an open letter:VH1

Dear VH1.
Wow. Where do I even begin? (Breath). Your Sunday night line-up has pretty much changed my life.There. I said it.
From 7:00-11:00 Central Time, I am mesmerized, delighted, in awe and happy. Oh so happy. Chicago winters are tough on me, VH1. They’re cold, harsh, bleak and depressing as fuck. But for 3 hours during the week, I am transported to amazing places and experience pure joy.

First, you bring me “Confessions of a Teen Idol” hosted by the ALWAYS relevant Scott Baio. Former teen idols are brought in to live together and have another shot at fame. These idols are Jeremy Jackson (Baywatch), Chris Atkins (The Blue Lagoon), Jamie Walters (90210 Original), Billy Hufsey (TV’s Fame), Adrian Zmed (TJ Hooker), Eric Nies (the first Real World) and David Chokachi (Baywatch). In each episode, the Idols go to group therapy to face the demons of their former fame and 

demise. 

Hottie boom botties from back in the dizzay

Next, a challenge is presented. Previous episodes include making over their image, auditioning for a commercial, putting on a show for children and auctioning themselves off for charity. All brilliant. They even had to sit and listen as a control group of women, their former target audiences saw the “then” and “now” of each guy and give their honest reactions to them. Not pretty in most cases. At some point in each episode, there is always one guy who can’t handle the pressure of the situation any longer and threatens to leave the show. 

And then comes Baio Ex Machina. Where would ANYONE be without El Baiocito? With a little help from his friend Wayne from The Wonder Years, they help talk whoever isin crisis mode. Ooooohhhhh Baaiiooooooo.

What is truly remarkable about this show is that it isn’t competitive. No one is getting kicked off if they don’t have the best makeover or don’t’ do a good job at the audition. These guys really support and care about want to see each guy succeed. 

Baiolicious

(Cue: awwwwww). It’s actually refreshing to see people act compassionate instead of turning into cutthroat maniacs. (Cue: Next two hours of programming).

At this point, VH1, I’m feeling good, feeling hopeful and already anticipating next week’s soul-searching with former idols. And then comes "Rock of Love Bus With Bret Michaels."

Dear Sweet Baby Jesus Lying in a Manger I love this show beyond most things I’ve encountered in my life (via TV). It all goes back to last fucking miserable winter. My roommate LOVED this show and I just didn’t understand. “Bret Michaels? REALLY?!” I would ponder. 

Bret, you're my hero

My brain just couldn’t get a grasp of this complex question, so I didn’t tune in. And then one day, my curiosity and depression got the best of me and like any good drug, I was hooked. Although the “Bret Michaels? REALLY?!” still plagues me from time to time, I soon realized it’s not about him per se, but the rather the CRazY beyotchs who fight, fuck and drink for this “Rock of Loooooooove.” This show has captivated my brain cells (as in, I have less of them now) and my soul (as in, surely I sold it to the Devil for loving this show so much)

that I have decided to commit a WEEK, yes Loves, a week to all thing Rock of Love. You. Are. WELCOME!

And so, I must wrap up hour 2, VH1 by saying, goddamnit this show has NEVER disappointed me. My jaw always drops, I’m always screaming/laughing (scraughing, if you will) with joy. You just need to know VH1 that Bret and his hos NEVER disappoint. EVER. Amen.
Klassy Ladies

And for the final hour of your fine Sunday shows: "Tool Academy." Vh1, this is reality TV. Period. This is th

e pinnacle. The tops. Years and years of reality competition shows have led to this gem of a miracle of an answer to a prayer of a diamond in a rough. Someone was under the influence of something mystical when they came up with this one.
Here it is, those of ye unsaved by the majesty of this show. THE POWER OF TOOL COMPELLS YOU!

Toooooooooooolssssssss!

Dudes arrive to a show they believe is “Mr. Awesome.” Immediately there is yelling, stripping, grunting, hair spiking, lotioning abs and madness as these men-children prepare to perform for a group of screaming women. They. Are. PUMPED. Meanwhile…their girlfriends (GFs from here on out) watch all of this go down in another room. They witness their boyfriends’ parade in front of, kiss, flirt and grind up on other women. Oh yeah.
The host, some dude with a smug voice, brings the men together after the show. And in walk the GFs. Jaws drop. Eyes lower. “Oh my God”muttered. GFs glare. Oh yeah.
Dudes are informed they are not, in fact, competing to be Mr. Awesome. Nay. Their GFs have enlisted them in the Tool Academy. HUZZAH! Dudes must go through sets of challenges such as Communication, Fidelity, Humility, Maturity, and Bravery, to name a few, in order to become reformed and worthy boyfriends. Oh yeah.
Now, when an Asshole is kicked is expelled from the Tool Academy, the GF has the option of either staying with the loser or leaving his ass. Oh yeah.
The winning couple receives $100,000, chump change in reality show terms as of late but the golden ticket jackpot here. Shit. I’d taken it.
In this moment, I have decided that I will devote a separate entry or two to Le Tool Academy and all it’s glory for there are so many specific moments I must address and simply throwing them in now will not do you justice, VH1.

