Props/Travel/Waving Cats

Dear Carolyn Maurice Barry - 

Remember when you came to me and said "I need 5 toilets for a dance"

Well guess what.

I need 5 "little hondas" for a dance.

I think this could be a good start to an evening length concert.

we should stick with 5's

like its our religion

errr something

so we need 3 more choreographers.

then lets pick 5 different venues 

preferably around the world

i really want to go to france.

i like their music

and i want to sit at a cafe and drink ridiculously good coffee

while eating a croissant

then i want to jump in a fountain

i also think we'd be a huge hit in china.

especially if we can talk one of our naive co-choreographers into using those waving cats as their prop

life size waving cats

ooooooo

ahhhhh

Where else?

I feel like this is one of those ideas that you'd look at me with those eyes that said 

"heather, theres no fucking way in hell we're doing this"

(but u haven't seen me in awhile so I'm hoping you're more amicable)

it'd give you a good outlet to explore your toilet dance

and... i think our lives are in need of some serious traveling

before we get too old and have to think about other people other then ourselves

thoughts?

Once upon a time there was a cat

This cat owned no hat

So no, this tale is not about the cat in the hat

On the ground was two feet of snow

And the wind was a blow

Someone was a foe

Because over the wind a woman heard a meow

She called her granddaughter and exclaimed "Come here now!"

And aside the house, in the gutter, covered with snow was a cat

The cat with no hat

We brought her inside and warm milk we did make

For her life was at stake

She lived past a week, and then a year, and then ten

She changed a young girls life

And no her name is not Ben

Holy Triology of Heads

This is the life we lead. This life where a moment in a mediocre (at best) movie is watched twice and then paused for a photo shoot. See, we see things... things like a series of matching heads on and off the screen and that causes this undeniable excitement. What could be more miraculous than finding a look a like to our creepy head shaped cookie jar (or whatever the hell it's supposed to be)? Nothing. So we spend our time watching these movies. Bonding, as I suppose we call it now. Vodka, rum, beer, wine, porn, cartoons, family oriented movies. I hate the ends of movies. We watch them for moments that excite us. And when we don't find any, we take a walk in sizzling hail to get sprite for our vodka. Tongue rings? Yes please. Oh great now the gas station man thinks we're lesbians.

I love you

... like I love the beach. Or a good book. Or the beach...

A. Home

Home. Oregon IL. 61061. Home is where my family is. Where the stars are bright and clear. Everyone has an uncle Bubba. Where 98% of the vehicles you see are pick up trucks and everyone knows someone with a plow, tractor, cow, or drug addict mother. Where you go to high school just to have something to do. There's no expectations for college or a life outside of where you grew up. You date your brothers best friend, your ex-boyfriends cousin, or the local cop that everyone's gotten a piece of. You support your friends when they get pregnant at 15, 16, 17, 18..... drop out of college 20, 21, 22. But you always want something better for yourself. You love home, but won't ever look back. I hope they understand.

I didn't know that Heather Smith knew my middle name, and as it turns out, she didn't. She guessed. I am indeed Carolyn Anne, a southern bell with southern morals. Just wanting to please her man as a good housewife. My mom hates her southern roots, but that makes me wonder: Why did she name her daughter Carolyn Anne?
The past few days have been dedicated to watching sexually explicit television. Cathouse, Johns and Hookers, Real Sex 18... It doesn't matter which, it's entertaining, naked, and often includes the comforting buzz of the prostitutes vibrator.
I wonder: What kind of men drive up the street looking for a thirty dollar blow job? Losers? Pervs? Or is it your husband? And who are the women... maybe your mom...
I never knew Heather was genuinely nice.

"When your hobbies get in the way of your work - that's OK; but when your hobbies get in the way of themselves....well..." Steve Martin

I HAVE A COMPLAINT

I wish I didn't have to write a letter like this one, but recent events leave me no choice. The key point of the following exposition is that we are at war. Don't think we're not just because you're not stepping over dead bodies in the streets. We're at war with Miss Carolyn Ann Barry's unruly treatises. We're at war with her insidious manuscripts. And we're at war with her neo-censorious refrains. As in any war, we ought to be aware of the fact that there's something fishy about Carolyn's quips. I think she's up to something, something abusive and perhaps even garrulous.

Carolyn has a talent for inventing fantasy worlds in which she's the best thing to come along since the invention of sliced bread. Then again, just because Carolyn is a prolific fantasist doesn't mean that her causeries provide a liberating insight into life, the universe, and everything. She lives in a world of privileged emotion devoid of any connectable empirical dots. For proof of this fact I must point out that her argument that freedom must be abolished in order for people to be more secure and comfortable is hopelessly flawed and entirely circuitous.

You may wonder why Carolyn's admirers believe that those rights and protections which give us voice in a democratic society are the cause of Jacobinism and social chaos and must be thwarted or dismantled. It's simply because I like to face facts. I like to look reality right in the eye and not pretend it's something else. And the reality of our present situation is this: You should never forget the three most important facets of Carolyn's press releases, namely their untrustworthy origins, their internal contradictions, and their tendentious nature. The biggest supporters of Carolyn's irrational, polyloquent op-ed pieces are prurient beatniks and ethically bankrupt, unbridled cockalorums. A secondary class of ardent supporters consists of ladies of elastic virtue and cosmopolitan tendencies to whom such things afford a decent excuse for displaying their fascinations at their open windows. Finally, whatever your thoughts or feelings about Miss Carolyn Ann Barry are, I urge you to help me throw down the gauntlet and challenge Carolyn's mercenaries to oppose evil wherever it rears its effrontive head.

Its been awhile.

Blog, you've been missing out on a substantial period of my life. And Heathers life. And everyone's, because really, isn't every moment of every life substantial? Of course not, that's just stupid. Illinettes and Chi-Tea's don't have meaning, and neither do you. Not you, blog, I was talking to the person behind you. Oh, and I was asleep when you called.

The Lady

"You're everything I want and nothing I need..."

We are watching that damn MTV show about fake high school dancers/musicians. "You're everything I want and nothing I need" Uh oh uh oh uh oh.
By we, I mean myself, Nic, and Alyssa. Not Heather. Because Heather is a stupid cunt. Or crewing. Whatever.
Tequila and pink lemonade,
sore throat sniffle and blow.
Orange pants, gray pants.
Blue shirts all around.
The jewish spinner
is for dinner.
Millionaire matchmaker takes the stage.
You're a bitch.