The Other Sister

And it burns burns burns

2006-02-10T00:11:34Z

It's the classic scenario. Just when you're least expecting it. Just when you've given up the hunt and packed away your giant butterfly net. Just then. Just then it happens.

I wasn't looking, but somehow he managed to catch my eye. Maybe it was the casual clothes draped ever so lazily over a very non-lazy athletic build. Those retro t-shirts with the Fonz on them get me every time. Or maybe it was his dorky sense of humor that betrayed a genius mind. Mayhaps it was the way he said "fuck" so carefully, giving it an air of purity laced with a dash of pure filth. Or hell, maybe I'm just a sucker for ocean blue eyes.

Whatever it was, it happened. To me. I, who had given up falling for Lent. Me, who had taken up Catholicism for the sole purpose of giving up falling for Lent. Somehow, I managed to slip and fall headfirst into a big puddle of lust. I guess it would have been too easy to just invite him back to my place for a game of Scrabble followed by a game of spot the teacup, but I didn't. I could say this rare specimen was so beautiful that he deserved more than to be caught in my net, straightpinned to styrofoam in my collection case. However, like I said, I wasn't looking, ergo, me had no plan. In cases with no plan, playing it by ear tends to work for me.

It took a lifetime in Internet terms for anything to really happen. I mean, it had to be at least a week. Over that period, glances were exchanged, and words that carried more than one meaning were sent across ever decreasing personal spaces. I believe that's what known as flirting: good old fashioned double entendres, hand on the knee, flip of the hair, etc.

Today he said down next to me.

"Hellooo," I said letting the ohhhhhs float over him like soap bubbles.

"Helloooo," he parrotted back in a tone that left me so weak in the knees that if the word was published in Tiger Beat Magazine as a pullout poster, I would have yanked it right out, Blu-Tac'd it to my wall, hollared to my mother I couldn't come down and say hi to Aunt Bertie because of cramps, flung myself on my bed, and gone to town almost making a woman out of myself.

When he sat down, it was the first time I got a whiff of his scent. Clean. That's it. It's my favorite, too. Eau de Guy Who Showers. It seems lame now, but the soapy scent that filled my nostrils was all I needed to really make my move.

"Hey," I said in a husky whisper. "I use Dove as well. $2.79 at Walgreens. Can't beat that."

What? Did you think I'd drag him off to bed?

That's next time.

lewis_juliette @ 2005-10-23T23:12:00

2005-10-23T22:13:13Z

A friend and I were talking about how Alice Cooper used to be cool. Really, when I was a kid, not only was he the scariest, most shocking motherfucker I'd ever laid my eyes on, but he had some great songs. His Billion Dollar Babies album alone was one of the best things the 1970s ever produced. Then what happened? Well, eventually people weren't so shocked anymore. So, rather than evolving, Alice decided that all the shock tactics were for entertainment value anyway, picked up a set of golf clubs and opened a sports-themed barbecue restaurant, essentially turning his past image into that of a Universal Studios monster mascot.

Don't get me wrong. I agree wholeheartedly that there is plenty of room for theatrics in rock music. I myself don't go onstage dressed as a the love child of a pro-wrestler and a viking because I think it makes me look pretty. I do it to take the piss out of myself and to show the audience a good time. But twenty years from now I want people to remember one thing: the music. If there comes a time when the quality of that takes a dive, I'll move back to acting--or pro wresting.

I guess in that way I'm lucky. I didn't start off my music career as cool. There was some skepticism and condescension to overcome before I was taken remotely seriously as a singer. Since I've gained more solid footing in that area, I hope to evolve from actress turned singer to full-blown ROCK STAH. \m/ >_< \m/ Yep, right down to the devils horns.

Now, let's talk about how cool Ronnie James Dio still is.

Presents and accounted for

2005-09-12T10:37:17Z

It takes a special kind of guy to pull me off tour for the sole purpose of wishing him the best on being another year grown.

Happy birthday, Mr. Gein. Hope you didn't do anything I wouldn't do.

What a pretty mess

2005-07-20T12:31:14Z

I accidentally poked myself in the eye last night, and today it's all swollen. And you know what? It's kind of sexy--in a side show circus freak kind of way, I mean. You know, like the original Hilton sisters, the conjoined twins who could sing, play instruments and romance a man all at the same time!

So, I'm thinking, does anyone want to take a poke at the other one? If not, I can make you want to.

lewis_juliette @ 2005-06-30T22:05:00

2005-07-01T01:52:59Z

It happens. It might even happen to you. You hit a certain age, and you decide the life you've been living isn't enough. You know you're a little long in the tooth to start something new, but you also think that it's now or never. If you're going to take that leap, do it while you're still free of commitments and not having to worry about another mouth to feed. It's crazy. You're perfectly aware of that, but if you fail, who's it going to hurt. One person. And you know what, the biggest risk is not taking a risk.

