbit-meets-rita-hayworth-future-plans-of-the-40s-jump/feed/ 2 mersedes black vintage dress jessica_rabbit rita_hayworth_intro http://scanties.wordpress.com/2009/06/02/hello/ http://scanties.wordpress.com/2009/06/02/hello/#comments Tue, 02 Jun 2009 21:37:36 +0000 Mersedes Bach http://scanties.wordpress.com/?p=328 ]]>

Hello vast internet and its readers. Forgive me, for we have not spoken for awhile; nevertheless, my pen still meets with paper.  Today I begin a personal social experiment, a self-diagnostic.  At the very least, it will be many hours of answers to questions asked during therapy sessions all compacted neatly into one little notebook.

Meanwhile, I recommend reading the following for male and female, young and old readers alike: