Mobile
Brittney
Monday, January 3, 2011
Mingling in the Queen City / Brittney I got Spanx'ed on New Year's Eve
Posted By Brittney Cason on Mon, Jan 3, 2011 at 11:43 AM
While I love the start of a new year, I am not the biggest fan of New Year's Eve. It’s worse than Valentine’s Day when it comes to your friends coupling up — everyone and their mom comes out so all the bars are at fire code capacity with an inflated cover charge of $80. And all this pressure to kiss someone at midnight. We’re not on deadline like Cinderella.
But being the third wheel, I went and crashed a couple's bash at Butter.
Not really caring about the "holiday," I didn’t feel compelled to go out and buy a new dress, but rather recycled an old one from my party dress archives in my closet. I found a coral and gold BeBe dress that I bought back in my Carolina Panther TopCat days. Meaning, I was 10 pounds lighter. And when I tried it on, I was reminded of that.
I then remembered through my guilty pleasure reading of US Weekly while at Polished Nail Bar that my big booty friends, such as Kim Kardashian and J-Lo, swear by Spanx.
When I bought the dress on Rodeo Drive the sales clerk actually said to me, “You look like Kim Kardashian in that dress.” That is what sold me on it. And then he suggested Spanx to keep me in case the dress clings to your body like a shrunken wet swimsuit.
But the friends I was shopping with told him he could suck it for even suggesting to me that I'd need them.
Well, I need them now in order to wear that dress. And I was determined to still fit into it. So, I went to Valeria. I know that sounds like a venereal disease, but it's actually a salon — the salon where my hair stylist, and Charlotte Magazine BOB Award winner for Best Stylist, Hudson works, and a place that sells the high power panties. I got the kind that covers your thighs to below the breast. It’s basically like a modern-day girdle with cellulite protection.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
love / Brittney Dating defined by Charlotteans
Posted By Brittney Cason on Thu, Dec 30, 2010 at 10:04 AM
Define "dating."
When someone says "I am dating ____ (insert name)," it could mean they are boyfriend-girlfriend, they are going to the movies and out to eat on a consistent basis, they are going home together after the bars, or they're just doing the horizontal hump. Basically, dating could entail anything more than friends — without benefits at least.
So what in the hell is dating exactly? Is it how you coin a relationship, or just a PC way of saying "fucking"? Can someone please explain it to me so when I talk about my relations I know how to "DTR" (Define The Relationship) ... because that's hard to do when I can't even define dating.
I wanted to know what you thought dating is defined, so I asked via my Facebook page, and here are some of the responses I got from my request to define dating ...
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Mingling in the Queen City / Brittney No cramming: Year-round resolutions
Posted By Brittney Cason on Tue, Dec 28, 2010 at 12:17 PM
Making a New Year's resolution makes about as much sense as turning a robe backward and calling it a Snuggie. But this concept, for whatever reason, appeals to the masses. I mean, why pick one day of the year to resolve to be better?
Shouldn’t we resolve for self-improvement all 365 days of the year so we don’t have to cram?
So fuck a New Year's resolution, make year-round resolutions. Here are some suggestions.
• Resolve to take risks. Playing it safe should be kept to a game of slow pitch softball.
• Don’t be afraid to fall. It’s better to have a broken heart that can heal than a closed heart that can never feel.
• Resolve to distinguish between your friends and frenemies, and to love your haters.
• Resolve to throw out the to-dos and to-don’t lists and just do more of what you want to do vs. what you need to do. Don’t be miserable a second of 2011. (Six month doctor check-ups and jury duty excluded. Those are necessary)
• Resolve to tell the inner critic in your head to shut the front door, and silence all negative and worrisome thoughts.
• Resolve to say yes anytime someone asks you to dance — even if they aren’t cute and you have no rhythm. It beats sitting out in the corner.
• Resolve to talk to strangers even though your mom told you not to when you were a kid.
• Resolve to live like you're on stage — life isn't a dress rehearsal.
• Resolve to follow the golden rule and treat others the way you want to be treated, and be sure to treat yourself that way, too.
• Resolve to go to the gym — but not just because you want to lose weight but because exercise releases endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Resolve to be happy!
But in regard to an actual New Year's resolution, may I suggest resolving not to pay $80 to get into an over-crowded party where the open bar runs dry by 10 p.m. And who cares if you don't have anyone to kiss when the clock strikes midnight — we’re not all on a deadline like Cinderella. Life isn’t a fairytale. But that doesn’t mean we can’t all live like it’s one.
So the best resolution we can make is to live happily ever after.
(And you should also resolve to read more of the Bang Town blog, my new home at Creative Loafing until Love, Brittney launches. Smile!)
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
love / Brittney Do you have a fear of falling?
Posted By Brittney Cason on Tue, Dec 21, 2010 at 9:44 AM
Have you ever gotten into an airplane with a parachute strapped to your back, only to cling to the side of the plane — literally or metaphorically? Or sat in your cubicle browsing the Internet for other jobs in Charlotte, to close out of the Web browser — and then fight traffic on 77 to just go home where you feel most comfortable? You know, that feeling you get when you climb to the top of a rock and look down at the water below … are you going to jump?
Well, falling in love is a hell of a lot scarier than jumping out of a plane – or changing a routine. Philophobia: the fear of falling in love.
Even the most daring and adventurous people play it safe when it comes to love. They date the "Justin Case" … the one you keep around merely because they’re not a flight risk. The one that endears your flaws, and puts up with your shit. But love is not a safety plan. You deserve more than a Justin Case, as much as no one deserves to be treated like one.
But you do still need to look before you leap. Just like there's a thin line between being happy and merely content, there’s a thin line between naively trying to stay in the game with a player because you think he’ll change his game in the ninth inning, and being too scared to even go up to bat.
Funny thing is … I didn’t want to try and keep up with the driver that was honking at me, or challenge the NBA player to a one-on-one that was trying to run game on me. I was too scared by status (and admittedly, also too insecure to compete with other women). So instead, I dated a guy that was 10 years older, pot-bellied, and on the same playing field as me socially and economically… because he felt safe. And go figure, he’s the one that ended up cheating on me.
That’s the thing about love … when you jump, you never know where you’re going to land. But you always have the option of landing on your feet.
Dating is like buying a house on the ocean and not getting flood insurance. There’s always a chance that the tide will change and come crashing down on you. But wouldn't you rather build your dream home instead of settling for living alone in a shack with no open doors? You can’t buy insurance on a person's loyalty. So why bother trying to make a net before you fall?
Cason-Point: Just effin' jump. And though it’s good to wear protection, take off the life vest that’s covering your heart, and dive in. Fall … in love. If someone doesn’t catch you, the worst you risk is a broken heart. Repair it, and then get right back up on that platform. Because the real people who have heart and courage are the ones who follow their heart.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Brittney Toys for twats: Xmas at The Men's Club
Posted By Brittney Cason on Fri, Dec 17, 2010 at 3:12 PM
'Tis the season of giving ... and receiving lap dances apparently.
Every year, for the past 10 years, a group of gentlemen I know all congregate over the holidays at a gentlemen’s club for Operation X-mas Child — putting the X in X-mas.
At this “Toys for Twats” charity function, they bring gifts to donate to strippers who may have it rough. Depending on what club they're working at, some even have to pay to come to work strip shifts there, I’ve learned recently. Anyone who has to pay to work deserves donations.
Being a philanthropist (and one of the boys), I got an invite to this charity function held yesterday afternoon at the highly holiday festive Men’s Club. And shockingly, I was the only girl there … well, the only girl wearing clothes, at least. But there weren’t many without them either. In fact, there were so few strippers there I felt bad and offered to do a dance for the guys — the choreographed hip-hop routine I did for the TopCats at the CIAA tournament, that is.
Apparently there aren’t a lot of strippers on duty at 3 p.m. in the afternoon. You can find several on duty at t 3 a.m., on the other hand, when they’re serving a buffet of tits and grits. But this particular afternoon, there were quite a few guys there in addition to the group of 10 I was with. It was so bad (or not bad, rather) we had to relocate to Uptown Cabaret, where they charge $3 for tap water. Really? That’s three singles they’re depriving the strippers of. I felt inclined to go refill my cup in the bathroom faucet — that oughta show them.
But before we left The Men’s Club we donated our toys to the actual “Toys for Tots” box in the lobby – with the exception of the sex toys the guys got the strippers and one teddy bear, Wooly. He was the award for the best stripper. (What’s a Christmas party without a little dance-off?) Too bad there were no girls to dance for them … I’m the only one who got an offer at the Men’s Club. True story. But I was too busy stuffing my face with a filet mignon sandwich to accept.
On a side note, to the DJs at The Men’s Club: Why would you play "Holiday" by Madonna? … you can't strip to that! You had the poor girl on stage throwing her arms around like an '80s pop star. I almost expected her to have an '80s bush.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Brittney Singled out in Charlotte
Posted By Brittney Cason on Thu, Dec 16, 2010 at 12:50 PM
Last week I threw a holiday dinner party that would’ve made a Johnson & Wales professor proud — or at least the deli person at Harris Teeter. So what if I served everyone on little kid zoo paper plates? They were on sale at Target.
As we sat there eating the brie ball, fruit pizza, and dates wrapped in turkey bacon washed down by skinny margaritas (which is pretty much the extent of my domestic repertoire), we realized that all nine of us girls were single.
Every. Single. One. Of. Us.
Where was everyone else I invited? Most of the other girls declined because they were cooking dinner too, for two, with their beaus. While they were all coupled up, we were singled out … that, or they just couldn’t find a babysitter.
And this is becoming a pattern I’ve noticed all too common.
As I sit here now, drinking my boxed White Sangria that was also on sale at Target in bed, alone, with a computer hoisted on my lap, I can’t help but wonder if that feeling of loneliness that comes from being single isn’t so much not having one special person, but not having as many girlfriends around anymore.
In the He Said, She Said column I wrote with Brotha Fred a while ago, we discussed how weddings are like funerals for friendships. Cason-point: I rarely get to see my married, or practically married, friends anymore … and when I do, it usually surrounds another friend’s wedding. And there I’m usually truncated to the singles table, or the kids table.
Where exactly is the division between singles and married?
It doesn’t just put you in a different tax bracket, but a different stage of life. Because as the circle of life turns, and you stand still, your friends cycle out around you.
-
Woman dies from masturbation 38
I thought killing yourself while experiencing an orgasm was just an old wives' tale.