So, you take that risk, and you're glad you did. But it doesn't leave any time for much else. One update about the latest appearance on VH1 is exciting. By the tenth, it gets boring. I don't want to do anything unless it's to the fullest. What's the point of a mundane post? It doesn't fulfill me or you. But I've got too much going on right now to try to make the mundane exciting. If you want to stick around, something fabulous might be right around the corner. In which case, you won't be sorry. If not, I don't want to take up too much of your time.

Besides, it's summer. Go fix yourself a margarita, fill up a kiddie pool, stick your feet inside, and enjoy. If you're not into drinking, try to relive the summers of your youth. Get on your bike and ride down to the local cineplex and take in the latest Star Wars film. Buy all the candy you want and take your pack of Twizzlers home to eat while you're reading the latest Harry Potter book. Chase lightning bugs. Eat tomatoes fresh off the vine. Eat corn on the cob drenched in butter and salt. Take a trip to the beach and just look at the ocean and breathe in the salty air. Hell, if you can't do any of that, go get yourself a dollar in quarters and chase the ice cream man when he comes down your block. Be a kid again, every minute that you can.

[You know I love you guys, but life is getting the best of me. I don't want to hold on if anyone else is waiting. So, if anyone wants to take Juliette, just let me know. If not, I'll be back as soon as I can.]

lewis_juliette @ 2005-04-13T16:24:00

2005-04-13T20:24:39Z

It's official. Germans love me like Hasselhoff. Many are pretty surprised to find out my speaking voice is deeper than they have been led to believe. I guess all the German talent they use to dub my movies have these light, airy, Marilyn Monroe voices. It's strange to hear, but it makes The Other Sister knee-slapping, fall-on-the-floor hilarious to watch.

I'm currently in Glasgow at the moment, practicing my Shrek impression. Three more European dates to go, and I am so outta here you don't even know. You don't even want to know. Not that I don't love the European audience, or their exotically-flavored rice cakes, but it's been a long time since I've been home. Then again, I'm getting so used to this ramblin' lifestyle, I'm starting to feel like a woman without a home. A loner, Dottie. A rebel. Plus, I miss all my other loner, rebel friends. I especially miss that guy. I call him Killer, 'cause he slays me.

I believe I promised pr0n last time, and you shall have it. But give me a few days to recover from feeling like I've been gargling with razor blades. There's nothing more unsexy and unhot than typing smut while feeling like Bette Davis--an eighty-year-old nearly mummifed Bette, that is. I think it would go something like this:

"I remember it was 1937. I was coming out of the Columbia Studios commissary and heading towards the backlot when I heard him call my name. I turned. Our eyes met, and the intense passion that had been simmering between us bubbled up in our chests like a roughly shaken bottle of sarsparilla. We ran to each other, and ducking behind a dumpster, we had relations. And that was the last time I ever saw Shemp from the Three Stooges..."

Sorry about that.

Placeholder

2005-03-30T18:51:16Z

Why is it when you hand a dog a piece of food, he has to sniff it before he'll take it? Based on the dogs I have known in my life, those people will eat anything. What does it have to smell like for them to decide they don't want it?

Think about it, won't you?

Stay tuned for a real update...And porn.

The eNeMEy Awards

2005-02-23T16:09:47Z

I can't say this tour hasn't been fun. I can't say it's afforded me any amount of sleep in the last two weeks, so my judgement may be a little bit clouded and a lot bit loopy. I'll be heading home soon, at which time I'll impart all the gory details. But I'll tell you this, I'm going to miss the British press.

Ms Von Teese arrived without her fiance Marilyn Manson, but needn't have been lonely as rock singer Juliette Lewis looked a dead-ringer for her controversial lover - minus his dodgy eyes, of course.

SWEATY: Juliette looks like Manson

It's true, I left my dodgy eyes in my other purse that night. I probably shouldn't mention what happened after we drank all that absinthe after the show. But honestly, since it was a party, I was actually running through my entire repetoir of celebrity impressions that night. Here's my Mick Jagger.

Then there was my Nicole Kidman.

Not my best one, but my last impression of the night really brought the house down. My trusty old Bea Arthur.

It always goes over so well. But then, who doesn't love Bea?

Hello, is it me you're looking for?

2005-02-14T16:44:25Z

You can't look into the sun without shielding your eyes. My retinas have been burnt out, and the visions replaced with distant echos. Wordless conversations become tactile declarations punctuated by contented sighs. I don't miss the words, necessarily. In my dreams, dialogue is scripted by my own subconscious. Silence is the reality. Besides, I know you so well--or did--and have I faith we will know each other again. Keeping it coming. You're coming in loud and clear.

