NATIONAL POETRY DAY ... OH YEAH.

It's National Poetry Day and I could, for lack of a better term, "wax poetic" on our beautiful, sexy, soulful language. (For those that know how to use it.) I get a twisted kick out of smithing words that (at the very least) make me laugh, cry, and feel. Mostly laugh. Sometimes I just can't even believe my brain, getting all hilarious and cracking myself up. Egocentric? Perhaps. Geishanistas are human too.

As far back as I can remember (actually it was seventh grade with "Sister Wimpy Wart Walk" -- her real name was Winifred, like "The Jungle Book" elephant -- no joke), I was extremely conscious of the importance of crafting the written word. We had NO choice.

Day after day, Sr. WWW prattled on and on that no two sentences in a paragraph should start with the same word. Pretty harsh. She mentioned other stuff too, but even the great and powerful couldn't intervene if you screwed up ... and I'm not talkin' Oz. (Or James Franco, although he would've have convinced her to smoke a bone and shut the f*ck up. Okay, I'll stop.)

Sure as hell's supposedly all fire and brimstone (sorry, I can't stop 'cause, IMO, it's really, really NOT), that sex-starved old penguin would be waddling at breakneck speeds down the aisles, warts and all, to further scream. IN. YOUR. FACE. Crazy bitch. We were twelve.

Somehow it stuck (for the most part), and I pretty much became obsessed with writing from that point on. I felt like it was my secret stash, my mission, my raison d'être. From poetic stream-of-consciousness rants reminiscent of neo-Dada Nam June Paik videos to super-silly songs and nicely structured articles practically begging for a tidy bow on top, I've honed my craft over the years to arrive at this lovely, nonsensical, and ever-so-snide juncture. It's a culmination of all I am. You can imagine my glee -- unrestrained, of course.

Obviously I mangle rules along the way, but a few no-nos in the name of "creative license" is totally acceptable, even thrilling. (To me, anyway.) Isn't the point to express your unique voice? Anyone who's watched GEISHA-MANIA! knows my voice is definitively "distinct," which is being kind. A few of my fave poetic heroes include Maya Angelou, Sylvia Plath, Jack Kerouac, Shel Silverstein, Jim Morrison, Patti Smith (um, have you listened to "Horses"?), and a list of rappers whose "flow" leaves me speechless. And that, my fellow Catholic school refugees, NEVER happens.

Speaking of which, you can just imagine how friggin' proud Sister-from-a-Higher-Mister would be to read my contribution to National Poetry Day. Yup. Rolling in her BIG. FAT. ROSARY-BEADED GRAVE. So without further snark, I bring you a little "afternoon delight." Pun intended.

HIGH-KU OF THE DAY!™

Weed, best stuff on earth

Twenty-four carat gold blunts
Now who’s trippin’ boo?

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For Mothers Everywhere ... Love, Me

It's Mother's Day and I can't think of a better way to celebrate than by giving a shout-out to some of my fave moms of all time -- including my mother and myself! From funny, cool, and uber-sexy pop culture royalty to actual blue-blooded child-bearers, the maternal instincts exuded by these hot mamas always makes me smile. How totally fabulous is that?

1. Morticia Addams
First off, I actually wanted to BE Morticia. How hot was she, wiggling around in that slinky black number, with her long black mane and boobs a-burstin', driving her crazy-wealthy-crazy husband insane? Dang. Gomez was surely under her spell, but it was his "Cara Mia's" sharp-as-a-razor wit and blasé attitude that sealed the deal for me. Morticia was absolute perfection -- and her mothering skills? Wednesday and Pugsley weren't complaining.

2. Samantha Stevens
Sam was sexy, funny, and possessed some pretty awesome powers. Who else could travel back and forth in time, turn people into toads (or any other animal), concoct potions, and make riches appear with the twitch of her nose? Let's just say Tabitha was one lucky little witch. I'd practice the nose aerobics for hours to no avail, but what perplexed me most was why the hell she stuck with either Darrin. York or Sargent, could they have chosen more derpy dudes? Ewww.

3. Endora
Who didn't adore Endora? Dripping in drag queen glam, menacingly powerful, and so damn over the top there was never a top in sight. Ever. Nothing was sacred. (Tee-hee!) Endora perfected the art of being wonderfully wicked ... and I loved her protectiveness toward Samantha. Talk about f*cking FIERCE. I secretly wished that she'd replace Darrin with Major Nelson ("I Dream of Jeannie") or some other hunk, but that was just my opinion. (I know, I need to get over it.)

4. Mrs. Gloop
"Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory" (Gene Wilder version) is one of my all-time faves -- SUCH a fun flick. The original characters were absolutely brilliant ... so much so, that quoting them never gets old. Why Mrs. Gloop? Well, what can I say but, "Au-goo-tus, sveet-heart, save some rrrhoom for lay-tahhh!" "You've boiled him up, I knowww it!" "He'll be made into marshmallows in five seconds!" "You're not sqveezing me sthrough zat tiny door!" OMFG. Pure genius. I, for one, can't get enough.

5. Mrs. Teevee
"I serve all his TV dinners right here. He's never even been to the table." "I assume there's an accident indemnity clause." "Somebody's touching me!" Enough said.

6. Cher
After finally getting over the fact I couldn't BE Cher, for a brief fleeting moment I wanted to be Chastity Bono so I could, at the very least, have access to mommy's killer Bob Mackie collection. (I'd even resigned myself to wearing a wig 'cuz my hair never grew that long.) Aside from the fact that Chastity was an adorable towhead (blondes do have more fun -- I've been both and can attest to this), Cher seemed to be such a loving, doting mama. (I still love how she loves her kids.) IMO, clothes and anything my heart desired? WIN-WIN.

7. Carol Brady
Who didn't want a perky, smiling soccer mom who ran around town in Pucci-esque mini dresses? (I did.) Carol had it goin' on with her frosted shag 'do, hot little bod, handsome architect hubby, sprawling ranch-style home, and not one damn worry in the world. Plus, she had ALICE! Partners-in-crime don't get much better. Those kids seriously scored.

8. Clair Huxtable
You just don't f*ck with Claire. She's a lawyer and will sue your ass, chew it up, and spit you out -- all before her morning OJ. God I loved her.

9. Miss Ellie
Miss Ellie was the only one who could control J.R. Ewing -- now that's a testament to true power. (Are you picking up on the power theme yet?) Plus, she lived on a gorgeous estate and everyone loved her to bits. "Mama" was the kind of old Texan lady that you don't mess with. She could shoot you with her eyes closed and walk over your dead carcass for afternoon tea.

10. Sue Ellen Ewing
She had zero backbone, was a lush, and sucked as a wife, but Sue Ellen was all about mothering (sometimes smothering) John Ross. And her Bill Travilla wardrobe. And money. I like that.

11. Lucille Bluth
There is a God and she has one helluva sense of humor. If I'd grown up with Lucille Bluth, lord only knows how much funnier (or f*d up) I'd be. Hmmmmm. Let's just say therapy doesn't hurt. Her subpar mothering skills are no match for her finely honed sarcasm, which trumps tuna casserole any day.

12. Princess Diana
Shy Di did it her way -- and raised two altruistic sons any mom would be proud of. All while flipping off the entire monarchy. Gotta love ballsy blue bloods with a fantastic sense of style. The whole world loved her and so do I. Still.

13. Jackie Kennedy
Style, beauty, grace ... this fashion-forward First Lady epitomized American royalty. She was a stoic and protective mother to John Jr. and Caroline, as well as an iconic role model to millions. Add me to the list of fans with a JK girl crush!

14. My Mom
What can I say besides how much I love her? She's my best friend, confidante, biggest cheerleader, and never tires of hearing my voice. (Okay, I'm sure she does, but she never lets on.) Born in the Bronx, my mother's taught me selflessness, loyalty, and a NYC-bred fierceness that has made me the woman I am today. Plus, she's ever-supportive and kinda thinks I'm the funniest thing since sliced bread. Mom tells all her senior pals (as well as peeps on the street) all about her daughter's wacky music video. Bless her heart. Thank you Mom, for everything. I love you.

15. Me
Well I admit, I've given mothering my own twist and have somehow succeeded. (For the most part.) Of course, being a mom is a partnership of sorts -- I wouldn't be writing these words if my life hadn't been touched by the angel that came into my life 20+ years ago. I'd relive every single second to have you as you are today. Thank you my darling. I love you and am surely one very lucky mama.

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GET READY TO ROCK SPRING'S HOTTEST TRENDS!

Spring has sprung and though there may still be snow in some spots (hear my tiny violin playing?) it's time to start thinking about bikinis, boys, and beach blanket BLING-O! (Okay, maybe not in that order.) IMO, lounging poolside drenched in gallons of glitz is the shizz ... especially with a bevy of buff man-candies catering to my every whim. See how that's done? Bikinis, boys, bling -- boom, all in one shot.

Now for the finer points. (Listen up chicas, this is key.) Real bikini bliss means the teenier the better. (I can't believe I just said that.) Burn those bandeaus, maillots, and tank suits. Why? Because they make me shudder? No sillies, smaller gets you bigger, and I ain't talkin' gherkins. Big as in rocks -- the sparkly kind. This concept's easy, but hopefully you're not. (Make'em work for it, love muffins.)

Speaking of bling, break out the big baubles because itsy-bitsy bikinis alone just won't cut it. Who needs SPF 20 when there's 22K? Think blinding brilliance. Think strappy heels and spray tans. Think diamond-encrusted toe thongs. Okay, maybe that's way too much thinking for you, but damn girl, women exist to be memorable. Haven't the "Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" taught you anything?

For those plebeian times when we venture away from the cabana and don actual clothing (ugh, must we?), I've comprised a checklist of spring 2014's top fashion trends. Word of caution -- I'm showing you the BEST (designer duds) examples right off the runways. It's up to YOU to figure out if you even come close. There's a finely stitched line between true style and white trash wonderland. What's a geishanista to do? Besides running back to the pool? MAKE IT WORK PEOPLE!

He masters making it work.

1. Crop Tops
Every muffin top's nightmare is that mofo crop top. (Unless you're Kate Moss or the people of Walmart.) Here's a crazy question ... WHO makes these freakin' decisions? Is it kinda like a Seventh Avenue Illuminati plot to eliminate weaker, fashion faux pas-wearing fools? Tread wisely.

Diane von Furstenberg ... cropped to perfection.

2. Fringe
Is this the wild, wild vest? Don't get me wrong -- I keep up with trends just like any other gold-blooded geishanista. But when said trends take a nosedive into making me look like a bad 70's sitcom or, more specifically, that little ginger kid in "The Partridge Family," then I rest my case. Just stop it. Please.

Roberto Cavalli is a fringed god.

3. Holographic Clothing
Beam me up, bitches! Perhaps if you're Captain Kirk this Klingon-inspired garb could be cool, but any trend that remotely intrigues Trekkies or suits William Shatner (at any age) does not suit me. Period.

Jonathan Saunders is outta this world.

4. Sheer
Call it a heyday for pervs, but I say see-through's been done. Relentlessly. The only ones falling for it (yet again) are those who really shouldn't ... and it ain't pretty. Sigh. Fashion repeats itself, but let's put this one out of its misery.

J. Mendel shows how to shine in sheer. 

5. Trench
Wanna buy a watch? Again, perv city. That is all.

Michael Kors does trench right.

6. Mesh
Everybody spread the word, we're gonna have a cel-e-bra-tion! Oh, wait, what? Now that was a tangent. Madonna called and wants her fingerless gloves back. Enough said.

Vera Wang makes mesh magic.

7. Tribal Trippin'
I'm all for marching to the beat of a global drum, but do the fashion powers-that-be make a pact to puke up the most unrelated concepts possible, deem them as trends, and see who's suckered into it just to amuse themselves? I'm guessing "Yes."

Givenchy makes tribal tres glam.

8. Athletic Looks
If Varsity wasn't my thing in middle school, what makes anyone think I'd go for it now? Let's leave gym clothes in, um, the gym, thank you. Plus, this creates a cross-trending travesty when mesh is added to the mix -- like the athlete's foot fungus of the fashion world. I rest my case.

RA-RA-SIS-BOOM-VICTORIA! Beckham, that is.

9. Bright Colors
Is New Wave making a resurgence? Must I break out the mohawk? I bet Andre Leon Talley's laughing his Cavallis off at anyone making this Flock-of-Seagulls flub.

Orange is the new black at Hermes.

10. Culottes
Fugly then, fuglier now. Done and done.

Uber-cool leather culottes from Mulberry.

NOTE:
I actually invented the word "fugly" (don't play dumb) back in the 1980s and have witnesses ... kind of like MY original joke, "Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?" Answer: "Because it was dead." I made that up one night at a bar while walking around telling twisted jokes. I didn't really have answers to any of the random questions I asked complete strangers, which is why "Because it was dead" became my go-to fave. Years later, a comedy club promoter told me that my first attempt at standup (hey, I was walking around!) was one of the biggest jokes on the party circuit. Imagine that. Who knew vodka and cranberry could unleash comedic genius?

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CELEBRATING MARVIN GAYE!

I grew up loving and listening to the ultimate Prince of Soul, Marvin Gaye. In the 1950's (waaaaay before my time, bitches), the R&B legend joined a group called The New Moonglows, where his three-octave vocal range garnered the attention of Motown's Berry Gordy ... and the rest is history.

