Surviving the Night at a Haunted Super 8 on the Outskirts of Dallas

Dallas: great fucking TV  show about rich sluts. Dallas, TX: terrible fucking city where I was recently trapped overnight because American Airlines was like, "We destroy everything we touch, JK, LOL.... but no, really you do have to stay overnight in Dallas." Then they show their appreciation for your business with these food vouchers that you can't even trade with the homeless for cigarettes or something cooler than a bag of Rolos and a seltzer. IMG_0955








What the fuck can I get for $19 at 11pm in Dallas? Whole lotta nothin'! But worry not, friends. I wasn't hungry for food so much as I was hungry for luxury and that's where American Airlines really delivered with my swank accommodations at the Super 8.  Behold the chic antique elevator from Hell:










And how you get not one but TWO shampoos (but no conditioner and certainly no toothpaste):








And the linens. I was so delighted by their soft embrace that I nearly ate the damn things.








Did I mention the cuisine? It was a gourmet Italian feast fit for a Head Bitch in Charge:








I felt so goddam fancy that I even hand-washed all of my underwear from the weekend and made a pseudo-flag of Serbia with the blue, red, and white.







Then I took a bunch of selfies to pass the time and try to get my mind off the fact that some sort of Texas chainsaw massacring fellow was banging on doors all night and the only comfort was the blather of those sad creatures that agreed to be on that Aaron Sorkin joint for the Home Box Office.  Behold, faces of despair.

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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."

In Case You Wondered How Much I Love My Cat  

My cat Keith turns two this week (though its inexact because he was found as a baby and we sort of had to guess based on his meager little itty bitty kitty body) so naturally I celebrated by making this video about the life and times of the furry little gentleman who brings joy and meaning into my broken, empty heart on the reg.


Personal favorites in this collection include every last goddam picture and video because I am obsessed with my cat.



Go Home, Kendall and Kylie, This is the Hottest Bitch at Coachella

Are you watching a video of Leonardo DiCaprio dancing at Coachella right now? If you answered, "No," fuck you, I hate you, watch this video of Leonardo DiCaprio dancing at Coachella right now.

Like most women born between 1884 and 2013, I have a very detailed plan for precisely how I will react when I encounter Leonardo DiCaprio.   And when I do, it is gonna be cause of deja-vu for old Leo because it will be exactly like this chick who made it.


I know, girl. I know.

Some people think that camera phones were invented for multimedia sexting. They werent', they were invented for when people saw Leonardo DiCaprio in the wild.  It is unclear to me why every dumbass in this video is like "Lol, whatever" when they have Leonardo DiFuckingCaprio dancing like a lunatic from one of the lesser Duke fraternities who just did ecstasy for the first time while on Spring Break in San Diego (though the dancing obviously took place in Tijuana nightclub Safari).  Fortunately, God sent the angel above to capture it for us.  If anyone knows how I can contact this intrepid reporter, please let me know.  I have a gift for her.