This could very well be my last will in testament because tonight I start my first tour of the UK and Ireland, and I'm so going to die. I've been in a London concert pit, and still have the scars, even if I no longer have my shoes. So, if you're in these areas and are interested in possibly seeing me torn limb from limb, here are the dates.

Feb 14th London Astoria
Feb 15th Cardiff Barfly
Feb 16th Liverpool Barfly
Feb 18th London Barfly
Feb 20th Dublin Voodoo Lounge
Feb 22nd TBA TBA (is anyone in Ireland having a birthday or a wedding? We're available.)
Feb 23rd Limerick Dolan's Warehouse
Feb 24th Dublin Spirit (with Meteor Awards After Party)

And seeing how it's Valentine's Day and the fact that I'm queen of the VH1 countdown shows, I thought I'd give a list of the best love songs of all time---with a twist! Therefore...

Juliette Lewis and Sessions Presents
Top Ten Love Songs You Hear in a Dentist's Office
or
My God, If It Wasn't Painful Enough

10. "Invisible" by Clay Aiken - Clay is a great singer, and I love how he comes off as a nerdy, sensitive guy. But Clay, man, being invisible and watching me in my room? Sorry, I still get these kinds of letters from prisoners more than 10 years after I did Cape Fear. *shudder*

9. "Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon - While it's hard for me to get swoony over the lead singer of REO, there is no greater rhyme than "ship into the shore" and "throw away the oar" foreverrrrrr.

8. "Dreamweaver" by Gary Wright - I don't even really know what this song is about, but it sounds really sexy when you're gassed up with nitrous oxide.

7. "Lost in Love" by Air Supply - Again, this is mainly due to the happy gas, but I dig that chick's voice, and didn't the blonde-haired guy play Crocodile Dundee?

6. "Can't Hold Back" by Survivor - I had a huge crush on a guy that looked like the lead singer, so I have a soft spot for this song. Plus, I adore the Starbucks commercial they did. "GLENN! Glenn Glenn Glenn! Glenn's the man, heading to work. Got his tie, got ambiiitioooon..." Actually, that's a better love song.

5. "Mandy" by Barry Manilow - She came and she gave without taking--because she was his dog! A beagle! But then he sent her away? I wonder if he meant he just shooed her off the bed, because I had a beagle once and they sometimes could get bad flatulence.

4. "My Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder - Who doesn't want to be told she's as lovely as a summer day? Sounds a little like a douche commercial, though. Thankfully, he doesn't say she's as fresh as a spring morning. While it's not a really great song, at least it's not "I Just Called to Say I Love You."

3. "A Little More Love" by Olivia Newton John - Once upon a time, Olivia was a virginal country singer who did occasional duets with Cliff Richard. Then, in 1978, she slutted it up for John Travolta in Grease, and keeping her black satin leggings and leather jacket, recorded this funky disco number. It's still good. But better things were to come because soon afterwards she gave us...

3. "Xanadu" - Never before had we been given disco, punk, big bands, roller skating, ELO, Gene Kelly, Olivia, California beach culture, and Greek mythology all in one big, overblown spectacle. Thankfully, we'd never be given such a mess again. But like any embarrassing situation, we can look back and listen to "Xanadu" with a more appreciative ear. And giggle like mad.

2. "Babe" by Styx - This song was one of the reasons Styx never got more critical praise and street cred. They tried, but for every "Too Much Time on My Hands" there was a "Best of Times." For every "Renegade or "Snowblind" there was a "Mr. Roboto." But it doesn't matter. Dennis de Young was always writing music for weddings and bar mitzvas, and good thing too, because someone had to do it, you know?

1. "Open Arms" by Journey - Is there anyone born in the United States in the last 35 years who hasn't danced to this song at the end of prom? In fact, when I was a freshman, I dated a senior, and this was the entire prom theme. I'd love to do a poll and see how many people lost their virginity to "Open Arms." It was even used in the movie The Last American Virgin. It's a classic panty remover, and that's why it's my number one pick for best love song you hear in a dentist's office. Just be sure the nitrous has been turned off when this comes on.

lewis_juliette @ 2005-01-31T12:06:00

2005-01-31T17:06:48Z

Chemical components once precisely in place now lost to the elements. They don't know where to go on their own, and I don't know where to put them, because for me there was only ever one solution. The formula may have wrong, but I was sure it was right. The energy produced could fuel an entire metropolis. It may have been combustable, but I knew how to contain it. Now, without it, this city is dark.

