When You've Been Gone For a Real Long Time and People Are All, "Who Are You Even?"

....that's what I imagine that lil toddler-cat to the left is saying as I start to blog. "Why are you even doing this? Do you have anything to talk about anymore? Boo don't you have a podcast now? Is that not enough to satiate your narcissistic, albeit well intentioned, self? Also, get me some some damn Dunkaroos right now!"

That's what I feel (in my heart) that lil child is saying. And honestly: I don't blame her. Why bring this thing back from the dead? This blog is like the Teri Hatcher of blogs. Like, it's coming back on this salacious, hyper-sexualized and grossly anti-feminist stereotypical primetime television show but, was it really necessary? Did we really miss it to begin with?

....in hindsight Teri Hatcher and my blog have nothing in common. Or too much in common. I can't tell. I've had wine. 

The point I'm trying to make is that there is no point for me to blog again. But, truth be told, I missed it very much. I journaled more because I'm a middle class woman in my 20's and that's how we roll. In the last absent year from blogging, I've moved to a new apartment. And I did a few jobs here and there. And I went on a surprise trip to Germany. And I worked out. Every day. I look fantastic.*

You know when you start to get those horrid family recap letters around the holidays? You know, the type of letter that's designed to make you feel like you've spent an entire year of your life not doing NEARLY as much as your Smith cousins from western Massachusetts? I hate (read: secretly love) these letters! They are fascinating! And who doesn't love a mother writing in third person?!? Third person! Never not funny! I wanted to write about what's happened in the time between putting the blog on hiatus and starting the podcast. I wanted to write about the fantastic adventures, and the beautiful nights spent learning and loving, growing and thriving, living my very best life. And then I remembered: that's just not my style. So, instead, here's a VERY honest and unnecessarily detailed description of how my yesterday went. Because being honest (in third person) is important. 

Woah! Huh! What a DAY it has been! Bligh has been goin' here and a'goin' there! She has sweat out of her right armpit (almost exclusively) since 7:38am this morning when she left her new home in Harlem to go to her day job in Flatiron selling trash! WE ARE SO PROUD OF HER.

Bligh loves her new day job** and she particularly loves the long breaks her new day job affords her, where she says she is going to read up about current affairs but where she really just stalks the Kardashians on Instagram. She also enjoys using the break times to go the Dunkin on the corner of W 27th and 6th Ave and carry on a passive fight dating back to before Christmas with one of the female baristas there. It simultaneously gives her a sense of accomplishment and a mild distaste for her own stubborn behavior. That distaste tastes oddly similar to a chocolate munchkin.

After a busy and long day selling trash Bligh was lucky enough to head to a casting where a super kind lady took a few pictures of her and graciously said, "I didn't even notice the food stain on your sweater until you pointed it out." She then proceeded to head home but NOT before stopping by her new favorite neighborhood hangout, Food Universe. Rosa is currently the Employee of the Month over at Food Universe and she is KILLING it. Way to go Rosa! Bligh brilliantly stopped at Food Universe*** to pick up a few odds and ends for her impulsive, yet all together too-delish-to-pass-up, Pinterest find of the day:

http://www.thefirstmess.com/2016/01/13/creamy-french-lentils-with-mushrooms-and-kale-recipe/

View fullsize

So french, right?

She then watched the Vice interview of the USA Freedom Kids approximately seventeen times until she memorized every single quote/gesture/mannerism of the littlest one. You know, the one who seems most insistent that  you answer the call when freedom calls? That one. She's the best. But, click and see for yourself.

Aside from these aforementioned, ambitious Tuesday night life projects, Bligh also prepped this blog entry, ironed her jeans, and had a fight with a neighborhood pigeon. All jokes aside, shit's gotten kinda cool these last few months. She's got a podcast. She had a live sold out show. She got botox. And most importantly, she's fighting with a pigeon. All this and more in the blog/on the podcast/in the plethora of instas that will be meticulously filtered and passed off as perfectly captured, organic moments. 