Marvin's Moonglow Days

FUN FACT: Marvin actually began his Motown career behind-the-scenes as a drummer for The Supremes, Stevie Wonder, The Marvellettes, and Martha and the Vandellas. It wasn't until 1962 (still before my time) that he produced his first solo hit, "Hitch Hike." In addition to vocals and drums, Marvin was a keyboard, percussion, and synthesizer whiz.

EVEN FUNNIER FACT: I began my career behind-the-scenes as a writer for one of the major Hollywood studios' online divisions. (Yawn.) Red carpet interviews and tentpole articles weren't the yin to my yang ... so I started writing wacky songs.  It wasn't until 2013 that I produced my very first solo hit (I'll let you be the judge), "GEISHA-MANIA!" In addition to my signature scream-laugh, I'm a shoe, bling, and high-style whiz. The rest is also history.

Marvin and Little Stevie Wonder

"I Heard It Through the Grapevine," "How Sweet It Is," and "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" had me hooked on soul. As a young geishanista, I'd dance around my tiny bedroom, hair brush in hand, singing my off-key little heart out in front of the mirror. Marvin famously partnered with Diana Ross and Tammi Terrell -- Marvin and Tammi ruled as the Royal Couple of R&B. When she died of a brain tumor in 1970, Marvin almost abandoned music altogether. I think I can safely speak for the entire world -- we're so lucky he didn't.

Marvin called Tammi his "perfect [musical] partner."

"Sexual Healing" was practically my rite of passage -- it was totally ON. Talk about geisha on a hot Bronx roof. I'd play it over and over and over again while gyrating around with my eyes closed. Scary, right? Marvin helped shape the sound of Motown and fueled this pasty white girl's lifelong lust for love muffins. Needless to say, I was -- and still am -- obsessed.

Today would have been Marvin's 75th birthday. Seems like only yesterday I'd turn on the radio and hear his sultry voice. Let's celebrate Marvin's legacy... he left us way too soon, but his genius lives on forever. xo

Happy Birthday Mr. Marvin Gaye ... RIP. xo

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FOOT FETISH ... MOI?!

Since it's my beloved "TGI Foot Fetish Friday," I have a filthy little secret to confess. (I'm really a pasty white girl and not Asian at all? Why screw with your bewilderment? It's waaay too much fun.)

Here goes. I'm head over heels over ... heels. Like kryptonite. Yes, you heard correctly and it's totally true — shoes are my crack, smack, and whack all in one. (Is whack even slang for a drug? No matter, falling in love with a new Italian designer is like someone whacking me upside the head. Same thing.) Talk about a contact high. The second those puppies hit my puppies, a euphoria rushes over my body like none other. Move over Mary Jane, there's a new Mary Jane in town.

Wait, there's more. Hard as it is for me to divulge, I actually, hear me out, quiver at the mere sight of come-f'ck-me black patent ... and don't even get me started on kid suede. Two words: multiple glam-gasms. (For days). Oh my. So it makes perfect sense why I'm totally hooked on men hooked on my feet — especially when clad in strappy little numbers that reveal a sufficiently sexy amount of toe cleavage. Trust me love muffins, they're ALL into my feet. (And my rockstar pedicure.) Ancient Chinese secret or TMI from pasty white? Nope, just merely stating the facts. Whoever invented the term "shoe porn" was the Einstein of what really renders a woman powerless. Is there a Nobel Prize for that kind of brilliance? ('Cuz he/she earned it. In spades. Make that Kate Spades.)

This delicious level of dependence can't be rehabilitated through hypnosis, shock treatment (OMFG, they don't have my size!), or even the most rigorous 12-step program. Imagine standing before a group of poor souls struggling to banish their demons and admitting my insatiable desire for D'Orsay? Thanks but no thanks. Am I worried about spiraling into the depths of overdose-dom? Hell to the no. You can keep your clean living, bitches. As long as I'm sporting the latest Louboutins, I'll be the happiest (and most fashion-forward) junkie to ever buckle up a T-strap. Just watch me.

Since I was a just wee geishanista back in the Bronx, every pump, platform, boot, shootie, flat, flip-flop, slingback, stiletto, wedge or Wellie has held me spellbound. (Even though I despise rain, we must look smashing in it.) My aunties' closets were the absolute Holy Grail — all filled with fabulous shoe collections just waiting for my child-sized feet to explore. I'd be transfixed for hours, parading around in ankle straps, kitten heels, and a motherload of mules. It was endless. Dinner came and went and I never knew. Ferragamos were my food of choice.

