Monday, Monday

As much as I love the Mamas and the Papas, today's theme song: Brand New Day - Sting

It's been a nice, quiet, lazy weekend of just chilling out with friends and family. But Saturday night, Saturday night was definitely a rebirth.

To make the beginning of the story short, Pillow Theory rocked my socks. I arrived and met up with Kels and Ed outside of the venue. We walked over to Slainte to meet Jon and the rest of the band. Somehow I got roped into a conversation with some writer guy who suggested that I put my catchphrase "you are cordially invited to go fuck yourself" on a shirt. I may take that suggestion. I have to pause for a moment to relay a side story.

Some random chick got up from the bar while we were in Slainte and started walking to the bathroom with an overly-hippy, flat gluteous stride when she dropped something on the floor. She made it down about three steps before she pulled the "oh shit" face and turned back to retrieve what she had dropped. I was perched on my stool, with a look on my face as if I were the cat that ate the canary, pointing at the dropped item. She had the grace to flash me an "oh fuck" look that complemented the preceding oh shit. I then busted out laughing. Hard. Only Ed had noticed that she dropped anything at all. Only I noticed what it was that had fallen from her clenched fist. First rule of being a cokehead? Don't drop your shit on the way to go get high. Mala may just be watching.

Ed worked his magic on the streets of New York taking pictures of the crew. Then came the rain and the mad dash back to the venue because Mama Mala doesn't do rain when she's wearing heavy eye make-up (which I should have been shot for but alas). First band I caught was Fixer. The drummer was damn good. The music wasn't bad, but I can't say I was impressed. Especially since the lead singer offered 'posing tips' to my boys. Posing tips? Gay much? Ugh. Pansy. I couldn't enjoy the music as much afterwards with the intimate knowledge that dude was a dipshit. I don't know the name of the next band and to be honest, I was somewhere else in my head so I didn't really hear them. Then it was time.

I hid in a corner behind the speaker with Simone standing next to me because I was absolutely terrified. I have loved Pillow Theory from their first note and I was afraid that the new line-up would leave something lacking that would destroy my adoration. I didn't want any of the guys to look offstage and spot me with a 'what in the flying fuck' look on my grill. I should have had more faith.

My boys. My darlings. My hearts. They fucking BOOTED BUNS!!! With the addition of 2 gits and a keyboard they have added layers to their sound that are rediculous. Kelsey no longer has to carry so much of the weight. The timing was impressive, the step-behinds, playing notes in different keys, one hard on the heels of the other. Knowing the music so personally, I could hear the nuances of change. The richness of the texture made up for the fact that I wanted to KILL THE FUCKING SOUND GUY!!! Ok, I don't know what the hell is going on with soundguys lately. The set-ups that I have heard at recent shows have been tried and found sorely wanting. Idiotsoundman aside, I was so very proud of my boys. Proud. I stood in the backroom when they were done and tried to control the spazz out - the good prideful kind - that had tears in my eyes.

BOOM!HERE GOES THE BOOM, ready or not... Here comes the M with the shot!
And with that said I would like to send a hearty "FUCK YOU" to one Jacob Martinez. You snivelling little back-biting, sissy ass, grown-man-wearing-thug-panties. You sensitive bitch you. You. I can't believe I actually ever considered you cool and sorta hot, in your wanna-be-a-rock star way. Asshole. You gottalotta nerve with your punk ass. First off, where in the fuck did you leave your brains to think that I, Mala, would ever in my worst nightmare fuck with you? Yeah I flirt, but check it cornball, that's what I do. But I seem to remember one of the very first times that we met, I sat on your lap and told you IN ENGLISH that it was the closest you'd ever get to the glory hole so you better enjoy it. You had the nerve to sneak behind my back while smiling in my face and tell my boys that I wanted you. Ahahahahahaha, whatever, clownshoes. If I remember correctly it was YOU who came back cowed after I put your stanking ass on blast (click here to see how he blew his own spot up trying to spit back. Don't play with me, bitch ass. Ain't shit about you gangster.