So that's it. I would love if you would take a minute to go to iTunes and search the podcast "Avocados Are For Rich People." You should listen to the second, and most recent episode called "Uncomfortable: The Boozy Brunch Tapes." And you should also maybe take a lil minute to subscribe to it, rate it, and review it. This keeps me in a zen place so I don't start as many fights with Dunkin Donuts baristas or pigeons. It also keeps freedom free. And really, that's what it's all about. 

*I haven't even attempted to run in approximately three months

**I really actually love my day job everyone is really cool and they deal with me singing.

***Food Universe is no joke and easily my favorite place to hang out in Harlem. 

An artist's rendering, pre botox. I look much younger now. 

What I'm Gonna Need to See

The running thing isn't going so well. Well, that's not entirely true. Some days it goes! It goes strong, it goes in good form and some days it's even--dare I say it--fun. The fun days conveniently seem to exclusively be the days my lil Nike app tells me to run four miles or less. And then there are the long run days...yeah...those days aren't so much bad as that they don't really happen. 

I think I'm failing at the training aspect of this race. Yes, there are moments of triumph. Yesterday I worked 9 hours, and got my ass to the gym and ran four miles. It wasn't my best time, but I didn't stop once and I did it in a little over 40 minutes. It doesn't hurt the day after anymore. My calves are starting to look like sculpted muscle, and I have been able to stick to a commitment of running every other day, or at least four times a week. I just can't seem to force myself past the four to five mile markers. This race is six weeks away. I'm getting nervous bout it. 

I was gifted the book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami for Christmas this year and it's been helping. This man and I have almost polar opposite feelings about the art of running, mainly the fact that he seems to enjoy it. Murakami doesn't drink when he's training so I'm not drinking. Murakami stresses living a scheduled life of routine and early mornings when he trains so I am getting up...earlier. The bits we don't agree on are centered around one's core impetus to run; he runs for personal discovery--void of competition--so that he can simultaneously derive pleasure and pain, whereas I feel all the pain, none of the pleasure. The only thing fueling me is the competition. And pride. I said I would do this so I'm going to do this. The only other thing that drives me as I listen to Britney Spears' "Stronger" club mixes on repeat? Why, that would be what I want to see at the damn finish line of this damned race.  

What I'm Gonna Need to See As I Finish This Half-Marathon

1)  Anyone I've ever kissed on the mouth/shared my cousin's HBOGO password with/conned into stopping at Dunkin even if we didn't have time/been late to dinner plans with to show up and cheer me on wearing homemade, glitter puffy paint shirts that say things like

• "Go Bligh-thing!"
• "Yes Bliggles"
• "Stay strong biddie!"

2) At the halfway point, I want to be handed a warm mixed berry scone from Alice's Teacup. The butter must be cold. This is important. Actually, I'd like Alice's Teacup to sponsor snacks for my friends who've come out in support. Everyone gets a scone! But the temperature of their butter is on them.

3) After I cross the finish line I'm going to cry. As I'm wiping away perfect television tears, I want Liza Minnelli* to be singing a cover of India Arie's, "Just Do You." I would like Aziz Ansari to not only introduce me to the crowds via megaphone, I'd also like him to tell me I booked that 5-and under I auditioned for yesterday for his new show. He should also be willing to hug me because I think he's wicked cute and funny. I bet he smells nice.

4) When I run past, I want people (all people, not just the ones I know) to scream "YAHHHS MAMI!" ...because I've never been called "Mami" before and I think I can ask for whatever I want. 

5) I want my girl Whitney who is  running with me to high five me. A lot. I love high fiving. I wish we all high fived more. I also want to wear matching hats but I don't want her to say no so I'll spring it on her about 10 minutes before we start.

6) Finally, I want everyone (I mean EVERYONE) to lie and say I had a great running stride and I looked so good. Lie to me so good babies! Also, if you take a picture of me running and you wanna post it, please filter it with either "Mayfair" or "X-pro II" as those make me appear tanner.

*FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIZA:

First of all, thank you for doing this! I've admired you since I inappropriately watched Cabaret at the tender age of eight and legitimately thought Sally Bowels sings "Maybe This Time" because she lost out on a big role she was auditioning for. Then in college, a group of amazing friends and I skipped school to attend your out of town try-out for "Liza's at the Palace" in Woonsocket, Rhode Island and you blew us the fuck away! We came all the way from Boston to see you. I still talk about that concert. You did not STOP. You also didn't wear pants but instead opted for the FANCIEST black sequined men's shirt I've ever seen. Your legs were a show enough! My favorite favorite part? When you had not one but TWO encores, the first being a song entitled "Mammy" (questionable choice) and "New York, New York" where you modulated up FIVE UNNECESSARY TIMES. I was on my feet by the third and the last two were the most thrilling moments of my life. Okay, I'll stop fangirling you and therefore offer you, diva, some alternate songs you may sing if you don't have time to learn "Just Do You" although, it's a badass song and you should add it to your rep for sure. Below is the short list of suggestions. Finally, I'd like to wrap this up by saying the race is April 19th, at 9am. I hope to be done around 11am-11:15am (god willing) so you should get up to steam the gift around 8am? I'll defer to you.

- "Jolene" by Dolly Parton

- "Power" by Kanye West

- "Rock Me Baby" by Tina Turner

- "Domino" (I'd prefer the Van Morrison song but I'll settle for Jessie J's "Domino" too...you pick)

- the opening credits song from "Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt"

- "Amazing Grace" but uptempo with a tambourine

Babies. Skipping tap class to love on Liza. In Rhode Island.

I'm Not Your Friend, I'm Your Mother.

Today is "Homage Friday." I just made that up. Because I do what I want and because today is my Mom's birthday. At first I thought: will she like this? Will she like being called out publicly on her birthday? Of course she will. She's my mother. When entering my intensely precarious teenage years, my mother made it very clear we were not friends. She was my parent, I was not to be her best friend, confidant, or equal. It seemed extreme and unfair at the time. Why couldn't we be friends, Gilmore Girls style? She was from New England like Lauren Graham and I had porcelain (read: translucent) skin like Alexis Bledel! But now I'm glad we aren't friends because without our relationship rooted in brutal honesty, love, and a little bit of fear I don't think I would be the kind of woman I am and still strive to be.

Thanks, biddie. Thank you for always surrounding yourself with smart, funny, assertive women who taught me what to look for in friends of my own. Thank you for being part of a mom club who referred to themselves as "Moms on the Loose," or MOL's. It's kinda cool you're in an acronym group. It's like a gang. But with less violence. Thank you for teaching (through effortless example) how to throw a dinner party on a whim with whatever's in your pantry and a prayer. Thank you for instilling in me the healing powers of hot cheese and raw brownie batter after a hard day. Thanks for loving Mexico and going so often that I always have an emergency and questionable z-pak in times of need.

Thank you for being a hard ass. You're right, most allergies are fake. And sleep away camp is for rich kids. Now, I know you don't think asthma is real, but some people do suffer from this respiratory condition. But it's your birthday, let's not fight. Thank you for always telling me it didn't matter if I was pretty, it mattered if I was smart. Thank you for introducing me to the calming qualities of diagraming a sentence. It still remains the quickest way to soothe my soul.

Thank you for always having my back. When I wasn't allowed to enter that 8th Grade Inter parish dance for NO REASON, you told that vile woman who kicked me out to "fuck off." Thanks for that. In the moment, I was mortified. But looking back, it was really cool of you. Speaking of being mortified, the day you and Auntie Nina locked me in the car to impress upon me that " giving oral sex is FINE, just so long as you always date a man who gives it back" was revolutionary. I was twelve. So...that was a lot. But, um, thank you?

Most of all, thank you for having the invaluable tool of finding the humor in any situation life has ever presented you. The longer I write, the more I write, I think about how much my voice is a product of yours. Not your physical voice. Love you so hard, but you have a tendency to sit on your chords. But your humor. Your distinct view of the world and people and your ability to be uniquely yourself, even when it's not necessarily the main stream. You are not my friend, you're my Ma. It's your birthday and I love you.