Most days there is light, but those are the days when I'm consciously trying not to dwell on it and living my life as I'm expected to do. Other days it can't be helped and on those days I'd prefer not to be seen. Wouldn't you know it, though? Those always seem to be the days I'm wearing my lighted neon sign that blinks "Ask Me How I Am" in three different hues. You should know very well to say away at that time. I have been working on a "Caution" sign, but I always seem to misplace it when I'm pms-ing. That, and I don't really want you to stay away.

It's become a habit to check my cellphone regularly, say, once every hour. It starts with a glance at the display to see if I've missed a call, then I'll dial my voice mail just to make sure something wasn't wrong with the display. Then, I might go into the menu and check the last 10 calls I've received. I know I should cut it out, I'm wearing out the poor phone's hinges.

I ~~can't~~ really shouldn't write unrequited love letters anymore.

Dude, that rules!

2005-01-13T16:30:17Z

Rules? What are these things of which the humans speak? Sorry, don't believe in them. Anyways, I gave at the office. Oh, I'll begrudgingly give props to a few, such as the one about not coveting your neighbor's ox. Because, seriously, that sucks. I don't care how fabulous Fred from next door's ox is, you shouldn't be eyeing it. I'm a little more lenient about coveting someone's ass, however. I covet Angelina Jolie's all the time.

But yes. Play by your own rules is what I say. I say it all the time, in fact. Like yesterday, when I was sitting in a restaurant, a woman and her friend were having lunch at the table next to me, while the woman's toddler sat in a highchair. Well, he was not really sitting so much as standing, reaching across the table grabbing forks, knives, and napkins and throwing them to the ground--and having a fine time of it, I might add. After disposing of the salt shaker, I noticed the babe tentatively eye his mother's leftover plate of pasta, not sure if he should go for it or not. "Play by your own rules!" I said, and there was much entertainment. Crying toddlers covered head to toe in spaghetti and marinara sauce is soooo funny.

Yes, some rules are good, and you can choose to follow them or not, but the ones you make are the best, just so long as they don't encroach on others' rules too much. For me, my rules run along the line as an actor can taken seriously as a singer. Corn rows look good on me. People need to start calling me Herr Juliette, despite my gender. Also, I can bitch about list shows all I want, but it's cool when I'm on them and, especially, when I host them. Ahem.

Rules are also good when it comes to games. Which reminds me, when do we stop playing children's games and why do we stop? Luckily, some people of my generation decided that it was stupid for us to give up playing dodgeball and formed adult leagues. Dodgeball inherintly contained some of the most valuable life lessons I have ever learned: support your friends, and they'll support you; if you're going to take a shot at something, put all of your weight behind it; and finally, you will be hurt at least once...sometimes a lot...more if you wear glasses.

And if we're bringing back dodgeball, let's bring back Duck, Duck, Goose while we're at it, or Red Rover, or Musical Chairs. If anything, they make those of us who weren't good enough to be on the volleyball team good at something.

Lonely is the Night

2004-12-10T16:58:01Z

I've been thinking about Billy Squier lately.

What's he been up to? Is he still playing music? Did he find someone to stroke him? How did he get his hair so fluffy? Did he use Pert Shampoo?

Why won't he return my phone calls? Does a restraining order mean I can't have someone else deliver tokens of affection to his door?

Christmas is the time to say I love you, Billy.

One or two more things

2004-11-29T20:58:12Z

Regarding political bumper stickers on cars: First, if you drive a American gas-guzzler, you do not need to display your W sticker on your rear window. I can pretty much guess who you voted for.

Second, to those who have "Marriage = international restroom symbol for men + international restroom symbol for women" along with an "I Support Our Troops" bumper sticker, tell me this. What about our gay troops? Huh, huh?!? Or is it all right for gays to die for our country, just so long as their grieving partners don't collect on their life insurance?

But what I really want to talk about is countdown shows. If television didn't show that they were completely out of ideas with the glut of reality shows, now cable channels like E! are doing countdowns of Best Reality Moments. Add to that countdowns of Television's Most Memorable Moments, Television's Most Wicked Women, Cheesiest Video Tricks, Most Awesomely Bad Songs, Most Awesomely Bad Sex Songs, Most Awesomely Bad Metal Songs, and you can't help but get nostalgic for the days when TV shows were actually written and had plots.

Call me a hypocrite because I've already done my share of retro rehash, but that's before it got really really bad. But see, that's why a show like "Arrested Development" is such a critical darling, because every good writer who hasn't worked since the reality television boom hit is now working on that show. So, I'm happy for them, and I will support them by plunking down on my sofa pouring Pixie Stix down my throat and watching their show on TiVo.

And that's how I spent my Thanksgiving.

Dr. Thompson, where are you?