Congratulations and thank you, VH1. Every week, I look forward to spending my Sundays with you. During these dark days of winter, you fill me with hope and wonder. What else can I say? 

You do good work, son.

All my love and Real Talk-
La Ava

who could ask for anything more?

The sun was shining on this beautiful Saturday. No, I didn’t venture out to enjoy the sunshine even though it’s beaming through my windows. So, in order to be productive, I slapped a face-mask on popped in the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie, “Shall We Dance.” This is serious work, people.

Fred and Ginger movies make me so happy. The music, the dancing, the dialogue, the wacky situations are perfection. And Ginger Rogers?Lady was FIERCE! She NEVER takes crap from anyone. She knows what she wants and gets it. So when she does start to fall in love with Fred Astaire, when they’re dancing, it is magical and she is totally caught off guard. The movie centers on these rumors that the two of them are married and someone addresses her as “Ma’am.” Her response, “Ma’am!? It’s MISS!” Hell yeah! Love her. These movies were so smart and sharp. They just don’t make them like they used to. Yes, I’m a 75-year-old woman. Bite me.

As the sun sets, my pores are smaller, my skin is glowing and Ginger Rogers is my hero. Oh, and btDUB, a little fact I picked up watching the special features, which I do with all classic film dvds, Fred Astaire’s daughter is Ava Astaire. How fabulous do I feel!

Happy Saturday, bitches!

all the king's horses, all the king's men, somehow put ava together again

There are moments where I sit back in my life and Le Sigh. It’s been a rough couple of months but as Galatea just pronounced to me today, “I will no longer listen to anything you complain about. You’ve got it all.” To that I say, “Bitch is right.”

When your world crashes around you for one reason or another, you can’t help but step back, look at the wreckage and attempt to pick up the pieces. But for a time, you sit in the rubble and feel the loss of what you’ve built up. And slowly, you try to put your life together again, like Humpty Dumpty, but the fractures are there. Some pieces are missing or don’t fit, It seems like you’ll never feel whole again and you just aren’t what you used to be. Any other catastrophes that hit you shatter that fragile shell you tried to re-create around yourself and your left raw and exposed to the elements.

This was the point I had been at lately. And it was awful. And I felt alone. But the biggest lesson was that I wasn’t alone. Not at all. Not close. My friends near and far began to rebuild me. And I had to surrender to that and trust them to do so. I must have done something right in my life so far to be so lucky as to have people who would dig in and get to work on The Revitalizing Ava Project. And at some point, I became strong enough to rebuild myself and take the steps necessary to make myself all around more awesome.

Tonight Galatea and I had dinner with two dear friends. We ate a delicious meal, drank a lot of wine and laughed uproariously for hours. It was one of those nights where you look at the clock and it’s only 8:00 and the next minute it’s 11:00 and time for the good times to end. It’s nights like this when your friends leave and you almost cling to them in an embrace, trying to hold onto what you love most about them and what you just shared.

I sat back, took it in and knew, this is love.
I’m so in love with everyone who has had a hand in fixing me.
I can’t think of a better way to start a New Year…well, a Chinese New Year. Same thing. 

It’s all fabulous.

Onward and upward, hos-

little miss ava

when i grow up...

You guys, I figured it out! And I’m super excited that I’ve finally figured out my destiny.

 I’M GOING TO BE FIRST LADY WHEN I GROW UP! 

For. Real. Watch me do work.

Ok, yes, I realize there are a few logistical “issues” with this newfound goal, but damnit, you can’t fight *destiny*!

I mean, YEAH, I will need to:
a) Date from a pool of attractive men who will become senators (Democrats, thank you!) without looking like a total gold digga. Kanye, don’t go there.

b) Actually get into a relationship. (shudders)

c) Probably should start burying those skeletons in my closet!
d) Take up noble causes. And push my agendas of arts and education. Mwahahaha.
e) Marry the dude.
f) Make some pretty babies.

g) Hit the campaign trail, winning the American people over state by state until they vote for

 my man.

h) Move into the White House.

Oh, and do it ALL while looking FIERCE!

So, it’s obviousthat Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis is my inspiration. Clearly.

