I had a revelation last night. One that was kind of sad, but totally eye opening. And naturally I’ve decided to tie it to civil rights.

I recently had a gentleman go to an awful lot of trouble to figure out my name, how to contact me and what I liked to do for fun in order to plan and ask me out on a date. As a direct result, I assumed he was a complete and total psycho and began calling any and all mutual friends we had on Facebook to ask about his most recent kills and how quickly one could get a restraining order.

Then I took a step back. Why was I weirded out by someone who went above and beyond to find me then chivalrously ask to take me out? I mean, isn’t this what girls are constantly saying they need and want out of a male suitor? He made a solid effort, picked up the phone and requested my company like a freaking man.

I immediately realized what my problem was. I automatically assumed there was some sort of ulterior motive and that his efforts were nothing but empty words and dead end plans. Why? Because that’s what we’re used to. But not because Cape Guys are dickhead’s, but because we LET them treat us like that, and almost prefer it. It’s a daily toss up of whether or not you want to murder him in his sleep or have his babies.

My favorite character on Game of Thrones is John Snow. Someone asked me why. Outside of the fact that he dated a ginger, my natural response was, “well because he’s good looking, doesn’t give a fuck about anything and has anger management issues/no future. Soo basically he’s my type.” It’s like I would rather lose sleep and waste tears on the guy that doesn’t give a shit, because on the small chance that he does or says something nice, it’s THAT much more gratifying and meaningful. The moment you break through the barrier that is his asshole nature, you’ve never felt more special or loved. Wait, what?

It’s almost like we choose to be treated badly. Oh, you have a job, own a home and want to take me out to dinner? Sorry, I only date poor people with no ambition. If you tell me I’m beautiful and smart, and how lucky you are to date me, I’m going to go throw up in a corner and tell all my friends you murder people in your basement and then wear their skin like a suit.

It’s OUR fault that we end up alone or in 5-year long dead end relationships. Let’s cut the shit! Say ‘yes’ to the guy that maybe makes you a bit uncomfortable at first and say NO to the guy who you’ve been “talking to” for months yet “doesn’t want a relationship”. That’s Cape Guy code for “You’re cool, but I want to fuck other bitches.” Let’s stand up for our right to be treated like queens. We’re done, ladies. #CapeGirlsUnite

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

So all of you are well aware by now, this past weekend was The Real Cape Music Festival at the Cape Cod Fair Grounds. I wasn’t sure what to expect upon arrival early Saturday morning because I had been out of town all week and knew there was still a lot to be done before we opened the gates. And also, the last time I was at the Cape Cod Fair Grounds, I had accidentally taken ‘shrooms and threw up on a Carnie. So as I’m sure you can imagine, I was nervous. Both about accidental drug ingestion and Carnie’s.

I immediately knew it was going to be a great day because I found this super cute rain poncho that matched my adorable flower head band, and also there were golf carts. Hippie’s girlfriend and I claimed one and put a ‘VIP’ sign in the front so everyone knew we were important. I only hit one person, and it wasn’t a child. That alone is enough to constitute the day as a win.

The weather sucked but honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I mean, I just felt like it was SO “Woodstock-esque” and it was absolutely the closest most of the people in attendance had come to a shower in weeks (I’m basically only referring to Hippie here).

The bands who performed were unreal. Regardless of weather, there’s nothing better than live music, outside, in the summer on Cape Cod. Everyone was in such great spirits even though they were covered in mud, sometimes cold and often huddled under small tents. It was so great to see all of our fans and supporters in the same place enjoying what they’ve helped create. Our favorite part of all of this was sharing it with you!

My second favorite favorite part (outside of the food I got from the Fiddlesticks truck because that shit was bomb) was telling everyone that the mermaid on all of the festival posters/signs/tickets/passes was supposed to me. I have no validation that this is the case, but she totes has red hair and I hold shells up to my face like that all the time so honestly, whose to say it’s NOT supposed to be me?

#me

Another thing I enjoyed doing was talking to people who had no idea I was the Glitter Ginger upon meeting me. I love to start conversations about myself, pretending I’m not myself, to hear what they have to say. Then if they say something bad I can be like, “well I’m the Glitter Ginger and this is my music festival. Literally I’m like, on the signs, so get the fuck out.” Just kidding, I’ve never done that but I’m totally going to start.

