What Doesn't Kill Me Gets Easier with Vodka

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, what did I get myself into? I must've hit the crackpipe before I scheduled this lovely line up: The Dating Game at Your Mother's, Hottiefest at The Beach Grill, and Heather's Toga Bday Bash at my place. Yes, back. To back. To back. And the success of all 3 lie on my shoulders. But you know what? Piece of cake. *snaps fingers* I can handle this no problem-it's in my blood. Supergirl in full effect.

More artsy, less fartsy.

What the ass-hander is all the little stuff that comes up that may or may not be event related. Like people backing out of commitments and having to scatter to find replacements. Things are easy to replace, like a lipstick, a hammer, or booze from your neighbor's liquor cabinet. People really aren't.

Or when you break your last favorite wine glass. Or a highball glass from your brand new set. Or drop 20 pounds of cat food on your foot then you SLICE the HELL out of your finger opening the bag with the sharp scissors from your really expensive and fabulous knife set. And then you find out the couches you were expecting are no longer coming because a dog ripped the arms to shreds. And you keep trying to spell shred 'shread.' And then your kitten runs away. And then you get hit on via FB by creepers who used your business as a means to an 'in.' And then you get nasty messaged by some uncouth, know-nothing guy you don't even KNOW because you didn't return a FB message about his hanging a sign about his really idiotic business in places it doesn't belong, calling you garbage. And then you blow a fuse. And then an ex comes on to you because he hears you're single again. You know what? Single is just a word; your heart decides your status, bucko.

So where is that vodka bottle? Let's make this day easier.

Found it!

(This is from a photo shoot for a cigar bar. Photo

cred to my photog in heaven Mia Photo.)

Fish, Clowns, & Going to the Dentist

Right now I'd happily hold the hand of a naked man rollerskating if it would make this pain in my tooth go away & I don't have to go to the dentist.

I'm not afraid of much, but the trifecta of my fear lies in the motley grouping that is fish, clowns and going to the dentist. The fish part is weird because I like being on the water and am known to drown worms on vacation ('being a stripper is a lot like being a fisherman--you gotta get used to the pole to be any good at it.'- me, on Otsego Lake), so I think it stems from my parents making me watch Jaws at the drive in when I was a child. Although I could escape the scene on the screen there was no escaping the sound from the speaker put illogically in the backseat window. Hearing the carnage was worse than seeing it for me.

The clowns stem from yet another This-Is-Fun-Idea my parents had. They decided to take me to a haunted house and after about 20 yards in my father realized their epic fail in guessing what I would find fun in my 7 year old world. Although I squeezed my eyes tight, I could still hear the eerie laughter and slaughter, and when my eyes popped unwillingly open there was the scariest clown I'd ever seen leering at me, arms outstretched. I screamed and practically crawled into my dad's jacket. Flash forward to the movie Killer Klowns from Outerspace that I unfortunately stumbled across on cable one day and that fear was solidified. Oye.

That brings me to my final fear frontier, one that I will have to face mouth-on in about an hour: going to the dentist. It all boils down to the same premise: I can close my eyes, but the sound of pulling, ganking, and drilling is going to be in my ears with me unable to escape the noise.  Add in the reality that the noises belong to my dental pieces being extracted from my mouth is enough to make me pass out before he even numbs the area. This is true, people.

The moral is if you want to scare me try the aural route. If aural was missing the U & R and replaced with an N, well, that'll scare me, too. Look, now I forgot about being scared of the dentist.

For a hot second.

What Doesn't Kill Us Makes a Good Story-Part 1

It has occured to me I haven't blogged in quite some time, and for that I apologize and you can take a beer from Pachenga Rick's cooler.


At the end of February I realized that I have lived through truly the SHITTIEST year of my life, but despite all the adversity I was still alive--and had a story to tell.


Here, in order and in a nutshell, are the proverbial details: Jan 2011 I was officiall divorced, 2 weeks later I had to put my 16 year old cat Stinky down, in February we had to face Hospice for my dad and in April we lost him to Lung Cancer (phucking Cancer sucks). In June I lost 3 of my 4 clients for CKPEP, and in August the nutjob of an editor for the magazine I was working for began his descent into questionable behaviour and in mid September he capped it by being jailed & oweing me money. I slipped into the poorhouse (pretty much) & decided it would be a good idea to start a new magazine w 2 people I barely knew. By the end of January 2012 I knew with blazing certinty that was the worst fucking idea and move in my ENTIRE spectacular life, and by the end of February there was a barrage of fuck you, you two are the worst people on the face of this Earth. Hello, life? Space Shuttle Challenger called and they want their firey explosion & disaster back.

Needless to say, between being dirt poor, trying to make a magazine work when no one but yourself seemed to care, and trying to deal with the emotional scars of losing a pet and your hero, and watching your beloved business slip considerably it was a tough chunk of calendar to deal with. I wouldn't call it writer's block in not being able to blog. I would call it fucking Lindsay Lohaning it.