I even busted out my book, “What Would Jackie Do?” for further inspiration! Etiquette, style, class, grace, this woman was it all. I could SO do that! But as Galatea pointed out, I will need to accept that people will say bad things about my husband and will scrutinize how I run my family. All very important points to consider. But I think I could rock it out.

Another reason (a very nerdy reason) why I want to be First Lady, is to live in and with the history of the White House. I love me some historical facts and items. I love living in history. And I think I would enjoy living in D.C. for four to eight years. And like I said in my last post, I’m not the most political gal, but I would like to do some good and serve the public’s best interest. Plus, dignitaries will LOVE me! I would really like to do some international goodwill. I’ve got this you guys! I've. Got. THIS! Who's with me? Ava's husband for Prez in 2016? YES I CAN, BITCHES! 

Plus, I’ll look FAB in oversized sunglasses and chic clothes. Truth.

hail to the chizzief!

Can you feel it? Can you see it? Can you hear it?
It’s Change. And to me, it’s palpable.
Listen, I’m a cynic. I’m not the most political gal on the planet. And for some time, I was absolutely sure that our country would see its demise in my lifetime. But today, I witnessed our lives change. We’re on a different course. And it MUST change.

The words PRESIDENT Obama (how freaking sweet is THAT?!) spoke so eloquently this afternoon continue to ring in my ears this evening. I am filled with a sense of pride, of duty and of that other magical word, hope.
I feel like I could write a dissertation at this point in regards to some points Prez Obama made in his address. But alas, I’ve had some wine, it’s getting late and words seem to fail me in writing about something so profound.
I urge everyone to actually read his speech. This man is a writer. His words MEAN something. They must. He is thoughtful and deliberate. He will lead.
I’m riding on a wave of inspiration. And I leave you with this:

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a 

local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.

And so it begins...

oh9 can suck it

Well, kids. When it rains, it shit storms.
As Galatea mentioned this weekend, my stuff was stolen from the bar this weekend. Mind you, this is a bar I bartend at once a week. I mean, come on. The universe is out to get me or teach me some lesson. I don’t know what it is, but it sure is kicking my ass and taking a toll.

Here is one lesson I know for sure. I have the most amazing friends near and far. Whenever I have been down and out and something shitty happens, friends just scoop me up and work their magic. It’s the kind words, it’s the actions, it’s that feeling that they understand and even more than that, EMPATHIZE with it all. They don’t want me to fall. I am just so full of love because of them. I don’t know if anyone deserves this, but I’m certainly proud and blessed that I’m on the receiving end of it all.

In light of the less than stellar start to 2009, I have decided to really celebrate the Chinese New Year. January 26th. IT. IS. ON. By this time, our Main Man Obama will be in the White House and everything will be rainbows, cupcakes and a better economy. Right? HELL YEAH.

I don’t think I was approaching 2009 with the right mindset, mostly because I find New Years obnoxious, like Valentine’s Day or Sweetest Day. There is just so much hype for a clock to turn to midnight. Of course I understand the “fresh start” and “another year, another chance” aspect of it all. Quite frankly, I hope to spend one New Years at a yoga retreat (preferably in a tropical locale) in meditation when the clock strikes twelve. I know. How “Eat, Pray, Love” of me. But it’s true.
However, in Chicago, you cannot go out ANYWHERE without dropping at least $150 MINIMUM. For one night. Yeah. Ridonkulous. And if you’re in a relationship, the pressure is ON, my brotha. If you do not find the perfect place to ring in the new year with your girlfriend, who just bought a new skanky dress and heels (even if it is 20 degrees out, yeah, she is retarded) then it’s over. Well, it’ll be over after she scores her loot and boo-tay for Valentine’s Day. I’m guessing you’ll be done by February 21st if you fuck up New Years. Welcome to reasons number 26 and 27 of “Why Ava CHOOSES to be Single.” And why go through all of that when you can do a shot of Jameson with your “If We Were Lesbians…” friend, Faith, and share a petit smooch. Followed by looking at each other and saying, “this is bullshit” and chugging a glass of champagne. Word.

The point to my tirade? Because clearly I need to wrap this mess up. Well, I think you can have a fresh start anytime. You don’t need a sparkly ball to drop or confetti to fly for you to make a choice for change in your life. And you don’t need to be in a relationship with one person to be truly happy or to feel truly loved. Right now, I’ll take the love of many. There’s strength in numbers.

So, suck it 09. I’ve got friends, art and the upcoming Year of the Ox on my side!

Dear Galatea,

Find me THIS Sugar Daddy. ASAP.

kthanksloveyoubye!