Champagne Sunday’s: Festival Chasers…

My Do Dah called me Friday as I was driving to Chicago to embark on yet another “First Time Festival”. He called for some fashion advice and then I tried to catch him up on what was happening in my life.

I remember about 3 years ago, my father describing me to me. He said that I was the most confident insecure person he has ever met. He is almost 70…he has met a lot of people, when I heard him tell me this, I cried. I covered my face like I normally do when I shed some tears because, “Don’t let them see you cry…Ninja’s never cry!!!”

My Do Dah always said, “Torre if you can laugh in front of others, then you should be able to cry in front of others. It does not mean you are weak…it means that you are strong enough to show your emotions.” I try not to cover my face anymore, but it is still hard to do.

Anyway…back to me and me being the most confident insecure person my Do Dah has ever met!!! This statement made me realize that I needed to change whom I was. So I began my personal journey to find my moon…and by moon I mean me!!!

My journey began when I left America and traveled across the pond to a little music festival, named Reading. I had never been to a music festival and thought this would be the best place to discover who I was. And I thought why not attend a music festival in a different country by myself??? Therefore…I did.

I decided to make my first time at a festival even more interesting…I brought no money and 3 packs of cigarettes. I do not smoke as there are better ways to die but I thought cigarettes were a great way to barter some fun!!! There were over 80,000 strangers who had yet to meet me and within the first 3 hours of my arrival…I met a group of strangers that welcomed me into their world. And ohhh baby what a wild world it was!!!

I drank in so much fun that weekend and that group of strangers was the first to meet the new me. I met a group of people who introduced me to this wonderful thing called LIFE. At this festival, I realize how much I needed to start livin my life for me and no one else. It was a very exciting time for when I returned home I retuned confident in the fact…I knew that I could stand on my own two feet no matter what life threw at me. The following year I went back to Reading Festival. The strangers that I once met were now life long festival friends. I had a wonderful time the second time around, but you cannot top a First, First Year Festival.

Whether I was chasing the moon or the moon was chasing me, I found a little more of me at Rothbury!!! This time I did not want to venture this one on my own. I wanted to share it with someone who means the world to me, my brother. It was his First First and I am so thankful I got to share this adventure with him. This festival marked the 3rd year of my new life, because some how I got lucky enough to have a second chance to do this right. My brother knew what this festival meant to me and he did everything in his power to make it super special.

At Rothbury, I had hit a fork in the road on my journey and I had to decide what path I wanted to take…I took the one less traveled. Like a yellow butterfly emerging from its cocoon, I had found myself a little lost in this new magical world. Even though I was a little lost, Life was all starting to make sense. I found myself howling at the moon in the forest and at that moment, I knew that I had found what was missing from my life…my heart. I brought it back as a souvenir but I was not ready for it. So, I ripped my heart out to make more room for my AWESOMENESS. Heart in hand, I took it to the ROO…Bonnaroo!!!

It was another epic adventure and another First that I had the honor to share with my brother and his crew. Key Lime Pie, Naked Disco on top of the Worland Warrior Bus and Ziggy was introduced to the world. And then it happened…I tripped over my soul. It was just hangin out in the musical notes floating around in the air. AS trippy as that sounds…you have to have gone to a festival to understand what I am talking about. My soul sang into my mouth, but I still had my heart in my hand and did not know what to do with it.

For those that know me…I plan everything!!! Yes, I am unpredictable, but I have planned my unpredictability. AS I write this, I am already planning what first festivals I will be attending next year. After a long heart to heart with my heart, I realized I just need to let it go. I need to let go of the control and just be me. I did something spontaneous…I had no plan. I made a last minute decision to take my heart and my soul to yet another first…Lollapalooza. I did not think I would find what I was looking for…but I did.

“Unless your heart, your soul, and your whole being are behind every decision you make, the words from your mouth will be empty, and each action will be meaningless. Truth and confidence are the roots of happiness”…I am not sure who said that, but they must have been a festival chaser…

Champagne Sunday’s: I’ve Got My Life in a Suitcase…

 

 

Someone once said, “A writer’s finished product always resembles her own life more closely than those of anyone else’s; we leave our fingerprints on every page and move on to the next with nothing more than a memory of our past…”

 

Well my fingerprints are left on my laptop and my uncompleted product(s) have been erased from my hard drive.  Basically, I lost everything…my stories, my music, my photos and it seems my life. I try to look on the bright side (as I always do) and that side is at least I have my memories or what is left of them. 