2004-11-03T15:32:59Z

Ok, NOW it's official. Everyone start packing those bags. Run, run to the border or book that flight to the UK now, because prices are going up! Warning, though you may try to run, you may still end up getting stuck with Barbara Streisand.

I'm just a little disappointed in the lack of adventure in these declarations. Doesn't anyone want to learn a new language or experience a completely different culture. So I'll say it: FUCK THIS COUNTRY! I'M MOVING TO LITHUANIA!

Actually, no I'm not. Babs and celebrities like her kind of took the fun out of that stuff. As if being a Democrat isn't embarrassing enough. That's right. Uh-uh. I said it. We're a disgrace. I can honestly say, I'm more disappointed in the House and Senate results than I am in the presidential results. The American system is based on a system of checks and balances. If your president sucks ass, then you should have people in the Capitol building going, "We really shouldn't be going to war, because our president sucks ass!" So, c'mon, Dems. This is a David and Goliath situation, but the giant can be still be knocked down. When you ready your slingshot, aim for the nutsack.

If you really want to look at this from a positive perspective, however, we have four more years to legitimately bitch and moan. And it's something we do pretty well. We don't have to worry whether or not our president will do something to embarrass us, because we already know he will. Other countries will always kind of hate us, so we can still point our fingers at the other side and fantasize about the day we become a truly liberal nation. Then, all the countries of the world will open their arms to give us friendly head-noogies.

I really shouldn't talk politics. I really should just make myself a nice cup of tea and settle in with a nice book. I'm re-reading "Wicked" at the moment, and come to think of it, the Wizard of Oz reminds me a lot of the guy we got running this place. No wonder Elphaba is my hero. Oh, what a world.

lewis_juliette @ 2004-10-27T15:00:00

2004-10-27T19:00:45Z

So sure of foot, I went and lost mine and ~~tumbled~~ headfirst into the foamy. Several days later and I still haven't come up for air. But how much do you need when someone else's breath is filling your lungs?

I went and got myself all sociable and stuff recently, so it's been like a huge coming out party for me. Or would that be coming undone? No worries, dollies, I have plenty of thread to keep us all in stitches.

Vegas tonight. Remember, what the birthday boy wants is also the desired attire.

Lord, I was born a ramblin'...giiiirl

2004-10-13T23:20:39Z

My car has a habit of lighting up and beeping at me when it's nearing empty. In two years of driving it, I've never gotten used to the warning sound. A gentle reminder is always appreciated, but maybe the L.A. traffic gets me too wound up to accept the reminder gracefully enough to where I would be able thank the car for being a very conscientious car before casually pulling in to the first gas station that advertises Regular for 2 cents less than everyone else.

Instead, I'll be in the middle of wishing for a plague of spiders upon the engine of yet another in a stars-and-stripes adorned SUV, when all of us sudden my car will let out a wail that sounds vaguely like a school fire alarm. While those kinds of warnings were easily ignored when you were twelve and surrounded by your much cooler peers, in the middle of Van Nuys Boulevard it sounds vaguely like OMIGOD YOU'RE OUT OF GAS YOU'LL BE STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD WHERE PEOPLE WILL SPIT ON/RUN INTO/OPEN FIRE UPON YOU!! PULL OVER NOW NOW NOW!!11!

So, I was at the gas station filling up the tank when I found myself humming along to the music playing over the station's intercom system. It was "Tequila Sunrise" by the Eagles, which made me think about how often you actually hear the Eagles playing in gas stations. If not them, then some other type of Southern-fried country rock. Perhaps because many of us associate that kind of music with cars and open highways and the light dusting of dirt that invariably results from road trips. The gas stations play that music to make you think about hitting the road and seeing the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet. It's inspiring! Grab yourself a microwave burrito, and 32-ounce Diet Coke and use your God-given right to be free to explore every corner of this big, beautiful land of ours.

And just then I heard "Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter" and my theory was blown to hell.

Like a...

2004-10-11T20:13:14Z

That's right, the EP comes out tomorrow, and can only be downloaded at www.julietteandthelicks.com, www.fiddlerrecords.com, www.smartpunk.com, and www.downloadpunk.com.

This weekend, we'll be performing at The Voodoo Festival in New Orleans. I'm afraid I can't help being a more than a little giddy about it, because of the fact that the Beastie Boys, the Pixies, and Velvet Revolver will be there. To control my rabid fangirling, I just need to keep reminding myself that Polyphonic Spree will be there as well. And a sense of calm comes over me...