So if Mama Voth had a Facebook or Twitter or an Instagram or some version of social media, I'd tell you, dear reader, to find her and wish her a happy birthday. But she doesn't. She sneaks on my brother Eamon's accounts. So, like, friend him. She'll see it. She'll deny she saw it, but that's just part of her charm. Wish I could be there with you today Ma, but I'll power-clean the apartment to Peter Allen's greatest hits. I'll stop for a quick cry during "I Honestly Love You," chug a TAB, and buy a large piece of art no one likes but me. All in homage.

xx Bligh Blue

PS: a GIGANTIC THANK YOU for never letting me go to a prom or a Homecoming dance dressed like a miniature hooker...and that's all I really have to say about that.

Tis the Season...to Look Better Than Everyone Else: A Lesson in Holiday Picture Posing

The thing about the holidays is people want to take a lot of pictures. And then they want to post all about them over the internet. And so, you sweet biddie reader, need to be ready. Family is sneaky. Family is like, "Oh hey everyone get together for a picture all of us! Let's use this florescent lighting over here! OH and let's make all the women squat! GREAT IDEA! Flattering and incredibly simple to do in that holiday dress, yes?" No. I don't play when it comes to picture taking, and neither should you. Can I break it down for you? Thank you much. THE FIVE CARDINAL RULES FOR PICTURE POSING

1.) It's going to hurt. Namaste it out.

-The thing about a luxury picture is, it will hurt you. Natural posing does not exist. You think all the fancy times models are comfortable while posing for Vogue? No they are not. They are uncomfortable. You need to be ok with this because the final product is worth the momentary pain. Try to cultivate friends with quick flash cameras because no one wants to sit through some 1995 Canon PowerShot long exposure bullshit whilst holding a show bevel. No. Not today, Geraldine.

2.) Find your side.

-My friend Whitney has an incredibly strong left side. Which is perfect, because I can give you a strong dimple and mischief half-smile on my right. WE POSE PERFECTLY TOGETHER. (See above, what a beautiful little ginger bunny she is, no?) I'm not saying pick friends with a good side different than yours, but I'm saying pick friends with a good side different than yours. Practice your side. Spend a little time in front of the mirror figuring that shit out. Additionally, it is imperative that you are living in truth about your weak side because during the holiday season, one's fam-jam may do sneaky things after the third or fourth bottle of Yellow Tail has been consumed. Family has a blatant disregard for your good side at this stage of the night. WORRY NOT. Just collect yourself, and finagle your way to your good side. Everyone will make fun of you. But know that history will remember this moment through the strong Instagram filter chosen. And it will remember that you look good.

3.) When in doubt, get in the middle.

-The Divine Queen (Beyonce) has made it clear time and time again that posing in the middle of a strong group of women only makes you more awesome. There's not a great deal of science behind this next statement but I FIRMLY believe that years of middle-posing with Destiny's Child is the crux of her solo career confidence. Take that as you will. I've been to three fake colleges. Below is a picture of my LUXURY show sisters at our opening night party for a show, me giving you a solid rule #3 in full effect. See what I mean here? They look great, yet, I'm winning. BUT to my right, Kellee's strong "clav-to-arm-to hip" stance is fantastic and brings me to the next rule...

4.) KNOW AND LOVE YOUR BODY.

-Kellee always gives you a strong contoured arm to hip stance. This is just one of her many gifts. Me? Clavicle FAH DAYS. No matter what. Even those days (read: weeks) where I decide dark chocolate and rose is a normal and acceptable breakfast. My dearest dear, Mike needs to teach a master class in the half-smile. He might've invented it, it's so good. But the point here is: when you know and love your body and your assets, you will always have the posing upper hand. Even at family holiday parties where your Mom nonchalantly mentions that, "last year Bligh was sadder but she was also thinner." That cannot phase you when you have that brilliant clavicle. And an Irish-coffee in your hand.

5.) Just enjoy your damn life.