 

Every time I leave my home, I pack my whole life in a suitcase mostly because I never know what to expect.  Sometimes I think that I just might not come home. Other times, I just want to be prepared.  Over the past 3 weeks, I have been to 3 different continents and spent over 45 hours flying.  Boy, my arms are tired…My travels have allowed me to meet some really AMAZING people and visit the most AMAZING countries. I would show you photos of my trips, but I have lost most of them to the cyber gods.

 

Even though I love to travel, I have decided to spend Christmas and New Years home alone.  Reason being, I think everyone should spend a holiday alone at least once in their lifetime.  I am mostly doing it because I am broke as a joke.  My family wants me to go to Atlanta, GA to visit my oldest brother and oldest sister’s family, but I just got back from the Griswold Family Vacation in London, England and I am not up for another, unless we are going to Walley World!!!

 

Granted it was an AWESOME vacation: I became a Godmother to both of my nieces, I got to spend Thanksgiving with my family and we have not done that in over 3 years, I saw Journey to the West in London with my sister and brother, visited the Tate Museum and other historical landmarks, I became a vegetarian, I spent all of my “emergency cash” savings, got dissed by someone who I thought loved me, bought new boots to mend my broken heart (your loss JD) spent endless hours having intellectual conversations with the people who I love the most, I cried a lot, drank a lot, walked a lot, played a lot, danced a lot, laughed a lot and did not sleep at all. In addition, I have made new memories that photos will never be able to capture and words will never be able to describe!!!

 

This Christmas, I know I will miss my family dearly and I will probably sit in my pink princess palace, playing Atari awaiting Santa’s arrival. (Yes, I still have my Atari.) And on New Years Eve, which is the most played out holiday ever, (I always spend a fortune to dress up and look pretty just for a kiss at midnight and guess what; I am probably the only 32 year old that has never been kissed on NYE!!!)  I will play dress up, sip mass amounts of champagne, watch the ball drop and then make out with the porcelain loo.  I will ring in the New Year starting fresh by making and sticking to my resolution(s) and begin packing up my life once again for my endless weekend journeys until summer begins.  The count down is on. It is approximately 120 days until I can unpack my life…

Champagne Sunday’s: Who gets married in a Midnight Blue Prada Suit???

 

 

As far back as I can remember are memories of me always wanting to be like my big sister, Jessica Mary.  She was born 2 years and 3 days before me.  Growing up I was always living in her shadow, rightfully so because she is one of the most AMAZING women I have ever known.  She was such a “Mama’s Girl” to say the least. She followed my mum everywhere and always wanted to be near her. When I was born…my mum told me that Jessica threw out all of her dolls and basically made me her dolly.  I laugh because it is true! When I was a baby I had bleach blonde curly hair and the most f**cked up bangs because my sister always insisted on cutting my hair as if I were a chi chi pet and my hair would just magically grow back, but it never did.  She picked out my cloths everyday and was always telling me what to do.  I did not know any better when I was little, I just grinned and bear it.   To be honest…I loved the fact that she took care of me. 

 

I would describe my sister as the dancing ballerina inside the most precious jewelry box that every little girl wants to have.  Jessica truly was a ballerina.  She would always have her hair pulled up in a bun and wear her black leotard with pink leggings.  She took en Pointe for 10 years and even though she was the most graceful dancer…she still was a klutz.  It did not matter because I wanted to be just like her and tried to join her ballet class.  Her teacher kicked me out of class because I was too “WILD”.  Go figure…I would still go to Jessica’s ballet class, sit in the corner, and admire, as she was the prima dancer.  She had legs to die for and could perform fouettes as if she were Pierina Legnani.

 

The older I got the more comfortable I became with becoming myself.  My sister encouraged me to be original and if the world did not like me…”Well then F*CK them”.  She was and is always so right!  My favorite memory of her was when we were little we use to live in an old rectory.  We had a confessional in our basement and all these hidden nooks.  There was a laundry chute from the 3^rd floor all the way down into the basement.  My little brother use to pile up all the laundry in the basement then shove me down the chute.   When I got too big for him to torment me that way, he would zip me up in my Strawberry Short Cake sleeping bag and push me down the stairs.  How I survived childhood, I will never know?!  Anyway…this torment probably caused my insomnia.   When I was little and could not sleep, I would cry because I was just so tired.  My sister would call out to me to jump in her bed and she would wipe away my tears and rock me until I calmed down.  And then she would say…”Tell me a story Torre”…and I would.  She was the first to nickname me “Story Torre” for I always have a story to tell. 