Thank you to all of the performers, vendors, organizers and followers who came out this weekend. Also – huge thanks to the kid who volunteered as bar back that kept giving me two drinks, even though I only ever asked for one, because that was clutch.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

I had a weird weekend. And by ‘weird’ I don’t mean what I’m sure you’re all thinking; that I got white girl wasted and like fell out of a tree or something. Well, that did happen actually, and in addition I somehow managed to lose my car, break my shoe and wake up with a frog.. but that’s not why my weekend was weird. I did a lot of self-reflecting due to the fact that I have some family shit going on, I’m super stressed at work (yes, I have a full time job outside of talking shit on the internet) and also I cut ties with someone I really didn’t want to. So what did all of these events lead me to realize? Buckle up and pay attention ..

An act of kindness, no matter how small, should never be underestimated or wasted. And also that you shouldn’t share cell phone cases, secrets, trust, a bed, or for fucks sake a freakin’ turkey sandwich with someone you don’t trust.  #TrueTalk

Before I get all philosophical on you, I’ll begin by telling you that this revelation came to me while smoking pot in some couples house I had never met before, chugging mudslides and staring out their living room window like a fucking weirdo. It all started because I was 1 – stoned off my ass, but 2 – because I was with my “little brother” who had taken me out all day in order to cheer me up. He doesn’t tell me these things, but I know he worries about me. Not because he like, cares, but because he just really wants me to stop sleeping with his friends. And also I usually pay for stuff.

Anyways – mid blunt-pass, I watched this couple’s elderly neighbor hand pick and plume a bouquet of flowers from his personal garden, arrange them in a vase, and walk them over just to put a smile on her face. That simple gesture, that took him no more than 10 minutes, completely made her weekend and I’m sure put a smile on her face for the next week when she walks into her kitchen to see freshly cut flowers on her table.

Bravo, Falmouth Harbor Romeo – you taught us all a lesson on Sunday afternoon – and that lesson is how much I love flowers and mudslides.

The other revelation I came to this weekend?

I fucking miss the ’90s.

Like, a lot. Seriously, though – what was better than the ’90s? I mean, I guess the ’70s or ’80s depending on what you’re into.. but shit, I’d give at least 6 of my toes to bring some of my favorite things from back in the day around again. Skip it? VHS’s? Paulie fucking pocket? SAND ART?! Think you can cook a lean cuisine in an Easy Bake Oven? I just feel like I fit in better then..

 This picture has absolutely nothing to do with anything in this post. I included it because it’s hands down the most random thing I’ve seen all day. Outside of the woman next to me on the train ride home watching karate videos on her phone.  

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

Both questions this week happen to have come from men. Neither of which I know personally. Which makes me happy because they seem like fucking weirdos.

Since your totes a celeb now, will you accidentally or drunkenly be posting any nude selfies? P.S. Please dont let Hippie do that.

Dear Chester-the-Molester,

Let me first start by saying that if you think I’m a “celeb”, you need to get out more. I’ll then follow with why the hell do you want to see nude pictures of anyone, let alone me? Who gets off to still-frame’s? This isn’t the ’90s.

Though I once was told by a friend of mine that she’s seen “more dicks in my phone than in real life”, the answer to your question is no. I would never take a naked picture of myself for many reasons, those reasons mainly consisting of the fact that I don’t even want to see myself naked, so why would I put anyone else through that torture? Also, with my luck, that shit would be spread around faster than Hippie guzzles jack and coke’s.

Stay creepy,

GG

Onto the next;

I’ve been dating this girl for a couple of months now but just don’t see it going anywhere. There’s nothing wrong her and she’s great, just not for me. How do I break it off without being a total dick?

Dear Forever Alone,

There’s really only one way to end this without looking like a prick, and that’s to tell her you have some sort of STD and/or you’re gay. Don’t believe me?

Trust – regardless of how you end it, homegirl WILL tell you and all her friends you’re a dick. Why? Because we can’t fathom the idea that you don’t think we’re perfect and how could you NOT want to be with us? Clearly there’s something wrong with YOU.

While I know how ridiculous that sounds, that’s the way the cookie crumbles, bro. Rejection sucks and girls need to label you a prick in order to get through the pain and heal their wounded ego. Well, that and wine. And food. And vodka. And food.

So although I’m not telling you to like, do anything rash or fall off the face of the planet, I do recommend some sort of minor injury or perhaps an STD of some sort so that you ending things is only because “you care so much and only want the best for her”. Which is basically anything other than you.

Good luck dickhead,

GG

*Remember to submit your questions via Facebook. Everything submitted is kept anonymous and answered in a nonsensical, moronic fashion. 

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

So we left off with NNF and I heading into the sky with the sole purpose of plummeting towards the ground at over 150MPH in Part I: I jumped out of a plane. On purpose.