Oh, and we're also going to slowly move our tour eastward this fall, so I'll finally be able to get to New York before the next millenium. But I didn't want to make this an all-pimp all the time post, so here's a topic for discussion. Van Halen: Sammy or Dave? Discuss.

lewis_juliette @ 2004-10-04T15:42:00

2004-10-04T20:04:42Z

I just came back from lunch, during which time I stepped outside to the nice little corner the restaurant provided to have a smoke. As I stuck the cigarette between my lips, I glanced up to see a woman, heavy with child, walking into the joint. I'll bet you can guess the kind of look she gave me. The kind of glare that says, "You scum, don't you even think about lighting up and damaging my unborn child."

I glanced back at her, and thought, "Don't look at me all pregnant like that." I don't smoke that much, but I was just in the mood for one. I don't agree with the California smoking laws, but I abide by them. It's not my fault that the restaurant chose to put their ashtrays that close to the entry. Whaddaya want from me? Get off my back!

However, being sensitive to other people's feelings, I pulled the cig from my lips and smiled sweetly while she walked inside. Finally able to light up, I quietly worried for the child who will undoubtedly have such an overprotective mother, he won't learn how to take care of himself until he's at least 38 years old, during which time more oppressive laws will be made because young Caleb Dylan Tyler Zachary never learned that it's not okay to wander into the path of oncoming traffic or that blenders are not toys.

That said, I do want kids of my own one day, but I don't know if I'll have natural childbirth. I want it as unnatural as possible and with as many drugs as they can afford. Fly some in from Columbia if they have to, I'll be happy to pay however much over the co-pay that it takes. Actually, strike that, I'm going to opt for my own clone. I shall call her Mini Me, and she shall call me Mommy Dearest, and she shall give me the RESPECT I would expect from any STRANGER IN THE STREET!

Also, I was just wondering, but why is it that people with Jesus fish or American flag decals are such terrible drivers? Does the magnet on the decal affect the steering system or the acceleration of the engine? It's just so strange.

Flypaper of the Gods

2004-09-14T16:34:48Z

Some mornings it takes all the energy I have not to aim a loaded shotgun out my second story window...

Cut, rewind. Take two.

Some mornings it takes all the energy I have not to lie in bed helplessly waiting for this boulder pressed against my chest to be lifted. But I don't wait at all. I struggle against the weight, flailing my arms and legs around like a beetle that's been flipped over on its back, clawing at the air hoping to grasp onto something that'll swing me back into play.

I know that giving up would leave me at the mercy of the elements, open to being stepped on and squished beyond recognition or worse, drying out in the sun leaving my tiny corpse for the scavengers. All that follows is a brittle exoskeleton, that eventually blows or washes away little by little. But desperate flailing can be so tiring. It can get to the point where it's not so much giving up as much as using up. But I'm an eternal optimist. Even then, there must be even so much as a stick to grab onto.

No, I don't think I'm being overly dramatic. I'm having a moment. Indulge, please.

I'm ready for this album to come out already. I haven't even been doing music that long and I already feel that I've logged in enough hours to do a decent enough impression of Keith Richards. And that's without hardly any drugs and alcohol. I've also developed a terrible twitch in my right eye. While most twitches aren't noticable, this one is, and I'm just too annoyed by the whole thing to have any fun with it. My eye doctor tells me it's stress, which I already knew. However, I was hoping by telling someone with access to a prescription pad about it, I could finagle at least a couple of valium out of it. Turns out, I'm too together for my own good.

Moan, groan. And the same thing goes for Christmas. Bah, humbug.

Perhaps what I need is a nice relaxing game of paintball. So, if anyone's in the area and up for it, come and get me, kittens. I'll be hanging out of the upstairs window.

Cut, print, that's a wrap...this is never going to sell to middle America.

Getting to know you

2004-08-24T16:09:18Z

It's taken me this long to get my thoughts together, and that can be taken as a compliment. That night I was half expecting to go home alone, icing down my knee in the back of a cab while Bon Jovi's "Dead or Alive" played in my head as the closing credits of my night rolled by. But the evening took a turn from a'ight to all right when I saw him in the crowd. After about a month dropping hints as subtle as a sledgehammer he came. Thankfully, it wouldn't be the last time.

Oh, I played it cool, although you wouldn't know it with my lunatic giggling. I only hoped that was just in my head, but what can I say. He had me at "hi." Now that he was in my sights, I couldn't take my eyes off of him if I tried. So I did the rockstar thing and exchanged a backstage pass for some backstage passes.

We shared a bottle of vodka, but it was his voice that intoxicated me, not to mention his eyes, mouth, nose, chest, shoulders, stomach, and his laugh. Oh, that laugh that washed over me like...well, like smooth vodka. I wanted to hear more of it, so I did everything in my power to keep him laughing. It wasn't hard, since I let myself just do what came naturally. Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it.

Naturally, we ended up in Compton stuffing ourselves with sugary treats and burritos. Naturally, I peeled out of my jumpsuit to give the security camera a show. Naturally, I felt the urge to run my hands over his skin. Naturally, I wanted more of all of the above.