I'm going to save part 2 for another blog, probably tomorrow even. But when I took a look back over the adversity I faced--me, a strong, smart, loving, goofball woman that takes no shit--I realized that I was still breathing. I COULD deal with it. I CAN survive above the garbage that was being hurled at my psyche & world. What shiny object did I see hanging at the end of the bar?

Grab a beer, and check here tomorrow. I promise it's not churchy, God-y, I-ve-been-saved-by-the-Baby-Jesus sort of thing. That's for people who go door to door. Nope, just good ol' being inspired to aspire once again...

Inside Macomb, Inside CK

Whew! Who knew starting a new business would be a great diet? Between long hours, meetings, legalities, and the work there's been no time to dine. But that's ok when one is excited about a new kick ass project that's going to go places. Welcome Inside Macomb--a monthly magazine that will serve as an all-access pass to nightlife and beyond in our county.

Now let me tell you a quick background as to how this project came about, 'cause there is a lil questioning about the how (I'm part Canadian, so hear that as a-boot).

We have kept underwraps pretty much why we've come to business for ONE reason: it's not our place to tell someone else's story. There are many compelling reasons how we came to be that we don't believe need to be 'put out there' to justify our existence, and that's that.

We saw a way to fill a void cleverly, consisely, PROFESSIONALLY, legally, and entertainingly. We pooled our resourses and came together as partners-- a nightlife noteable with 12 years of experience in all aspects bars, restaurants and nightclubs, a sunshiney tanning salon owner with 10 years of real estate, organization & networking under her belt, and the big muscle rounding out the trio bringing a successful bailbond business and LED screen media companyto the table-- to improve on an idea that had been previously attempted. We are here to put our spin on things happening in Macomb County, to do so in a way that's unique to our brand of craziness & fun. We're here for one purpose: to put out a proper, fun, entertaining & informative paper every month and on time. Ok, so maybe that's a couple purposes. You get the drift, catch my wind.

The first issues ready to be distributed!

We've solidified relationships all over the county (and beyond, spacechimp) and have done so for years. We feel that if our names don't speak for ourselves our product soon will. Score!

We're excited. We're also... raising an eyebrow? We know that there will be those who will mock, disapprove of either the content of how we came to be (of course, without knowing the whole story but we won't hold their simple uneducation of the sitch against them), and try to hone in on the turf... and that's ok. But we have already been posed against threats and rediculous conjecture. Folks taking piles of our mag & throwing them out, only to have them returned by the vigiliant staff watching.

So to all those who support me and my projects and know me, I thank you.  We are super excited about this, and we are poised to handle all rediculous situation with the same reasoning we started Inside Macomb: creatively,cleverly, consisely, PROFESSIONALLY, legally, and entertainingly.

Our first cover: a unique wrap around masterpiece.

Let's just call this next month a November to Remember.

Cheers!

Event Week Kicks My Ass All in the Name of a Boozy Good Time

Ah, 'tis the life to be an Event Planner. Due to these economic times I don't get to do big events all the time anymore, so when I DO get to jump in and get crack-a-lackin', oh, I don't do it half arsed. No sir.

Hottiefest is this Saturday, and I've been doing this yearly since 2002. Man, it is a great event but like I mentioned above,  the ecnomic times have brought it from HUGE glory at the beautiful Roostertail (where sponsors were Maxim Magazine, and I had co-hosts like Larissa Meeks from 'Average Joe: Hawaii' and DJs like Ozzy Osbourne's son DJ Louis) to a tailored down size but still with ALL the fun now at the Beach Grill. All the celebs are local and it's more intimate. It's awes.

It's Eastside partiers meet Lake St Clair boaters meet Mt Clemens rockers this year, and if the responses that I've been getting about the night come to fruition, well, expect another year of awesome sassy, sexy, hot summer nightlife fun. My favorite part I've always had is the pleasure of handling the event's 'Official Hotties'. Myself and John Schoenith (originator and all around awesome dude) & a couple peeps pick 20 of the areas hottest and socialable chicks we know to add to the ambiance. This year my girls are outfitted by local clothier Crime Shit, bringing a edgier look to the ladies. They will be holding court in the uber VIP area in the middle of the indoor-outdoor action on The Zman's boat, posing, hostessing, and showing you how you should be doing Hottiefest.

I'm going to miss Barbie & Jestin and their crew from The Playhouse Dolls (now Visual Talent) and Jeff Blackburn (of Empire 7), but their memory and images are etched in videos and pictures from years past. <3

Thank you, John, for letting me be a big part of this sick summer event. I love it, appreciate you, and let's keep this party going forever. At least that's my goal.

