HAPPY HALLOWIENERSTEEN!

Um.
Hell.
Yes.

CUTENESS!
HOTNESS!
HILARIOUSNESS!
AWESOMENESS!

I've got a looooooooooooooooot of demons that Bruce could go ahead and exorcise. Anywhere he wants. GROWL! QUACK! GROWL!

I'm giving up everything I believe in & moving to Texas.

I see a lot of myself in Miss 6:13. I have that mug. And that poster. And that stuffed animal. And...

I am Proud to be an American Wiener.

Don't judge me for this post (as if I give a f*ck...WEENIES RULE!) Got to ease back into blogging.

Christ has "Risen." Holla.

Friday, I did the math and realized that, during the week, I had spent as much time shooting and editing pictures as I do at my full time job (37 hours.) This both intrigued, excited and scared the shit out of me (good thing because I ate Taco Bell at 3am on Friday...my intestines, like Jesus when he saw those nails coming his way, were not pleased.) I love this. I don't want to get burnt out on it. And I needed to just be present in a world I constantly try to capture through obsessive thoughts, words or pictures. So I challenged myself to not take photos. I made it most of the night, soaking in the magic of the never ending Hoot, and only cheating a bit at the end.



Because I couldn't stop wondering how the fuck did I get here? I sat in the middle of Jim's floor, against Anna's leg, staring up at the giant newspaper article he did about Bruce, SIGNED by Bruce, trying to stop Zero the dog from eating my face/making out with me.



I listened to the musicians play round robin with their voices and instruments.



They poured their heart into a living room full of fifteen or so people.



Jim actuall sang "Alexa smiles like the sun." Which was true.



I left, sober cabbing it to Big V's and standing in the midst of rock 'n' roll devil horns and screaming guitar licks. It was culture shock after the six hour soulful singer/songwriter fest.





So I grabbed the lack of poop-licious Taco Bell with Jessica, drove her home to Uptown, and sat on her couch to watch an episode of Top Design. Got I love Chalupas. God I love reality television. God I love looking across a room to realize I am not alone as the Stook! song he dedicated to (almost Chicago bound) Andrea breaks my heart.

Saturday, I worked late, dreamt about that burly biker dude with the leather jacket and big moustache who walks down Lyndale with a wiener dog wearing a skirt (two of my friends have called with sightings of my dream man...I have yet to witness him in the flesh...though my hand has), and watched six episodes of Weeds (my new favorite show.)

I got drunk in the afternoon off of three very delicious, very fruity and very strong mimosas from brunch at Genna's house. Praise Jesus. I proceeded to nap on my couch for three hours and woke up with my Easter dress up around my waste and a monster headache. God bless the 6:30pm hangover. Three tylenol and a handful of almonds later, I am cured.

My heart is a little broken right now. Jason Isbell is leaving my beloved Drive-By Truckers. Not only did he write two of my favorite DBT songs/favorite songs of all time, Outfit & Decoration Day, he is some serious Southern eye candy. Poo. His solo work, while I am absolutely thrilled about, has some very big shoes to fill.

I've decided that the horrifically insipid acronym W.W.J.D ACTUALLY stands for "What Would Jonesie Do?" Balls out, Jonesie likes to rock n roll with potato sacks under her eyes and a caffeine headache the size of your daddy's wang.

Monday: work then Son Volt at First Ave
Tuesday: work then American Idol
Wednesday: work then Voltage: Fashion Amplified at First Ave
Thursday: sleep/laundry/haircut then Leslie & the LY's at First Ave's 7th St Entry
Friday: work then Hoot
Saturday: work then Low at First Ave (maybe...if I can switch my schedule so I don't close)
Sunday: work then rehearsal

I need to know the Bionic Man's secret. Luckily, I don't feel like Uncle Floyd's burning asshole like the last time my schedule was this insane. My (almost always) healthy diet allows me to push myself to the limits...much like marathon man...except without the toned muscles and ability to move my legs back and forth in what some might call "a run."

I will leave you with this glorious, awe inspired, party caught on film:



This is from the April 5th Bruce Springsteen Tribute at Carnegie Hall. Bruce invites Craig Finn of Hold Steady to sing first. I'd like to think this is one of the top five experiences of Craig's life. I love the shit eating grin and his spastic dancing. One cannot deny the fact that he absolutely loves sharing that stage with Bruce Springsteen. Look at his wacky gestures! Look at that face! It reminds me so much of when Bruce was jamming with Bob Dylan at Shea Stadium. Craig Finn's joy is palpable (my new favorite word.) We all have our idols.

Plus I love seeing my Marah boys (especially Kirk...who is a dwarf apparently...and Adam...who still manages to look really cool though he is moving like a Suburban mom in complete elation) up there clapping and dancing.

Though I'm coming to terms with the fact that I cannot please everyone and be everywhere all at once, I should have been there. I should have been at Carnegie Hall.

Life According to Bruce: Yay for the loud, crowded party!

Hearts n' Farts n' Crafts

I am single and ready to mingle.

Short of a couple blips, I have been single for a long time. A long long time. A long long long time.

Anna says she just can't think of anyone cool enough.

Uhhh...I'm not really cool...at all...but it's a nice thought.

I almost made out with my hand the other day.

But here's the deal...

I may have an extraordinarily cynical outer shell. I may hate PDAs. I may scoff and poke fun. I may mean it.

In real internal reality...

I am actually one giant vagina of romantic hope and excitement.

Seriously...slap some music on it and I'll probably cry...list my fantasies out and my grandparents will definitely cry.

I'm only twenty fucking five. I'm not worried about dying alone. Yet.

Soon to be twenty six...well not until May but for Jonesie that's soon enough to start planning my usual week of birthday extravaganza...did you know that it ONLY costs $250 to rent a hotel room next to the water park??!??!?!

Plus Momma Jones sent me some totally badass hotpink heart jewelry to wear tomorrow.

I surround myself with love. It only takes a real moment around me to see that.

Just like Davey and Holway on Friday were surronded by tits and ass from the Playboy Memory Computer Game at the bar in Northfield...





Yeah, even though I hardly played at all, they were definitely entering my name into the winners section. Sweet Playboy juices will be mine for all of eternity.

Jonesie is surrounded by love.

In honor of VD Day...

TOP TEN LOVES FOR FEBRUARY 14th, 2007

In no particular order...

10) The kickass Bday present I got my Madzie: a mini hookah, apple flavored tobacco, two chocolate bars & a box of evening tea...Our Thursday night Grey's Anatomy gathering is going to be quite an adventure this time round.

9) From www.showusyourwiener.com...






8) Seriously...watch all of this...



Uhhh...you can bet your nads I cried buckets during this. Also, forced to decide (you know, during wartime or a good game of Would You Rather?), I would totally do beast over man. Mostly because Skidboot rules and that cowboy is a tool.

7) Local Musicians & Their (somewhat) Recent Albums that KICKASS! Obsessions of the week...


http://www.myspace.com/markmallman
fav song of week: Death Wish


http://www.myspace.com/stookmusic
fav song of week: One Blue Teardrop

6) The lyrics to Bruce's "Incident on 57th Street" (One of) My favorite, tragic love song(s)...it's all about the siren at the end.

Spanish Johnny drove in from the underworld last night
With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick
But dressed just like dynamite
He tried sellin' his heart to the hard girls over on Easy Street
But they sighed "Johnny it falls apart so easy and you know hearts these days are cheap"
And the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a cheater."
Well the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a liar"
And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice said: "Johnny don't cry"
Puerto Rican Jane, oh won't you tell me what's your name.

That final line of that section...one of my top five Bruce lyrics of all time.

5) WE GOT A FRINGE FEST SHOW! There will be dancing! There will be video (there has to be...we are in visual fringe!) There will be stories! There will be Jonesie making an amazing a-hole out of herself onstage. YAY!

4) Coffee beans...be it covered in dark chocolate or pressed all cold like or all french like...I love you.


What's up lady biznasty looking coffee bean?


I'd drink even if the wiener dog whizzed in the mug.

3) My sister, who I don't talk to very often, has been calling me every evening for the past few days. She's having a lot of trouble with an undeserving friend of hers. Natalie left a distressed message today and ended with "I just need some good Alexa time. I love you. Call me." Oh...how I love her back.




2) Man I love pooping at work. Seriously...I sit there an extra long time and think...I'm getting paid right now to poop...oh you damn Department Store...this one's for you.

1) Pappy (my college mentor/second father) once told me "Alexa, I know that when you find the person you are meant to be with, you will be really happy." Though my mother soon followed that lovely memory with "Alexa, are you screwed up in relationships because of what you've seen your father and me go through?", I still believe in the good.


Just imagine what naughty lingerie she picked out for her special someone...grrrrr....

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!