 

The older we got the harder it was to maintain our relationship.  She was in high school and I was the “Kid Sister”.  My brother became “My Buddy” and Jessica wanted to be a ”Grown Up”.  I have always wondered why we are always rushing though life instead of enjoying the moment.  My sister and I grew slightly apart for a while until I got to high school.  She started her schooling super early, so when I entered high school as a freshman she was already a senior.  She paved the way for me!  She was the first person to introduce me to the Smiths.  She took me to my first Grateful Dead Concert, I got drunk for the first time with her at Homecoming and many more memories that I like to hold sacred.   The day after my high school graduation, I packed my bags, moved to C-Bus, and made it my home.  I thought I would die without my sister being there and it was only a matter of time before she joined me. 

 

Remember my first love Matthew Fausto???  Well, Jessica just happens to fall in love with his best friend C.K. (Colorado Kid).  They ended up moving to Colorado where he is from (hence the nickname) and got married.  Jessica and C.K. married on top of a mountain.  It was a lovely day and I remember sitting in the gondola riding to the peak of the mountain staring at my sister and wanting to shout, “DON’T DO IT!!!” However, I did not…less than six months later, after an AWFUL fight, my sister packed her car with everything that she could get into it and drove 20 hours from Colorado to Ohio.  Jessica showed up on the doorstep of the college apartment where my brother and I were living at the time. After picking up the pieces, my sister began her new life in the C-Bus. 

 

The Clauss’s ruled C-Bus.  Or at least I would like to think so!!!  I did not get to hang out with my sister much because my other ex Ralph Frank did not like her.  AND SHE FREAKIN HATED HIM.  I do not HATE anyone, but my sister cursed Ralph with the MALOCCHIO.  Ralph and Jessica were always butting heads. Partly because Jessica saw the control he had over me and how that began to change who I was.  She would always try to sit me down and tell me that Ralph did not bring out the best in me.  I did not listen and the hatred between the two put a strain on relationships with EVERYONE including my sister. 

 

I thought that I could rekindle the relationship or somewhat salvage what was left of my friendship with my sister and my brother.  You see…I thought all I needed was Ralph in my life and no one else…my sister tried repeatedly to make me understand “EQUAL BALANCE”.  I guess she was a better Libra than I… I thought that a vacation would be best for all of us.  So for my college graduation gift, my dad bought me a trip to Cancun, Mexico for SPRING BREAK 2000.  My sister, brother, boyfriend and friends all joined me.  It was a controlled outta control vacation.  I felt like I was babysitting my siblings.  Even though they could take care of themselves…I was under the impression that I had to act like the grown up and make sure that no one was arrested or died.   Ralph did not make it much fun for me either.  He was so FREAKIN JEALOUS because I was being hit on all the time. I guess I did not get the memo of “NEVER GO ON SPRING BREAK WITH YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER”.  I am sure I would have had so much more fun if I had known that!  I really was hoping that this would get my sister and brother to realize how great Ralph was and so we could be one big happy family.  Well the only thing we got out of Spring Break 2000 was a great tan and a major headache from the over playing of that damn “Thong Song”.  Actually, my sister fell in love again.  She met a guy that she was planning on spending the rest of her life with.  (I am still shaking my head and laughing under my breath just thinking about this douche bag she met.) 

 

When we got back to C-Bus, my brother and sister still DISLIKED Ralph and my relationship with the 3 was very stressful.  My sister decided to pack her bags, go to NYC, and move in with the love of her life “SPRING BREAK 2000 GUY”.  I knew this relationship was never going to work out and deep down Jessica knew it too.  I was so excited for her just to start a new chapter in her life and I was hoping that our relationship would go back to what it use to be before all the turmoil began. 

 

The 5 years she lived in NYC was the time that I wanted to be her. I vicariously lived through the crazy stories she would tell me and the adventures she would go on.  She would mail me all of the hippest music and autographed photos from all the bands that she would hang out with.  Jessica put Carrie Bradshaw to shame with the life that she lived whilst in the NYC.  I could go on and on but the best thing about her living there was the fact that I did not have Ralph bitching to me about my “WILD” sister.  Jessica wanted me to break up with Ralph and move out of our house.  I was so dependant on him that I could not even fathom the fact of my life without Ralph.  It was as if I was in the gondola going up the mountain and my sister was shouting at me “DON’T DO IT!!!”  I did not listen and Ralph and I began to make plans to get married.  (Note to self:  If you want God to laugh at you…go ahead and plan your life.)