No need to set the mood--that was pretty much set in stone already--we drove quickly to the closest place available. The complete seediness of it made it that much better as we laughed ourselves sick over the thought of every possible scenario that had taken place there, or that was still taking place. The stench and the grime polluted already filthy thoughts. We started fast, but not fast enough. Trying to catch our breath, we subsequently took it slower, catching each other's instead.

I've now got his number on speed dial. I know he's got commitments, but there's nothing wrong with mutual stalking now and then, is there?

It was a pleasure to meet you.

Beat on the brat

2004-08-02T18:37:24Z

Demon seed. He pulls this deliberately to get a rise out of me. Both of us headstrong and stubborn, each having to get the last word. We're like two yappy dogs in a yard freaking out over the distant sound of air conditioning units switching on. We yell without knowing exactly what we're yelling about, only that the air hangs heavy with a feeling that makes us both uncomfortable until we feel the need to voice that discomfort. Maybe we're both looking for a little attention and a few scratches behind the ears. If we can't get that, fighting is better than nothing. Still, it was worse when we were actually married to each other.

I swear there are still treadmarks on my thighs from where he kicked me. Over and over and over. Funny, I can't even remember the brand he wore. I don't think I cared much at the time. I just sat on the floor, trying to hold in any urge to yell out or shed a tear. On the other hand, my lip and cheek have healed all right. Some people just don't scar, so I guess I'm one of the lucky ones. No lines to run my fingers over and think back on fondly, or at least nothing to serve as a future reminder to hunt down the dirty dog, at the conclusion I will warn him of his impending doom before we engage in one last battle.

In case you missed it, I used the word fondly there with the utmost sarcasm. Of all the black eyes and various bruises, gashes, broken bones, and stitches I've received, I can't think back to one that would make me go, "Ahhh, yes. That was a great head-bashing." I understand that there are people that covet that kind of thing, and that's great. Whatever floats your boat. Anything's better than fuzzy handcuffs and candlewax. But until you've had something like having your nose broken with a fist, think about what you're asking for. It's an insult to my sinus cavities. If you've been there, then consider me a comrade in arms.

Lest ye think of me as a victim in all this, stop. Stop right now, and be ashamed of yourself for going there. Because everytime I got it, I gave it back a hundredfold. Taking my size in account, I'd say we were about an equal match. Did I enjoy it? Well, the jury is still out and it looks like they're ordering dinner. But I have to say, there's a part of me that needed it. A part that needed to get out whatever emotions I had dammed up over time. A part that needed the rush of adrenaline to feel alive when alternately drugs and exercise failed to provide the thrills they promised. And a part that needed the hightened sensation of a soft caress over a raised area of skin. But no, none of it made me orgasm. That occasionally came afterwards, but mostly I was too busy searching for the iodine.

Right now, I'm living in anxious times. The tour's over, and I now have a month to wait until the album comes out. If there is any mercy in the world, a mini tour can be arranged. As a result of my downtime, my poor shithead ex-husband has to put up with me. Despite the fact that living together was like trying to fit two postive battery cables into the same spot, we always remained close, especially after our divorce. Still, I'm amazed he puts up with me as much as he does. Perhaps he needs it as much as I do. What more could you ask for in a best friend?

We should all give him thanks, in fact. He's what makes me the calm, rational, well-adjusted young lady you see before you. *twitch*

Dear Ad People,

2004-07-24T19:48:13Z

Yes, hello. Would it be too much trouble to take off the Six Flags commercial with the phony-looking creepy old guy who lures young men away from their duties with his infectious dancing already? And may I ask, what the hell is that supposed to be about, anyway? Hmm, scary old guy/amusement parks. Not seeing the marketing appeal here.

And another thing, please dislodge that music from my head. I've had enough epileptic dancing seizures because of it.

I'm baaaaack

2004-07-20T14:05:40Z

Kid, you're going out there an indie-type film actress, but you're coming back a stah! Well, hot damn, what do you know. I think they liked us.

We did it. There was never a time I thought we couldn't, but I'm a little taken aback by how well we did it. I'm not braggin, dragon. we gave everything we had for that tour. You see, I baptized Dallas with droplets of blood, annointed Houston with saliva, went down on Las Cruzes and raped the shit out of Fresno. But everyone got it all. Every ounce.

Not to mention there enough knots of hair, pieces of bone and strips of skin left scattered across the desert for several Juliette voodoo dolls. Bruises and abrasions happened and were subsequently treated with a concoction of spit and dust. I think I'm permanently coated with dust. By the end of the tour, I could convert my panties into mini potato farms.