In fact, I've been known to lay down a nice chunk o' change on a plethora of peep toes all in one sitting rather than go grocery shopping. (The sales peeps know me by name ... how sweet is that?) I mean, what better ambrosia than a bejeweled Badgley Mischka? What tortellini's more tantalizing than a super-sized serving of Stella McCartney thigh highs? Bring it on. So don't hate me 'cuz I'm skinny ... just blame my love for leather.

During pre-production for GEISHA-MANIA, I was seriously out of control — rows of Roberto Cavallis called my name. Stacks of Giuseppe Zanotti boxes started piling up. At one point there were 30 pairs of shoes — just for a damn three-minute video (not counting my own massive collection, of course). I'd hit rock bottom and my poor stylist was forced to stage an intervention. She failed. I kept buying. It was absolutely glorious.

Problem is, after the final cut was finished, you can't even see the shoes! My darling babies were pretty much pushed clear out of frame and banished into oblivion. I say conspiracy, but director Luciano Fontana claims artistic integrity. I'm sure I'm right, but you know how Sicilians get. I'll give him this round, cause there's always GEISHANISTA GO-GO, my upcoming music video. Wait till you see the kooky kaleidoscope of bling, fashion, fun, and wacky rap. And all-important shoes. So, Mr. Director, we shall see who wins this next battle ... you or the shoes? My money's on the Manolos ... they totally kick ass. xo

See what I mean?

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SEXY STRAWBERRIES, INDEED.

Como estas, little wontons! How has YOUR week been? I'm in the midst of recording two brand-y new songs, planning music videos, endless writing, and just everyday world domination stuff vis a vis my "YEAR OF THE GEISHA" takeover. Not too babby (bad + shabby) for a quirky, middle-aged underdog with killer biceps. (God, I love saying that ... waaaaaay too much. Gotta stop.)

On to bigger and crazier news. There's something I discovered and seriously thought you all should know. It's not hella dope like Bob Marley's month-long birthday celebration or Die Antwoord and I leading parallel lives. Nope. Nothing beyond amazing like that.

Here goes: hold onto y'er tight little topknots kids because today, February 27, is ... National Strawberry Day. Yup. (Stop laughing. Please.) Who comes up with this crap? Beats me, but when it popped up I couldn't resist Googling "sexy strawberries" just for the hell of it. Say what?

IMO, anything can be sexy, as immortalized in College Humor's "Girls's Costume Warehouse" video (pronounced "girls-iz"), where Joeybaggadonuts hawks sexy mustard, sexy Jesus, and sexy mental patient costumes in Hackensack, New Jersey ... and you thought I was one chopstick short of a pair. You'll wet your pants watching, especially if you've ever known guys like that. (I have.) It never gets old -- that son of a bitch cracks me up every time. Yes, it's been more than once. He's hilarious. Jeez.

Back to the berry. Many of the image results screamed "9-1/2 Weeks" or "Fifty Shades of Grey" -- as expected. (Bust out the Cool Whip and we all know what's coming next. Wink, wink.) Alarmingly though, there were a few pics that proved, without batting either of my asymmetrical eyes, some people are simply SICK TWISTED FREAKS ... and to think strawberries are one of my most beloved fruits. Kink is one thing, but this is downright blasphemous. Have at it.

Drunken "straw-rgy." Really? 

Continuation of above. Anything looks good after too many vodka tonics.

The "Where's Waldo?" of strawberry pics. 

His great big berry's hiding in those briefs. Bring it on, grape boy.

WTF? Since when do strawberries look like Mr. Potato Head? 

See above for the "sexy mental patient" school of thought.

Proof I'm not the only one who thinks these things.

Dang ... Rihanna (not a strawberry) has some KICKASS SEO peeps on the payroll. 

At first glance, dried turds. A strawberry lover's dream. Yum.

Asian joke. On us. Again.

iPhone thongs. Another Asian joke, but who's counting?

Nothing sweet about this. More "Children of the Corn" than delicious fruit. 

(Please note the large KNIFE and strangely cocked head.) 

Speaking of cocked, the piece de resistance ...

Behold ... the BONERBERRY. That's right. Carole Cullen, a British housekeeper from Kent, England, picked an absolute treasure that "looked like a man's naughty bits." The mother of two admitted "it was a tad small" and wished it had grown bigger (we understand), but couldn't resist plucking the little pecker anyway. She promptly popped it in her, um, fridge for a charity raffle. (That's what she said.) Well played, Mrs. Cullen. Strawberry Fields will NEVER be the same. xo

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