Pointless Points I Thought/Obsessed About Today

1) After a previous night's dinner of eleven potstickers (portion control is for pussies when it comes to my Asian delectables), never ever eat a Cliff Bar and a bowl of Kashi Go Lean cereal for breakfast. Never ever. That's about 8,000% of your daily fiber. After any night's dinner, never venture into that morning territory. Ever.

2) When a saleslady quickly tries to get you to hurry up and buy your damn blush, just buy your damn blush and leave. Because when she says "Excuse me but my coworker will ring you up; I have to run an errand" what she really mean is "If you don't leave right now I'm going to crap all over you and your new blush." 8,000% of your daily fiber causes epidemic-like liquification. Never ever. Ever. Ever.



I have never run so fast through jewelry and hosiery. Ever.

3) Watching the American Idol auditions causes me to stress eat. Stress eating hummus and peanut butter is never a good idea after one has been dealt the explosive go's. Deciding not to go to the gym to run and lift, however, is a good idea.

4) Hugh Laurie is my boyfriend. He looks damn fine dressed in jeans and a raggy t-shirt. Especially as he seductively caresses your intestines like a sausage maker. Rawr. Texting Morgie every two minutes during the episode about my awesome boyfriend Hugh and all his awesome imdb facts is definitely fun for BOTH of us!

5) ******24 SPOILER!******** James Cromwell is a far cry away from his sunny days on the farm caring for precious Babe. That'll do, Daddy Dearest, that'll do.



6) Looking up "Babe" on google image will not result in precious images of the piggy Babe for a good, oh, five pages. It will, however, produce a different kind of pork.

6) Series of Six Feet Under are the best gift Video Update in the Quarry could ever give me, especially after the $40 late fine for Ice Princess. Don't ask. The gods of good cinema mock me.

7) The website www.showusyourwiener.com is a goldmine of laughter and euphoria. I bet this l'il guy had HIS 8.000% of daily fiber too!



8) Drinking orange juice then drinking coffee does right afterwards not make either one taste good. Especially when you realize how much that has aided your sky-rocketing fiber intake for the day.

9) Having the superbowl halftime numbers stuck in your head all day is not necessarily a bad thing (no I didn't miraculously start caring about sports...It was a killer halftime show...KILLER!) Especially when you start belting out Purple Rain into a make-up brush, almost at the top of your lungs. The Department Store is your own personal stage.

10) Winter telivision/Netflix is one of the few aspects of my Minnesota seasonal depressive winter self that doesn't want to make me explode. Well...that...and this...




YAY DANCING WITH FRIENDS! YAY THEATRE CREATION WITH FRIENDS! YAY 80'S DANCE VIDEO PLANS WITH UNCLE NONO! YAY STAYING HOME AND NURSING SHREDDED INNARDS WITH HOURS OF WINTER TV! YAY!

Photography by Badonkajohnks. Adobe Innards by Me.

I am a deaf girlshund named Vinny.

Doppleganger-ness is a precious connection. There are best friends. There are lovers (I hate that word incidentally...it's too fucking 17th century sappy...and it reminds me of the erotica I read in Junior High...Lady Chatterly's Lover and The Story of O defined my extraordinarily awkward adolescent years.) And there are dopplegangers. They are you in a different generation (Tabatha from New Hampshire), in a different country (Laura from Barcelona), in a different species (Vinny from Tucson.)

Interspecial Connection: Alexa Jones & Vinny Babarino.

Vinny Babarino is one of the stars in the upcoming documentary blockbuster-in-my-mind "Wiener Takes All." He's me in wiener dog form. And here's why...

Vinny's Bio from my current porn site http://www.wienertakesall.com/ :

"VITAL STATS
Vinny Babarino Aman
Home: Tucson, AZ
DOB: 5/8/04
Coat: Tan Smooth
Height: 16 inches , Length: 24 inches
Weight: 19 lbs

Vinny's a real challenger for the championship - he packs a jaw-dropping acceleration which leaves his competition eating dust. Unfortunately he's got the mental focus of Mr. Magoo, and at races, he's very easily distracted. Can Vinny pay attention long enough to make it to the Wiener Nationals? Coach Paul Aman can only hope..."

Mental focus of Mr. Magoo...very easily distracted...jaw-dropping...wiener...eating...IT'S ME!

"Explosive speed + zero attention span = wild card. He has what it takes - if he can concentrate..."

Vinny, we are brethren. We are one.