You were so popular you got pictures of your feet taken... probably the most humble part of your body. Trickbaby.
Worse than that, you Benedict Arnold fucker, you shit on Kelsey. A man who has the sweetest temperment and the widest heart of anyone I've met in a long ass time. You shit on him because everyone was tired of your Drama Queen bullshit and he told you to man up? Fuck you. Fuck all of your progeny and their blighted offspring as well. Pillow Theory doesn't need your ass and the replacements are killers. You text thug. I saw the shit you sent out to my boy and I'm jumping to his defense. I have this to say, just like I said last time: I may only be 5 feet tall but you can take up any problem that you may have with me. I am NEVER hard to find. Fuck with me and I'll steal your guitar pick and kick you in your cooter.
"The truth kind of hurts, don't it motherfucker?" - Mike Patton
Now.
Run and tell your bitch about that.

Josephine lost her phone at some point while we were waiting for the boys to pack up. I hope whoever took it gets a tumor in their ear. Kels, Zach, Jo and I jumped a yellow over to St. Marks to drop off the gear to Cat's house before running upstairs to a loft party to meet up with Malik and his boy Jay (who has the most hair of ANY man I've met recently - mmmmm). The party was really low key and the free booze was such a plus. The host, Brad, was hilarious with his spot-on Chris Rock impersonations. I also appreciated his appreciation of my, ahem, assets. Jay managed somehow to let some asian chick in desperate need of a meal (heavy on the potatoes and gravy) chain him to a door. He won my everlasting respect. Jay is the shit now. I snuck off to grab a slice of pizza while everyone kicked a strange cipher. Bacon and chicken on pizza is the shit. It was shameful how I inhaled it. Nothing ladylike about it. Nope. Not at all. Returning upstairs, we drank, chilled and yapped until it was time to go. Last stop at the pizza shop for everyone to re-up on eats before Malik and I broke west to grab the A train. Yes, I took the train home. Well, after stopping at Mamoun's for Leek to get soup (ha - there's a funny in there somewhere).

The ride home was semi-eventful starting with the gaggle of gay goslings yelling "oh girl work, awww shit, go head ms thang" as I rooted around in my clutch for my ipod. They then yelled "syke". Um, listen you budding bum-biters, I didn't ask you to compliment me, I even smiled when you did. The "syke" was unnecessary and you still played yourself. You noticed me, not the other way around. Go pack some fudge. Thanks.

It's hysterical that all my kin from my neighborhood made a deal long ago that any time we rode the train home, we'd ride in the front car because our exit was up there. Pulled into 125th and there's Erica and Zha getting on, coming from god knows where. We giggled about being snookered on the train, compared shoes, got off, made a bee-line for Negro's and pounded down his door. He opened up, let us in and left us in the back because we were being "bochinchera's" and he was no "puta" to sit there and listen to us cackle. Such a man's man. 8 something a.m. everyone crawled into the rec-room and fell out.

Sunday I chilled with my family and then stopped by my besty's house because it was his birthday. I love you, army bitch. He, Cheebo, Stephanie and I just kickd back and eyed Dazed and Confused for a while before I beat a straight path home. I relaxed for the rest of night with that heavy ass volume of Crime and Punishment on my lap, a bag of Tostitos and hot salsa, a frosty cerveza and Portishead playing in the background.

Today, it's back to the usual. I have absolutely got to hit the last night of Ubiquita at Sutra on Thursday, details to follow. It's the end of a great run and I want to enjoy it with all of my folk. This Sunday is the AfroPunk Liberation Session at the Delancey. I don't know what I'm going to get into in the mean and between time but right now I'm going to get deep into a panini.

- & I'm munchin...

P.S. Danny from Apollo Heights is one hysterical motherfucker!
"...i found my self lost on a bus in williamsburg on the way to make a connect. only to wake up
on the breast of some fat chick at some bar,
im lucky iwasnt killed..."
Oh lord the man needs saving!
ahahahahahhahaha
oh man
ahahahahahhaaha!!!