NNF and I were setup back to back, him looking out the front of the plane, I the back. It took about 10 minutes to reach proper elevation for jumping, and the view on the way up was hands down one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I kind of got lost in the view, being able to see Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, Province Town and even Boston. Then, without a word of warning, the door opened and I saw “I <3 Aruba” jump out of the fucking plane.

*Dude guy captured my reaction to NNF plummeting towards the ground – also please note how super safe the inside of that plane looked

Being the bat shit marine he is, NNF naturally did everything he was told NOT to do when jumping. Rather than leaning your head and body back in order to balance yourself for free fall, homeboy leaned forward in order to flip his way to the fucking ground.

*Here’s my view right before I step onto that little black sliver they tried to tell me was a “platform” – NNF backflipping his way back down to earth

*This is his view, taken at the same moment – if you zoom in I’m sure you can see me screaming in horror as he flipped his way down like an asshole

I should have freakin’ jumped first. Seeing him go, and then flip through the air, all while looking down at the ground and feeling the pressure of 15,000 feet was almost too much to handle. So naturally I just flung my body from the plane and screamed like the red-headed banshee that I am.  This was hands down one of the most frightening, exciting and adrenaline pumping moments of my life. You can totes tell by my facial expressions.

Eventually, after what felt like 45 minutes, my instructor pulled our chute and we shot back up into the air. Here is when I confirmed that I will never go bungee jumping and also I’m not sure if I can have children anymore. Those harness straps are no fucking joke.

The view while soaring through the air was stunning. I was given control of the chute to sail around and look at the Vineyard, the Islands and the view around us. It was breathtaking.

Then I began to scream in horror as I saw NNF spiraling towards the ground about 200 feet ahead of me. I shouted “IS HE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THAT?!? IS THAT NORMAL!?!?!” Of course it’s not fucking normal. He was holding down one side of the shoot in order to plummet towards the field spinning like a piece of shit you flush down the toilet. Fitting.

I soon realized he was actually doing that on purpose and calmed down enough to take in the last few minutes of falling time. Here’s where I started to panic – I need to now somehow land. As I began to descend, I saw NNF waiting for me on the ground and got even more nervous because I knew that if I didn’t stick this landing perfectly he would 1- scream at me if I dislocated my hip again and 2- he’d never let me live it down.

I fucking nailed it. Two feet, perfectly on the ground like a fucking gymnast. I was PUMPED – you might as well call me Kerri Strug – minus the leg injury. So actually, never mind, just call me GG.

I was so proud of myself. For landing, for having the guts to jump out of a plane, for not throwing up and also for not pushing NNF out of the plane like I kind of wish I had now.

Thanks to Skydive Barnstable for having us, keeping us alive and for documenting the whole thing. I highly recommend going to them if you’re ever looking for a thrill like skydiving or potentially murdering your ex-boyfriend.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

*my facial expression when dude guy asked if I was excited 

I should have known the crazy shit I was getting myself into by joining The Real Cape Family the moment I agreed to meet a bunch of drunk dudes in a random side room of The Beach House restaurant in order to ‘talk business’. My most recent “what the fuck am I doing?” moment these gentleman encouraged me to do, was skydiving. Oh, we need some new material? Let’s push the ginger out of a plane, that’ll DEF get some hits. [insert all ‘gingers don’t have souls’ jokes here].

As encouraging as all my TRC brothers were, none of them were willing to partake in my latest crazy idea (vagina’s) – so naturally I asked my Nintendo-No-Friendo (NNF) to come with. Seeing as how he’s a complete and total pyscho, he signed his ‘accidental death’ waiver faster than he guzzles Bud heavy’s. *author’s note – I’m currently not speaking to No-Friendo, partly because he let me jump out of a fucking plane but mostly for other reasons, however this story would not be the same without including him in it so you lucked out, bro.

Anyways, naturally within the first 20 minutes of our happy little day I got us lost because I forgot the address to the airfield. Then we randomly hung out in the wrong airline hanger for like, 15 minutes, while NNF taught me “Jenny Lessons.” “Jenny Lessons” are when NNF makes me sit and listen as he explains random shit that I clearly have no use for like how to kill someone with a pen and the difference between the magnetic north and the true north. *another authors note: I actually found the whole magnetic north/true north lesson very interesting – that has nothing to do with anything relating to this post. Unless one of my readers is a pilot in which case teach me more, I’m single. 

I was well into a lesson when some rando came bombing around the corner in a golf cart telling us we were in the wrong place and to kindly get the fuck out and stop touching his shit.

