futuresex/lovesound in my pants

dear justin timberlake-

thanks for the mind-blowing sex the other night.

it was just what i needed. 

you sure know how to treat a lady right.

don't be a stranger.

x's and O's ;)

ava

hey you with the penis!

Yeah, YOU. Let’s talk, asshole. And yes, clearly I’m an “angry bitch” and most likely listening to Fiona Apple’s rage right now. She remains so relevant to me. But I feel justified in all of this. So, let’s just put it out there, in a blind fury of words. Taste my pain, bitch!

I DON'T GET YOU AND YOUR KIND.

I just don’t. What’s wrong with you? HA. Why am I even asking? You don’t know! What do you want other than food, sex and other dudes to sit around and grunt with? Oh. That’s it? Really? Awesome.

Listen, I know women are complicated. Shit, I fully recognize I am a contradiction in terms. I’m sure we are very difficult to understand because we have so much going on, so many…complications. But YOU, fucker, are simple. So simple, in fact, it’s a challenge for our complicated-women brains to understand. You see, your lame and barbaric behavior makes us women neurotic. A simple text message, touch or look is up for interpretation, especially if we don’t know WHAT THE FUCK is going on inside your pea-brain. Personally, I HATE being that neurotic girl and I resent it when I'm made to feel that way. Jerk.

[At this point, I would like to address my dear male friends whom I turn to for advice and friendship. You guys are great. And although my words are harsh to you kind, on some level, I know you agree with me.]

Here’s what I wonder, in MY complicated pea-brain…at what point do you go from being a nice boy to an asshole dude treating girls like disposable things? Are you just programmed that way? When do you discover how to fuck us over, hurt us, leave us just generally fuck shit up?

For the longest time, I thought my future family would consist of three or four boys running around and me, and I would be the coolest mom (clearly). Now, I might have to agree with Galatea; Why raise someone that will turn into something completely foreign. My boys could think the world of me and treat me like the Queen I will be, but at some point, they will learn how to treat girls like shit. And that will break my heart. On the other hand, I don’t know if having a girl is what I will want to deal with either.
Cat Lady I shall be! yay.

Ok, listen. Here’s the Come to Jesus point. You don’t have to want a relationship. You don’t have to want to hang out anymore. You don’t have to like a girl anymore. You don’t have to want anything but someone to chill with. But..
You MAY want a relationship. Or not.
You MAY want to hang out.
You MAY want to do more than just chill.

You MAY just want to be friends.
You MAY want nothing. You MAY want everything.
So, do yourself a solid and GROW THE FUCK UP and be HONEST with us. Please.

As for me? My walls are up, my attitude is fierce and I will do what I need to do to be happy and strong. I deserve that much. And ladies, you deserve all the best too.

Vagina Power-
ava

an open letter: hall and oates

With a recent appearance on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart, which set my heart a-flutter, I have decided to once again share my love letter to the incomparable Hall and Oates (previously posted on I Could Kill Her).

Dear Hall and Oates-
Wow. What else can I say to you, Daryl and John? You really cranked out those hits that defined the 80s, didn't you?
I mean, wow.
As I sit here, in my cube, with forty minutes left of my "workday" I thought I would write you to let you know that I believe your music must be totally underrated. THIS IS SOME GOOD SHIT!

People out there in the internets, do yourself a solid and click on these links and take. it. in!

Here's Rich Girl:

Get DOWN with your bad self.
This is quite possibly one of the most perfectly arranged pop songs of all time. Notice, how it begins so simple and pure then crescendos until it reaches an incredible climax of instruments and power. I could belt out this song every.single.day. I FEEL it that much. At that moment around the 2:06 mark with a pause into the "And you say..." BRILLIANT!

Private Eyes:
I mean, COME ON! What's NOT to like? Totally performance based. Costumed like private eyes (clevah, clevah). And flashing lights with the claps. So simple. Did I mention that synthesizer? Mmmmmm. Smells like 80s.