I've loved wiener dogs dearly since eighth grade when I actually uttered the phrase "I can't decide which dog I'll someday own, a wiener dog or a dachshund, because both of those breeds are really cute." Oh how far I've come in knowledge of the dachshund...But at the time my family had a terrier who had chronic yeast infections, so we didn't need another in-door dog, and then I went away to college, and then I moved out on my own. And, because of the wee bit of time I actually spend at home, it would be absolutely unfair for any dog to be in my care. Because it's pretty damn unfair for ME to be in my care right now.

As a whole, I relate to wiener dogs because they are ridiculous looking, quasi-ADD-ridden, hyper little beasts, with so much personality that at the same time you love them so dearly, you also want to stomp their skull in. Check this gem out and pay special attention to the 2:17 on mark...



Hardcore.

Seriously...that little shit is HILARIOUS! (Is it wrong that I teared up from laughing so hard?) He's so lost and wants so badly to please. I can see that desire and in his little eyes. I can see it because I see it so well within myself. But the little turd also seems slightly retarded. And when I was a wee babe, the doctors DID have to give me a CAT scan because I had a big head and couldn't walk. So whatever...I just relate.

(Sidenote: I went to the Kansas City Wiener Dog Races with Morgie/Imaginary Sea a few years ago. And there were that many mullets and camel-toes. It's fucking Missouri. And it's Euphoria. I laughed so hard that I wept. And there was a giant room FULL of wiener dogs. I just stood there, in my turquoise button down shirt that was covered in art deco wiener dogs, and soaked in the joy.)

Oh Vinny, someday we'll make it, little buddy. You and I, we'll show the world what we can do. We'll run and we'll yell and oh look a crumb.



Last night, Vinny took an excursion to First Ave for Best New Bands of '06. Vinny had two enormous bottles of Red Stripe. Vinny got very drunk off of said Red Stripes. Vinny can count the number of times on one hand he has gotten drunk off of beer. Vinny loved Maria Isa and The Alarmists. Vinny is having trouble learning how to use the amazing new Canon Rebel XT in lowlight/concert situations.






Vinny also tried to figure out his new camera while sitting on the toilet at First Ave, which is, though he stayed within the realm of his own stall and the view of downtown Minneapolis out the stall window, still creepy on so many levels.




Then Vinny made a quasi-asshole out of himself.

Vinny had conversation with a similarly drunken David de Young of www.howwastheshow.com.

Vinny, very excited that David recognized him because Vinny respects David and all his work for Minnesota local music so very much, shook hands with him. David said something. Vinny agreed. David said something else. Vinny laughed and agreed again. This happened between David and Vinny about five more times. Then David left and Vinny turned to his friends and said...

"I have no idea what he just said to me."

"Seriously what? You couldn't hear"

"Yeah I just pretended to hear because I felt like a dumbass that I couldn't hear a fucking word."

"Man...I wonder what he said."

"I know," Vinny barked.

Here's the deal...Vinny wears ear plugs to most of the shows he goes to but still has really bad hearing when there is so much distraction and loud background noise. Because...you know...something shiny goes by and Vinny has too look. A fucking rock band jams out behind him and Vinny can't hear shit. Vinny wasn't about to play the what...What...WHAT game with David deYoung. But seriously...it's actually been bugging Vinny...

WHAT DID DAVID SAY?!??

It could have been anything from "I remember you from that Dance Band show where that strung out asshole cracked his head open and blood started pouring out" to "Vinny, here's what you should do with your life. You should..." to "I just shit my pants and it smells really bad."

Sigh...Vinny will never know.

Oh VINNY…



Our pals really do love us in spite of ourselves…




I know all this because Vinny told me. In my daydream, we chat daily as he cuddles up against me and naps in the nook of my tummy. Vinny and I, the distracted team that has all the potentional in the world, treasure our moments when we can truly relax. Goodnight and sweet doggie dreams.

Bruce taught me that a WIENER TAKES ALL!

Five and a half years ago, I was sitting on a hotel bed in Mount Vernon, Missouri with my mom, my uncle and aunt. I was a chubby twenty year old eating my McDonald's yogurt parfait, bored and probably still hungry. There’s nothing to do in Mount Vernon except eat your delicious chicken beak with cow anus burger and watch cable. And we did just that. Flipping through stations on that Friday night in June of 2001, I landed on HBO. It was some old guy singing in Madison Square Garden. I started to flip to the next station when my mom and uncle screamed at me to stop, that Bruce Springsteen was supposed to be incredible live, and there was nothing else on anyways. I started fruitlessly whining cause I didn’t want to hear some old guy sing Born in the USA. I shut up about thirty seconds later when this old guy sang this song about this Haitian immigrant who had been needlessly shot by the police forty one times in New York City. I started crying. My family didn’t notice me but I couldn’t forget it…that next day, the entire summer away in camp at Interlochen, and the rest of my life.