 

I do have to say that with out my sister I would have never survived these past 3 years.  When I found out that I/my body was sick, my sister jumped in her car and drove 10 hours to my bedside.  She stayed with me for what seemed like months.  I would cry at night when no one could hear me or so I thought no one could hear me.  Once asleep, I would wake up to little gifts under my pillow that my sister placed there (I still sleep with them.)  On the nights that I could not sleep my sister would jump into my bed and rock me until I calmed down and would say, “Tell me a Story Torre”. 

 

So I asked, who gets married in a Midnight Blue Prada Suit??? A ballerina who embodies the strength and power of what we define as the quintessential woman, a true fashionista who will always challenge the “societal norms” in every aspect, a loving and caring person with legs to die for who will always be there for me….my sister Jessica Mary.

 

Jessica and her husband Jonathan reside in a town outside of London, England with their two little ones Josie (18 months) and Sophie (3 ½ months). 

 

Champagne Sunday’s: Practice what you preach…Coco Chanel would never say F**K!

 

My mum rang me today and asked me if I was having a good day.  I responded, “Why yes, mummy…having a splendid day…I hydroplaned on the way to work, slipped and fell on my way to the gym, got stuck in the swirling door coming out of the gym and got a parking ticket”.  My mum said, “Your day does not sound splendid.  It sounds like you had a HORRIBLE day.”  I thought to myself, it might seem like it was a horrible day, but I beg to differ, I never have horrible days, I kinda make the best out of everything. Granted I have an awful bruise and I am rubbing two pennies together to make a quarter to pay for this f**king parking ticket, but I am alive and happy!

 

My mummy wanted a recap of my weekend festivities and my travel plans for the summer.  However, I could sense some disappointment in her voice. I knew she read my blog.  Therefore, I asked her if she did.  She responded, “Victoria Anne Josephine, Coco Chanel would never say F**K! Your blog sounds like Carrie Bradshaw meets Amy Crack Ho Winehouse…you need to quit cursing.  No boy is ever going to want to kiss that truck driver mouth of yours!!!” 

 

For a moment I thought I would tell my mummy that I preferred to kiss girls, (I prefer boys, but I just like to shock my mum every chance I get) but I didn’t.  She was right I sound as if I am trailer trash and have no class.  I pry myself on being classy, fabulous and lets be honest…F**KING AMZAZING!!! Therefore, to spare my mummies heartache, I will consider changing my ways. 

 

It makes me wonder why I curse?!  I sometimes think it is empowering to say, “You c*ck sucker mother f**ker!” or my favorite line,”Hey, leave me alone before I C*NT PUNT you across the street.” (Go ahead and steal that one…I said it just for you.)

 

If I remember correctly I got my first detention in kindergarten for eating the class fish out of the bowl and then telling the teacher to “F**K Off, It was a dare from the boys!!!” Plus, I was hungry and a girls got to eat. After a beat down from one of the nuns, my mummy had to come pick me up from school and we had a meeting with the Monsignor. He asked my mummy where I learned such an awful word.  (I went to catholic school for 12 years.  I think I made baby Jesus cry everyday because of my antics.)  

 

My mum responded, “F**K, I am not sure where she learned it from, maybe her father.” When we got home, my mum and dad washed my mouth out with soap.  I swore to them up and down that I would never curse again.  I have to mention that the day that liquid soap was invented was a HORRIBLE day.  DAMN you Hendrik Willem Brouwer of Holland!!!

 

So, starting today, I am going to begin my “June Year’s Resolution”. I will quit cursing and start practicing what I preach.  I think that will make my mums happy and maybe even get a boy to kiss me…we will see. 

 

Champagne Sunday’s: I wanna be your “Style Crusader”…

 

 

I love the Memorial Tournament.  For me, it is the beginning of my summer.  Year after year, we rally the troops and head “up norf” to mingle with the popped collars, argyles and plaids and who can’t forget the awful Forever 21

dresses and the douche bags! 

 

Let’s begin…as an avid fan of golf (born into a family of beer drinkers and golfers…guilt by association) I attend the Memorial Tournament religiously.  It is tradition to play a little hooky and skip out of work around noon on Friday and head to the tournament.  My father works the event, so he sneaks us in.  Flasks in hand…we turn off our cell phones and pretend to know what the hell is going on.  Did you know that the purse for this tourney was $6million???  WOW…that is a lot of money.  No wonder all the “cougars” and “panthers” are out on the prowl.  We sit in the sun until our cheeks get a little rosie and no sooner than later our flasks become empty and so we usually head back to crash one of the Memorial Tournament House Parties. Mr. Pepper’s house party is always the best!