Back in the jeep we piled, up a sketchy ass dirt road to a trailer filled with shirtless men and dirt bikes – Momma’s home.

From here we watched a safety video and were told 9,321,308 times how serious we needed to take the landing portion and how dangerous and easy getting injured was. THIS is what I was most afraid of. I was extremely nervous about sliding upon impact and dislocating my hip again. That and the fact that I can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time and this man expects me to have the coordination ability required to land gracefully from a 15,000 foot fall?

Excuse me, sir, but I can’t even do a cartwheel without kicking myself in the back of the head. I mean, you’re talking to the girl who literally almost died making a grilled cheese sandwich last year (Cuisinart Panini Press: 1, GG: 0), but nothing was holding me back. NNF could tell I was getting nervous because I was pacing and extremely silent. I’m never silent. You think he’d be thankful and relish in the rare occasion but no, he instead insisted on talking to me about dragons and some bullshit about Brazil, I think, I don’t know I can’t be sure because I was honestly just trying to focus on not throwing up.

NNF and I had previously discussed that I should be the first one to jump, because he was worried I wouldn’t go if I saw him first. He was fucking right. Unfortunately, the way the sketchy ass plane worked, him and his instructor needed to be in the front of the plane in order to balance the weight, so I had to jump after him. Once again, I tried to focus on not throwing up.

So there we stood, suited up in our harnesses, waiting for our turn – there was a couple jumping before us. It was at this moment I decided to take a picture just in case we didn’t make it and realized that we looked like fucking reprobate hipsters. I mean, I typically always wear something shark related but really with the Aruba shirt, NNF?

Then I spotted the couple who had just gone up, parachuting down towards us – they got closer and closer and looked like they were coming to the ground WAY too fast. I covered my mouth and held onto NNF because I was confident we were about to see two people splatter like insects. The girl landed like a fucking champ but the guy slid on his ass and tripped up the instructor. Great. That’s going to be me; rolling around on the ground with a dislocated hip and two broken legs in T-minus 5.

NNF talked me back into sanity and reassured me that I would be fine..into the plane we piled and up we went on our 15,000 foot journey above Cape Cod and the Islands…..

 *The look on my face the moment I climbed into my metal tomb..I mean airplane..perfectly captures my level of excitement

…stay tuned to find out how my landing went and whether or not NNF jumped willingly or if I pushed him.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

A Cape Cod Prayer

The tide recedes, but leaves behind

bright seashells on the sand.

The sun goes down, but gentle warmth

still lingers on the land.

The music stops, yet echoes on

in sweet, soulful refrains.

For every joy that passes,

something beautiful remains.

I constantly write about how friendships you build while growing up on Cape Cod are different from anywhere else. Sure, a lot of that has to do with small towns and long winters, but it’s more than that.

Cape Cod friendships are something I hope everyone has the privilege to be a part of. There’s no deeper love, loyalty or understanding – Cape Cod friendships are unbreakable.

We unfortunately learn at a young age that tragedy strikes often and most likely when we least expect it. Whether it’s a car accident, a drug overdose or a poor choice, we’ve all had people we know, love and grew up with leave us far too soon. But we cannot save people, we can only love them.

Tragedy strikes no matter where you live or how you grew up. But there is nothing worse than signing onto Facebook to see the far too familiar “R.I.P.” status all over your newsfeed. Your heart begins to pound as you try and figure out who it could be they’re referring to and how it happened. Then the phone calls and text messages start coming in. It doesn’t matter how close you were to the now deceased because chances are someone you are close with, someone you love very much, was one of their good friends, and their pain is yours.

I can’t explain it, but if you’re from the Cape, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The confusion, the anger and the “what could I have done to stop it?” begins to set in. You think about the last time you saw that person and what was said. You begin to remember everyone else who has passed away that you maybe shared a locker with in high school, played on the same sports team or even dated. You never feel more alone than in that moment.

But what I’ve learned, is that you’re never alone when you grew up like we did because this is when we thrive and come together to prove how deeply routed and strong our friendships are. This is when we remind each other that death ends a life, not a friendship. You have a line of people at your front door with hot meals and open arms before you’ve even had a chance to process everything. They’ll pour you a shot, share stories about The Departed or just sit in silence if that’s what it takes. They stand in line for hours to pay their respects and you can’t keep track of all the cards and phone calls you receive.

They show up before you even know you needed them. And more importantly, they stay.

That’s love. That’s loyalty. That’s a Cape Cod Friendship.

Rest easy and may the waves carry you home.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony