Don't Forget Where You Belong, Harry Styles (Over here, mixing DNA with me)

As many of you know, the world's handsomest man recently left the band One Direction. While packing for his trip, he tore straight into my chest cavity and took my still-beating heart with it. Thanks, Zayn. IMG_4205 But last week, I had the unique honor and privilege (shared by 60,000 or so people) to see One Direction live in concert. It was magical. I was cleansed. Renewed. Revitalized. Enraptured. Captivated. And most importantly, I was open again to the idea of love. For what mortal can resist the allure of romance when they are in the presence of Harry Styles?


Since the show, Harry Styles has entered my brain space in the same rotation of men with whom I actually have romantic interactions. I'll be like "Oh yes, William the baker's son is indeed a smart match. But Anders has such a strong jaw and would teach the children to row. And Harry, well he's young, but he's wise." Plus there was a part of me that still ached for Zayn.

I would have to use SCIENCE to make my determination. So I did what any self-respecting 30 year old woman would do: I bought a face-fusing app to see what our offspring would look like and decided he who made the cutest baby should be my groom.

Zayn and I went to digital wedding chamber first.


Now, these children are not total babes. This is true. But they've got strong features and determined eyes and I'd be glad to call them my offspring. HOWEVER, they are clearly very sad young people. Who wouldn't be with the genetics of a grumpy Gus like Zayn and a Sour Sarah like me?

Harry was called to my quarters.


These babies are more babely in the sense that they look like actual babies, because me and Harry Styles also look like actual babies a little bit. It will bode well for us in our old age. I was obviously in luck with these moppets but wanted to try another photo to make sure it wasn't a fluke. Then there she was.


Behold, a golden child is upon us! Look at that kid, she's like a Jolie-Pitt but will get a sensible British name like Mary because Harry, shenanigans aside, is a traditionalist at heart. Look AGAIN!


"Baby you light up my world like nobody else," barely even begins to cover it. I have never felt more certain of my destiny.

And also, for any fans who are still shipping "Zarry": their baby would be Voldemort so like, proceed with caution.


Marlon Brando: The Great Cat-Loving Thirst Magnet of Cinema

When I started this blog way back in the year of our Lord two thousand and thirteen, it was mostly a dedication to my celebrity thirst. Well, hop in your time machine because we're about to go back in time to that time with a brief lesson in why Marlon Brando could get it any place, any time. I mean, look at him! Tell me with a straight face that you wouldn't still do open-mouth kissing with his eleven-years-dead corpse:


Making him even more perfect is that he was on record as loving fucking CATS. Look at these two fuckers, just hangin' right out:

tumblr_nqdcn6VOdg1r745vdo2_540Marlon would be like, "What record should I listen to, cat?" and he wouldn't just wait for the cat to affirm his own decision, he would really listen.

tumblr_mcovl0lCFN1rz5aneo4_r1_500 Marlon wasn't threatened by the incredibly erotic nature of cats, he was enthralled by it. He gave cats their smooches where God intended: RIGHT ON THEIR TINY LITTLE MOUTHS.


This photo was taken after Marlon arrived to a movie shot and the promised on-set cat was actually not available. Surly!


A PA tried to improvise and get him this dog. I'll let Marlon's face do the talking on how he felt about that bootleg shit.


Fortunately, thing returned to normal. But Marlon and his cat wrote a strongly-worded letter to the production company.

marlon-brando-with-cat-m-400x300 This cat was originally cast as a glass of scotch but Marlon wouldn't budge on signing the contract without having the wisest of beasts as a pet for this classic scene.

3065297471_1ff997e758Marlon shared his love of botany and the outdoors with this cat and then she shared her knowledge of astronomy when it got darker. They lived as equals.

4760167943_caced37f04_bMarlon Brando may have been a real piece of shit person who degenerated into a ranting pile of calcified sentient partially hydrogenated oils in his old age, but we can remember the good times when dude was speaking our language.


All the Alana Masseys Are Cool

If you're just tuning into this blog for the first time, the proprietor is a self-involved but ultimately harmless caricature of late 20s angst navigating the digital age through a series of writing jobs,  lots of Twitter labor that pays only in validation, and with expertly basic fashion choices. That proprietor is me, Alana Massey. BEHOLD HER AT THE WORK MACHINE:

No filter, sluts!

That is what my face used to look like when I would search Google and find only super-earnest results about my social justice activism and my graduate studies and other ZZZZZ borning stuff about me online with a bunch of other stuff about other people with my name who ran hair salons and daycares. I was like, "The Internet has a right to know that I'm the coolest of the Alana Masseys! And I'm not all serious! I also have lots of thoughts about men and cats!" And so I started writing about both. Then I started writing about others things like culture politics and the sexual economies of thinness and about deficits in religious education. And within a year I was DOMINATING the Google results on my name.