 

We meet up with all of our boys at the Bogey Inn.  For those of you who do not know our boys…let’s just say that they are culprits of mindless drunken adventures that usually result in the disappearance of ones money and brain cells.  They are the best boys ever because they always make sure that we (SLAM!) are taken care of and get home safely.  I love our boys!!! 

 

I am just going to put it out there, I am a fashion whore.  I am very opinionated, not to be confused with judgmental.  What you are about to read is not to be mean or make it sound as if I am “Queen of all the Fashionistas”, but…there is a serious problem going on in our world today.  I feel a need to speak out and make a difference and hopefully make a change in at least 1 person’s life.  I know that our economy is struggling.  Gas prices are outrageous, we are still at war and with the election coming up we are faced with some serious decisions about our future endeavors.

 

After socializing at the Bogey Inn, I realized there is a greater crisis going on, a fashion crisis. I mean for gods sake, ladies…learn how to dress or get some new friends who will be honest when you ask, “How do I look?”  (Or get a gay friend…because they would NEVER let you walk out of your house lookin like you do!)

 

There is a rule of thumb: Dress appropriately for each occasion.  So the occasion is a sporting event.  If it is a football game, baseball, hockey etc…jeans and a jersey are appropriate.  So for the Memorial Tournament you would think “country club attire” not NASCAR Indy races right!!! 

 

Well you hoes and bitches, since your friends suck at life and don’t tell you that your Forever 21 dress is fucking AWFUL…and because of your fashion miseducation…woman who know how to dress look AMAZING…which leads to every douche bag on the planet to hit on us instead of you!!!  You’re bringing my stock down.  With that said, I am going to give you some Tips on how to look 5 Star.

 

5 Star SLAM’S! Tips to dressing the nines at the Memorial Tournament

 

• Sundress that comes to a reasonable length and that does not show case any back fat or FUPA’S. You know what I am talking about!
• Shorts or short skirts as long as it covers your entire ass and any “cottage cheese” is appropriate.  Once you put it on…go into the sunlight and flex if you see some cellulite…then NOT APPROPRIATE.
• Just because you got your boobs done or that you have ginormously natural breasts (and hey I am a fan of the boobies) does not mean you have to show EVERYTHING.  Keep the kids in!!!
• If you can shower in the shoes…then not appropriate.  Wedges, flats, sandals or a pair of clean trainers are always best. So put the “Fuck me pumps” or knee high boots away and save them when you “B&T’s” go out to Sugar or Boma…(P.S. bring some baby wipes…no one wants to see your dirty ass toes.  And if you are wearing open toe shoes…you better have had a pedicure)
• Anything with sequins or that looks like you spent hours bedazzling…NOT HOT! and definitely not appropriate
• Animal prints…they are out…really they are!!! I don’t care what Vogue says…
• Keep the jewels to a minimum.  If you are looking like a gangsta rapper…then you know you have over accessorized.
• Don’t forget…your face is an accessory too!!!  If you sweat and your “Tammy Fay Baker” face slides off…then you have put too much make up on.

 

Now, if you prefer to continue to look like a “hot mess on the one way express”, then by all means…continue to wear your $28.00 dresses from the design stealing store, Forever 21.  But if you want to “dress to impress” then I advise you to take my advice, if not mine…then take Coco Chanel’s…“A girl can be two things, Classy & Fabulous”. 

 

One more thing…”DOUCHE BAGS” This is for you…

 

The urban dictionary defines douche bag as: the scientific name for schmucks who roll up in public wearing wife-beaters or oversized jeans. Can also be found wearing sunglasses in nightclubs and/or sun-visors on backwards and upside down. These people should be drug outside and shot in the stomach, then used as speed bumps to prevent any neon-toting lowrider crap-mobiles from infesting the neighborhood and lowering property values.

 

However…with all ho bags dressing like they just walked out of Fredericks of Hollywood…you would think that a woman like me would not get hit on by every douche bag on the planet.  I mean if you know me, yes…I am cute sweet and know how to have a good time, but SERIOUSLY…don’t fucking think for a one minute that your cattle calls of you hootin and a hollarin and your lame ass pick up lines are going to work. 

 

I think it is wonderful that you (douche bags) have such AMAZING confidence and approach me and say…“I’ve gotta thirst, baby, and you smell like my Gatorade”…yeah, like that is going to get me to give you my number…FUCK THAT and FUCK YOU!!!  (I am serious; this line was used on me)

 

What happened to all the non douche bag guys with really bad pick up lines??? Oh that’s right you are hitting on all the chicks with oversized boobs…fuck me pumps…leopard print bootie shorts…and too much Mac make up…(SIGH)…