Maneater, The Orig:
The absolute epitome of what a great 80s video should be.
-80s Zoot Suits-check
-Shadows-Check
-saxaphone-check
-saxaphone player wearing shades-check
-that great 80s dance move, really made famous in Footloose, where you bounce side to side and then occassionally getting elbows involved- check yes
-COUGAR!!!!!-check say WHAT?!
-Prositute-check
-John Oates perm/fro bouncing while he dances-check and check
-Jumping in shot to sing "whoa-oa here she comes" every single time, against a corner-checkity check check
-intense staring into the camera-oh yeah check
-slight scat of "womaniswild whooooaaa" by Daryl- chizzeck
-once again, very performance based-nice check

I've watched this video three times now and it could quite possibly be one of my favorite things of all time. It is genius, nostalgic and fucking great. Words do not truly encompass the magnitude of beauty this video and song posses.

You Make My Dreams Come True:
Daryl and John, John and Daryl. You DO make my dreams come true. You are clearly having the times of your lives in this video and you know what? It makes me want to do the same. I want to bounce around the city listening to this song. I would be such a happier person. And maybe that's the point. You made music that made people better.

Yes, I am leaving out other seminal works such as "She's Gone" and "I Can't Go For That", both outstanding in their own rights. But with given this sampling, I guess what I'm trying to say is that although you're not cranking out hits anymore, you did good work and that's the gift that keeps giving.
Do Work Hall and Oates, Do. Work.

Hugs, kisses and Real Talk-
Miss Maneater Ava

P.S.-Dear John Oates' Moustache-
You deserve a letter of your own. You are powerful, potent and rich. You put many-a moustache to shame. You are full of life and vigor. You make the 80s proud. Word on the street is that the moustache is making a come-back, well if that's the case, you are the ideal of what a good, nay, great moustache should be. Although in 2008, it should be noted, you no longer exist, which is a crime. John, give 'Stache a chance.

Moustaches and Rides-
Lady Ava

ain't NO shame!

The walk of shame, without the shame…
The walk of shame, minus the shame…
The walk of shame, sans shame…

Yup. Each line is funny. And true.

A ten block walk home on a rather mild December day at 9 am can kinda clear the head.
Typically, I would have jumped in a cab and high-tailed it back to the coziness of my home and most important, bed. But today, that wind, the quiet streets and the air told me to pound the pavement the ten blocks home.

I pass windows and catch a glimpse of myself. I don’t look totally like a ho on her way home from a one night stand. No. I prefer to think I’m on way to brunch. Yeah, brunch, assholes. But I do look like a fierce ninja, dressed head to toe black. Or a secret agent. Both are badass and not to be messed with.

For a few steps, it smells like New York. I am suddenly transported there and wonder what it would be like to live there. I really need to get back there.

There is definitely one specific spot in Chicago that reminds me of The Last Guy. And it pisses me off. Sharing a spot in your city with someone and then they make it their own spot in their own unique way can just make a girl want to do a ninja kick in a fit of rage. Alas, energy and fading memories keep this ninja chick at bay.

Pass by a great little card shop. Begin counting the number of cards I will need to buy and the awesome people who will be receiving one filled with my loving words for Christmas. How is it almost Christmas already?

I am kinda loving the brief glances of slight judgment directed at me. I giggle to myself.

I do not have my ipod. Walking without it is bizarre, and yet refreshing.

Mind is feeling clear.

Holy crap. At every intersection, except the one I’m at, I’ve been able to just walk on through. Nice. That’s ninja.

The homestretch is upon me. It’s so nice to reach your neighborhood and to feel like you are a part of the street.

I send a brilliant text. Why must texts be so brief? I really cannot express my stunning wit within the confines of a damn text. Ah, yes. But it is these restrictions that beget greatness. Drink that one in. Drink. It. IN. On the house.

And my front door. And my staircase. And my home. Dorothy had it right, there’s no place like home. Even if it took a shameless walk to get there. No trip to Oz here!

To my hos and haters, much love. I hope you had a rocking weekend.

Lurves-
Ava

just another day

1)  Waking up blows. A daily battle.
2)  Wearing my hair Carrie Bradshaw curly lately. The bigger the better. Ooooh! Or the Texan phrase, the bigger the hair, the closer to God. Amen.
3)  Train to work totally uneventful. That’s rare. Especially for the Red Line.
4)  Conference call first thing. I am uncaffeinated and DYING. Occasionally confused by the conversation. Productivity could be a problem.
5)  STARBUCKS. At sweet last. Great anticipation for my grande vanilla soy latte (yeah, I went on the small side today).
      a. Someone orders something with “6 pumps.” A grande espresso with 6 pumps. Whatthefuck? What does this mean? How do you reach a specific “6 pump” point? How much effort goes into figuring out that 5 pumps is too few and 7 is too much? Can you REALLY tell? REALLY? If it ever comes to that moment for me in my Starbucks ordering life, I’m going to have to re-evaluate some shit in my life.
6)  Day progresses…slooooooowwwwllyyyyyy. How did anything ever get done before Gchat and Facebook stalking and blog reading? I mean, come ON.
7)  I almost never know what to eat for lunch. Unless I think of it on the train to work. I will literally sit at my desk, starving and unable to decide what kind of nourishment to put in my body. Today, a sandwich from Cosi. That took roughly an hour and a half for me to decide. Yeah, I’m going places.
8)  End this day, end this day, end this day, end this day, end this day, end this day, end this day…
9)  Train ride home. Score a seat. Try not to stare at the Hotness standing by the door. Make up elaborate scenario of how he is my soulmate and we live happily ever after. He gets off at Armitage. Sexy. Goodbye, MY LOOOVE!
10)  Long walk home in the fucking cold.
11)  Arrive at home, change into yoga clothes. Awesome. It’s a motherfucking blizzard outside. You know what? I’m a champion and I WILL get my yoga on. I owe it to my mind, body and spirit.
12)  Survive the blizzard and yoga class. Feeling good, feeling good.
13)  And then my mind starts thinking and becoming angsty. I begin to ponder relationships. I wonder how and why people become involved in them. I feel like an alien studying this “re-la-tion-ship” thing that the humans do. Ugh, no matter. I’ve got better shit to do like watch “It’s Always Sunny” in Philadelphia and write to you beautiful people.
14)  Pass out.

And there you have it, Sweetfaces. Just an average day in the life of little old me.
I’m Ava Worth, and thanks for stopping by.

oh the angst

i find that there are times when it seems

like only billie holiday understands.

that's all for now. 

but trust me, there's more going on in this brain of mine.

stay tuned and hopefully the ugh will pass.

fightin the good fight-

ave-dawg

all aloney on my owny

I’m struggling with something. Deep breathe, because that was a lot to admit and I haven’t begun to explain myself. Another deep breath, here it goes.

For several months now, I have savored my single gal status. As a matter of fact, I fiercely defended it. Ok, maybe I held very strong feelings for someone who could seemingly not return the favor as I do deserve more, and who did not live in the same city. That made maintaining my single stature easy.

Why do I love my singleness so much? Well, for me it’s not a matter of whoring around and such. (Although random makeouts rock, right?) No, my single power comes from being alone and doing whatever I want whenever I want. Since I was a little girl playing Barbies in the basement, I have never really had a problem with being alone. My mind and the activities that I enjoy keep me plenty occupied. As an adult, (and I use the term loosely) I have discovered that this alone time is what re-charges me, centers me and keeps me sane. That isn’t to say that loneliness doesn’t occasionally set in and really sting, but it’s in those almost scary moments of loneliness that I seem to embrace and find some kind of strength. Hey, it’s what I tell myself and it helps. I’m really not a social butterfly although I do thrive when receiving attention.

Oh yeah. I'm a full on contradiction. Now comes the conflict.

How long can I really maintain this single/alone lady thing? What’s it going to take for me to compromise my alone time and my agenda? How much will I have to really compromise? Who will want to put up with all of this (read: ME)?!

The past month has been a bit brutal for me. At some point, I threw up my hands and the white flag saying, “I CAN’T TO THIS ALONE ANYMORE! I WANT SOMEONE TO TAKE CARE OF ME, DAMNIT!” As I stated in my previous post, I have recently discovered that I am not really alone. I have an abundance of support and love, which constantly stuns and delights me. But I think I am coming to realize that perhaps I desire another kind of support. The kind that mostly a (gulp) “boyfriend” provides. 

I might be a bit lightheaded after writing that last sentence and using the word boyfriend. Huh. 

Well, maybe I am ok on my own. No need to rush anything. I’m ok, I’m ok, I’m ok.

shout out to G

Galatea is my rock, my love and one of the best friends a gal could have.

That just needed to be addressed.

Thank you and goodnight.

Snowflakes and boots-

ava