-A few weeks ago in the lady's dressing room I ran this blog entry topic by the women and we laughed and posed for a good long while, just enjoying how ridiculous this all actually is. Then, last week in NYC I had luxury diner breakfast with Alex and Whitney and we further discussed the posing techniques, and laughed at ourselves all over again. I wish someone had been there to take a picture of us. Because from where I was sitting, they were both so beautiful. Same with my dressing room loves: they are most lovely when we are all just laughing and enjoying our lives. Joy is stunning. Be joyful all the time, and once in a while, take a picture to remember that joy. I am fucking brilliantly lucky to have spent the last year of life laughing with my honest and funny family, my kind friends, and my energetic and talented colleagues. Rule #5 is a picture-posing technique, but it's also my rule for the company I keep.

...feelings. Ugh. With all that being said, I need to go shower and finish Christmas shopping. So I leave you biddies with this: this holiday season, love your life. And try out this next pictured pose which I call "The Dead Rag Doll." Just do it. And Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Do it On a Tuesday

Whenever my family stalks me via the Facebook, their stock comments are, "You and your friends look like you are having so much fun and doing so many things! Why aren't you ever working? Do you work?" Firstly, family, that's a wee bit judgmental! I am CONSTANTLY working on my first solo business venture, an app called gaybitch.com but it is DIFFICULT to get a solid group of backers for the innovative ideas! Fret not though, for I will not give up. 

But seriously. I think something needs to be addressed as it holds true for myself and most other honest biddies that I aspire to emulate. Ready? All social media is covered in the Instagram filter of your choice. What I mean is, what you see as the observer is (most likely) not any completely truthful depiction of that person or their lifestyle. It's just not. It's pretty, yes. And in my case it's been tanned up and edited to the high heavens of deceptiveness, but it's not completely real. And that's ok. Because I believe the quickest way to becoming who you want to be is pretending to already be that way. Real life? Real life is not as glam as we'd all like it to be. Real life is being stranded at Grand Central Station at 6:30am trying to get out to Larchmont and ugly crying into the latte that caused you to go negative in your checking account, which is why you can't afford a train ticket....That was a hypothetical, by the way. That never happened. 

Here's the thing about the luxury fake life: IT'S EXPENSIVE! But the secret bout that is that it's not AS EXPENSIVE if you do it on a Tuesday. What does that mean Bligh? Well if you want to do fancy town things, it will always be cheaper on a Tuesday. And if it's not actually cheaper, you WILL be treated like a luxury biddie because apparently on Tuesday's most people are doing work related things. Example: one time my friends Juniper, Tarragon* and I decided we wanted to know what all the fuss was about strip clubs. And clearly we aren't going to go to just any strip club. We're gonna go to that fancy Scores on 28th! And we're gonna get in for free because it's 8pm on a Tuesday in the dead of summer! And we're going to get free drinks from a businessman named Rob all night because he's a regular there, approximately 112 years old, and he's loving our "breath of fresh air" presence. And for the record, YES it was sad! But not because of the female exploitation and feeling that every surface might be covered with a thin layer of semen. No. It was sad because the girls told us we had just missed their 2nd Anniversary party and there had been a HUGE buffet spread FOR FREE! With two-bite shrimp and everything! 

Another chichi thing to do on a Tuesday? Go to a psychic. Friday is still far away, and no one is happy or optimistic enough at this point of the week to want to know a damn thing about their future. BUT my girl Tiffany on the corner of 13th and Ave A will hook. it. up. Seriously. She has probably not seen anyone all day, so when you walk through her door she's going to give you a 30 minute reading for half-price. And she's only going to tell you positive and uplifting things about your future spouse/career because she's also going to try and sell you a healing crystal. Don't buy that crystal. Just enjoy the Tuesday night positive reading. 

This very recent Tuesday my closest biddies and I went apple picking and NO ONE  else was there! The cons were that the alpaca farm and the winery were closed (my two goals for the trip.) The pros were that we got a free bag of apple donuts for no reason and there wasn't anyone else there to ruin the aesthetic of our perfectly staged and expertly edited picture of FUN! So moral here is: do be  bougie and live the life you want. But, if possible, do it on a Tuesday. Oh, and slap a filter on it first. 

*the names of my friends have been changed to names of spices so as to sound as fake/trendy as my real name is. And to protect their identity because not everyone wants to admit to missing a killer buffet at a strip club.