That’s not an exaggeration. What if I had never landed on HBO? Because right now I’m staring at my wall of Bruce with a framed collage that holds my thirteen Bruce concert tickets from five different states, next to my closet that has five different Bruce concert shirts, next to my bookshelves that hold all the current and many back issues of Backstreets fanzine, eight different Bruce books and about three hundred different Bruce bootlegs. And people I only knew for a bit of time say, “I heard this song, I thought of you.” And my friends and family still say, “I hear this song, I think of you.” And it’s all facing the dresser that holds a box of dozens/hundreds of concert tickets from everyone to Marah to Social Distortion to Kid Dakota to Neil Diamond. Before that day, I had been to two concerts I can remember, one with my Girl Scout troop in Middle School and one with my girls in High School. And I can say I love all this and I love you.

It's my tale as old as time, my I-just-"peed"-out-my-vajayjay-from-screaming-too-hard karaoke song as old as rhyme.



Five and a half years later on this very afternoon, I was standing on the street corner of Central and Lowry, waiting for the bus, talking on my cell, staring at the row of Mexicans/Mexican dollar stores and the weird trophy shop, trying not to freeze my assstillasbigasamotherfucker off. My car is dead. In four days, I'll be short $500 but have my Brucie Honda back. If the boy from Suck-Yo-Dick-For-A-Dolla Detroit was right, and a blowjob from a liquor store parking lot hooker really do just cost one hundred pennies, then maybe after several hours of man-ual labor, I could have the beginnings of my I'm-moving-to-New-York-by-September savings back. But I'm not a prostitute, not yet at least...mentally/emotionally/verbally, yes...but physically, not even close. Until then...my Brucie Honda will be back, my jaw will be in working order, and there will be zero dollars in my savings.

Anyway, I was talking to Heather on my cell about lame department store employment drama when two men approached wearing black suits. I looked down at their lapels and noticed their matching nametags: Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Mother. Fucker.

"Ma'am, we know you are on the phone right now but we have an important message for you."

Once, my uncle, when he realized it was Jehovah's Witnesses who had rang the bell, took off his pants and answered the front door.

Standing on Central and Lowry in the ten-degree heat, I didn't have that luxury. Standing in my comfy sweatshirt, my comfy skirt, my comfy underwear, my comfy boots, my comfy coat, I didn't have that courage. So I merely raised my pointer finger in a "one moment" motion, turned my back to the men in black and said "Heather, don't you dare hang up the phone right now."

She didn't. Even if she had, I would have pretended like she hadn't and continued to talk on the phone, to no one on the other line. They crossed the street, I hung up the phone, took out my ipod, turned it almost all the way up, stuck my frozen fingers in my pockets and closed my eyes. The bus came, I got on, continued to listen. The bus stopped at the mall, I continued to listen. Some old man scared the shit out of me on my walk to the entrance, and for a moment, I stopped listening. He pulled me out of my Terri Schiavo zone. But just for that moment. Cause all the way up to my damn cosmetics counter, I continued to listen.

My mom said I was an island at my first Springsteen show a year after my Madison Square tv moment.

My morning music of choice...



I don't need any Jehovah's witnesses to save me when I have this in my life.

Actually, I just realized I don't have bus money for tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll run into my Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints friends again. So maybe I do need to have a little "talk" with those two after all. Apparently, that's all a lady needs to get to her reputable place of employment when bjs only cost a dollar. SWEET! I'M SAVED!

If that’s not all reason enough for me not to slide deep into seasonal depression, not only do I have the upcoming season of 24 to be excited about, but APPARENTLY, later in the spring of 2007, there’s a film coming out titled “WIENER TAKES ALL,” the DOGumentary that “follows two years in the life of the world of professional wiener dogs. From the wiener dog racing circuit, to the Westminster Kennel Club Show, to the fields and tunnels of Texas, "Wiener Takes All" examines the entertaining, educational, and sometimes controversial world of competitive dachshunds.”



Otherwise known as Alexa’s Porn.

Sweet sweet Jehovahed Jesus, there’s so much to live for. So very very much.

It’s good to be back, blogspot.