Then yesterday I got an email that was like "People are Googling you and finding your profile!" and I was like "Cool, it must be because I'm so cool! Then a reporter from Toronto contacted me on Twitter to ask about this dominatrix in Canada who is threatening to out politicians that purchase services from sex workers to demonstrate the harm of a proposed law there. I write about sex work and privacy in the US and in my delusions of grandeur was like, "LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE NEEDS AN EXPERT!" So I prepped for the interview by reading this article about the dominatrix in question. And then was like, "Ohhhhh."

Alana in her signature basics.

Halfway through, it reads, "Alana Massey, an independent sex worker in Toronto who is working on her PhD, said Wednesday that she hopes Bedford won’t follow through on her threat. 'This is a bad idea,' she said. 'It’s really easy for Terri-Jean to do that. She’s retired. But no current worker will out their client. It would be career suicide. No client would see them.'" And then I realized that it probably wasn't my jokes about half-eaten donuts from that day that were driving people to their Google machines.

For a moment I was like, "Of all the ethnically unplaceable name combinations in the world, why did someone choose 'Alana Massey' as their sex work pseudonym?" Then I found out that it is her real legal name and she is just a badass that's like "Ehh, fuck stigma, I'm Alana Massey" which makes it kind of fucking badass. And then I stopped being all fussy that I don't have the world's most unique name and sent a salute northward to my sister-from-a-mister-of-likely-shared-ancestry-but-ultimately-different-North-American-nations.

Then I was like, "Running a daycare is badass cause it lets people work and have more affordable care than individual babysitters!" and then was like, "Having a salon is badass cause new haircuts make people feel good and entrepreneurialism and shit!" And then I Googled Alana Massey and sent digital high fives out into the ether to all the broads that share my name.

But if we are going to be real about this whole thing, the coolest Alana Massey is actually Ilona Massey, whose name I can't find a phonetic pronunciation of so I am pretending its identical to mine! She was a fiery Hungarian screen GODDESS and a bad bitch all around. You may now proceed to bow down:

"I'm bored by your talk of filters."

Kids are Dummies: Nirvana Lyrics as Heard by a 5th Grader

Strummin' my pain with her fingers and whatnot.  

The best thing about fifth grade is that it ends eventually. The second best thing about fifth grade is that nearly without exception, everyone in it a hybrid monster sitting precariously on the border between childhood and adolescence which results in them doing uncomfortable things like still playing with Barbie but making her have multiple abortions. Or singing out loud to Hole in front of their parents because they're mature enough to realize that it's good but don't realize that all of the songs are about bulimia, incest, and rape.  You know, hypothetically.


Last weekend when people were having a case of the "Holy Shit We Are All So Old"s because they realized that Kurt Cobain has been dead for twenty years, I fired up the old iTunes to get my Nirvana on.  I should confess that if I had to make the Sophie's choice of either ridding the world of Pearl Jam or ridding the world of Nirvana, I would let Nirvana go. Both because I think Pearl Jam was better and because I am holding out hope that Eddie Vedder will invite me into a plural marriage with him and his wife.  But I digress.  Nirvana was still pretty fucking good, even if I had no idea what in the sam hill they were talking about.  Below, my most proud moments in childhood musical musings.



Song: Plateau

Real Lyrics: "Nothin' on top but a bucket and a mop and an illustrated book about birds."

Alana's Lyrics: Nothin' on top but a bucket and a  mop and a new, straight-up book about birds."

You know, because all of the previous books written about birds were beating around the fucking bush and not giving us straight answers about the airborne scoundrels. This straight-up version was going to give us the answers we were all looking for.  I still have no idea what this song is about.

Boy you so crazy, I think I wanna have your baby.

Song: Heart-Shaped Box

Real Lyrics: A tortured ode to Courtney Love's man-destroying, hypnotic, wicked gash

Alana's Lyrics: All about cancer!

Meat-eating orchids, tar-pit trap, umbilical noose, and heart-shaped box.  It didn't take Courtney taking to Twitter in 2012 to school Lana Del Rey that this song was about her box for anyone with half a boner to figure it out.   This song makes it clear why that woman has bedded so many desirables: vaginal witchcraft.

Song: Pennyroyal Tea

I didn't misinterpret any of the lyrics to this song but I did think that pennyroyal tea was some kind of cool beverage that I should try out and feel special and grown-up, the same way I felt when I ate sushi for the first time at Costco (nee: Price Club) and threw up into a trash can almost immediately after. Turns out, pennyroyal tea is an  abortifacient and it is probably best that I didn't ask my mom to get me some at the grocery store, lest she become suspicious of my nighttime neighborhood dalliances.

Song: In Bloom

Real Lyrics: "Nature is a whore"

Alana's Lyrics: "Raised a little whore"

Ironically, assumed that maybe this one was about Courtney instead of Heart-Shaped Box.  I still refuse to sing along to this one because the whole point of the song is to make fun of people that sing along to shit and I am too goddam cool for that.