How Sleepless in Seattle Influenced Crap I Like

Friday night in 'The Clem' and I am left to my own devices to entertain myself this fine Friday evening. With vodka in hand and the MSU victory in the bag (& me on my way to being half in the bag), I surf thru the channels to the free movie channels. I bypassed the porn (honestly, not a fan) and I find I have to choose between 'Fast & the Furious' and 'Sleepless in Seattle.' I tried 'FnF' first but no uh uh. So I go with the tried and true 'SIS'. Plus I have boobs & a vag: I'm gonna watch the chick flick.

As I'm watching, I realize that this 1993 movie has --unbeknownst to me-- had a lot of influence on me through the years. How? Sadly read on.

*The radio she has. It's a Sharp Slimline retro looking one. I had a pink one. I really want another one.
*Her robe. Over Christmas my mom gave me money and the job to buy my brothers, my BFs & my Christmas present. I agonized at Meijers over the red or the pink plush robe that was heavenly in texture. I picked the pink (i <3 pink) but have always wanted a red one, prob because of this movie.
*I always wear slouchy white socks when I'm kicking back at home. At least until my Uggs took their place.
*The megaphone on her staircase. I have one next to my entryway table.
*The one piece PJs and even the white gown. Ok, so my current onesie has the Playboy logo all over it and an assflap, but still... it looked comfy (as did the white gown) and I owned one of those, too.
*The soundtrack. I still love that music, and I still swoon over Perry Como.
*I don't like older guys, but Victor Garber is hot even in this movie and I'd go AARP for him.
*I'm a freakin' journalist like 'Annie' is in the movie. WTF.
*I always live my life not wanting 'What if' moments. I do what I want cause I don't ever want to think 'What if I would have...'
*Her Barnum & Bailey retro poster in her kitchen? Well, I have 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes' & 'Where the Boys Are' vintage original movie posters on MY walls, along with 'Bikini Beach', 'Surf Party', and one other one that's escaping my mind.
*The annoying little girl's abbreviations? Yeah, I have those for my clients. While my clients are NOT annoying, I find the abbreviations helpful. Plus typing out Teddy's Times Square, Dooley's Irish Pub, or Your Mother's Food & Spirits are way more time consuming & cut into beer drinking time than TTS, DP or YM do.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes movie poster, as promised.

Ok, I'm sure there's more. But I haven't blogged in a month and felt it necessary to get back into the groove. I'll never blog about something that isn't silly or entertaining at the very least. So you are welcome for that.

I'll probably never know why the influence happened. I'm sure it's not because the nutbag guy I was dating at the time had a thing for Meg Ryan and I soooo wanted to impress him and be like HER just to make him like me more.... stupid early 20s.

Plus it's funny when Tom Hanks & my pretend BF Victor Garber make fun of Rita Wilson's character. Trini Lopez. Yeah, I'll go with that.

A Family that Farts Together, Stays Together

"Aunt Kiki, pull my finger."

Nothing's funnier than a fart joke, and I'm sorry--the hilariousity factor just doubles when you discover your 11 year old nephew has inheritated the family 'pull my finger' gene.

My only nephew, Tyler, is one funny kid. His father is a funny kid. His grandfather, Papa, is, well, a funny kid. His aunt  (btw, any of you address me as Aunt Kiki in public and I will fistf*ck, double suicide bukake shriek you into next year) is clearly a goofball. Hell, you read my blog & follow me on FB & the Twit--you know what you're in for. He's a well adjusted, adorable, acute, artistic, athletic wee dude. He plays AMAZING hockey. He's fast as screaming diahrhea on the ice, and his hockey bag kinda smells like it. He ran a Fantasy Football League this year (kicking his Aunt Kiki's arse resoundly), and the bugger even WON $50 in squares at Super Bowl. He loves Stat-O-Matic baseball, football & hockey, fishing,boating and he's a pretty mean baseball player, too. Ty's been rockin' out to Eminem since he knew what music was.

His sixth summer we had a family picnic at the 'rents and he suddenly stopped playing with his legos on the picnic table. He looked up, looked around with an excited look on his face, and said sincerely: "My ice cream senses are tingling." We were like huh? Then we heard the far away tones of 'Pop goes the weasel' and we could do nothing but laugh our collective arses off and pull out coins for a push-up.

He was five and being picked up from school. He was almost to the car when he suddenly stopped. He looked a little distraught and as he sighed deep and shrugged his shoulders simply stated: "Shit. I forgot my colorings." Ya can't discipline him because he used it in proper context, but it sure makes for difficulty trying not to laugh.

He just celebrated his birthday and my gift was a lame $20 bill. I didn't even wrap it. Bad, Aunt Kiki. So this is my nod of my cap to you, my dear nephew. I may not come to all your hockey games, but you mean the world to me, kiddo. You're a spitting image of everything your daddy was your age and it's neat watching you grow up. Now go... I think Papa has a finger that needs pulling.