The reviews weren't too bad either. Bordering on great. That one was my favorite. Eh, open up a couple more veins and I'll be a legend. The comparisons with Iggy and Janis are flattering, but the best was seeing myself called Karen O with a snarl. I couldn't do it without the rest of the band. Patty Schemel continues to rock my arse. She out Tommy Lees Tommy Lee.

If you're interested in a sample, have a taste of this.

And would you look at this, why don't you.

I have to stop now. This is too cool for words.

The glistening of snail tracks in the sun

2004-06-23T17:41:58Z

Countdown. Nearly time to brush the glitter of this two-gigabit town off my feet and see what this crazy world and I can offer one another. The modern version of a hairshirt, it can make you itch enough to claw the flesh from your arms, neck and chest; most of us not even knowing we're punishing ourselves because there's comfort in the artificial security we've built around us like a sofa cushion fort. I'm one to talk, aren't I? But the toys are packed away for now. Raw bone laced with sinewy muscle is all I have to offer.

Thirty was great, but that was so last year. Just for the moment, I feel old and ugly. But Keith Richards old and ugly, and I can use that. Screw you, if you can't appreciate the beauty of a 3000 year-old corpse. She doesn't appreciate you either.

The highlight of my was birthday spent dropping sundry items into a reddish-orangish shopping cart. There's something not quite right about getting excited over travel-sized shave gel, collapsable hairbrushes, or the wide variety of flavors you can find in mini tubes of toothpaste, but you take the little pleasures where you can get them. And there I was, grabbing the closest customer to me in the aisle to give witness to the wonders clear ponytail holders.

Someone told me to buy lots of socks and underwear. Without asking wherefore, I hoarded multi-colored packs of each, reminding myself of the times I decided I wasn't into doing laundry and bought new panties when I ran out clean ones. Swinging a wide left, I ventured down the candy aisle, stocking up on boxes of Raisinettes and Sour Patch Kids, all the while having rationalizing arguments with myself over their miraculous, but scientifically untested, energy-boosting abilities.

Oh yes, I'm in a snit, loving that snit I'm in. I expected tizzy by now, and I'm somewhat pleased to see that isn't the case, so there's still an ounce of sweetness and light packed away in here, although it might be in my makeup case now. There's nothing more to do but sit on my suitcase and wait for the circus to come and pick me up.

lewis_juliette @ 2004-06-17T15:39:00

2004-06-17T19:39:37Z

There I was, standing in line at the bank earlier today, when all of a sudden I felt a sharp but only slightly irritating pain on my ankle. Thinking I was being attacked by fire ants in the middle of my morning errands, I quickly reached down and lifted the hem of my pants to swat the little bugger away. When I looked down, I saw that what I thought to be a deadly killer insect, was in fact a piece of a scab that had managed to attach itself to my hem. As the line suddenly lurched forward, I quickly pulled off the rest of the scab, which protested its unwillingness to go by gushing out such an amount of blood, it made my ankle look like a punctured packet of McDonald's ketchup.

As it started to flow onto my shoe, there wasn't much I could do. I rummaged in my bag for a tissue or anything to stop the bleeding. All I could find were a few receipts, gum, an elastic ponytail band, and a Kotex maxi pad. And, no, there was no way in hell I was giving up my spot in line to run to the ladies room--which you can never find in banks anyway. In fact, I don't think banks have them at all because as a customer, they want to see you and know where you are at any given time or, god forbid you should hide out in one of the stalls, McGuyvering a homemade gun out of toilet paper and tampons. Anyway, I did the only thing possible at that moment, and McGuyvered myself a tourniquet out of the elastic band and...yeah, after which I stepped defiantly up to the teller and boldy announced that I'd like to make a deposit.

Of course I looked like an idiot. But it was rock 'n' roll, so I think I was able to pull it off okay. Just put on a little fuck-you attitude and you can get away with being the biggest dork in the world, and people will still think you're cool.

Speaking of rock 'n' roll, I have this band called Juliette and the Licks. Now, I never claimed to be a singer, nor did I get bored one day and decide to turn all Keanu Reeves/Russel Crow/Kevin Bacon/Eddie Murphy/Don Johnson...anyway. It just happened that one night I was at a club and decided to check my sense of decorum at the door. Something I used to do quite a bit when I was younger, but not so much since I quit doing drugs. Now I tend to keep decorum wrapped around my waist even out on the dance floor. But this night was different, and I guess someone heard me singing along to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts at the top of my lungs. The next thing I know, I'm writhing around on stage with a member of Hole and getting calls from Prodigy.

And now, it seems I'm getting ready to go on Vans Warped Tour. On Friday 25, we hit Houston, TX. Be there or be square.

Was that the longest pimp post in history?