A nice poster for a nice festival in Nice. Image via dalbera's Flickr.

I am becoming increasingly aware of a fundamental misunderstanding on the behalf of lots of loud-mouthed idiots and bullies. A deliberate misunderstanding designed to make other people feel inadequate, deceived and weak.

This misunderstanding is of one simple, four letter word: nice.

The meaning of nice has been taken over, twisted and manipulated into a negative. Nice is now a weakness. I find it hard to associate the word with anything other than a snide mocking tone and an attempted insult.

This isn’t the first time I’ve observed this worrying trend. I wrote about it a couple of years back, when fashion was going through a distinctly fugly and edgy phase. I got sick of seeing the phrase “subverted sweetness” in fashion magazines. I wanted to scream “LET THE SWEETNESS BE!!!!”.

A self-help book* called Nice Girls Just Don’t Get It by Lois Frankel and Carol Frohlinger has prompted this current rage. The advice given in the book isn’t bad. In fact a lot of it is practical and helpful, especially around assertiveness and confidence building. My issue stems from the author’s assumption that nice is bad.

Lacking confidence is bad, being a walkover is bad, making yourself miserable to please others is bad. Last time I checked, these traits have very little to do with being nice.

Nice is charm, nice is politeness, nice is making a room a better place by simply being in it. Nice doesn’t mean avoiding conflict, but it does mean not actively seeking it for kicks. Oh, and nice isn’t just for girls. Women, men and boys can be nice too.

Nice people don’t have to finish last. It is all another line of mythological bullshit from the bullies to hold us back and weaken us. Being successful has been linked with ruthlessness and rudeness for too long. Every time someone tells a nice person that they are “too nice”, they are planting subconscious seeds of weakness and doubt.

I am Jen and I am a nice person. Take advantage of that at your peril, because I sure as hell don’t “feel invisible” or “unable to articulate my needs”.

BBxx

* I really need to stop reading self-help books, they don’t agree with me. The only one that I find d genuinely useful is The Mind Gym. I think that The Secret is one of the most deeply dangerous and unethical books ever published, but that is a different blog for a different day.

Image via Automotive Rhythms Flickr

Have you ever done that thing when you make a cup of tea and leave the tea bag in for too long? The result is a bitter and disappointing beverage that leaves a nasty taste in your mouth.

That is how I’m feeling about film and TV execs. refusal to leave Sex and the City alone. The original show was good, much like tea. The first film was a tad too much – a bit like when you over-enthusiastically squish the tea bag with a spoon. The second film was over steeped and over squished, with a hefty teaspoon of cringe inducing racial stereotyping and the unforgiveable “Lawrence of my labia” line.

News that US TV network, The CW has green lit a pilot of a Sex and the City prequel series, based on Candace Bushnell’s The Carrie Diaries, is making it tricky for me to extend this simile without introducing excrement to this already overwrought cup of tea.

Rumour has it that Josh Schwartz and Stephanie Savage will produce the show. Now, I love these guys; they gave the world Seth Cohen. The OC is my ultimate DVD box set indulgence. They produced Gossip Girl too, which is essentially The OC relocated to New York. They excel at telling far-fetched stories of beautiful, spoilt and one-dimensional young people. They also excel at recycling ridiculous story lines. With The CW as the network and this powerhouse producing pair at the helm, there is no doubt that The Carrie Diaries will be glossy, groomed and full of supposed teenagers talking like grown-ups. There will be stories of mistaken identity, masquerade balls and a sensitive “outsider” love interest for young Carrie.

I’m just not sure what a Schwartz/Savage back story will add to the Sex and the City franchise, other than more $$$$ in Candace Bushnell’s bank account. I will put my hands up and admit that I haven’t read the Carrie Diaries book. It is aimed at the “young adult” market – the young women who have probably totally missed out on the TV show and films. My fear is that this is merely the beginning of an endless cycle of Sex and the City reboots. Saved by the Bell: The New Class and The College Years should have taught people the error of these ways.

The fact that they are considering Blake Lively to play Carrie sets even more alarm bell ringing. She is, how can I put this, not exactly charismatic. She can wear beautiful designer clothes but still exude as much charm as a tin of Dulux matte emulsion in “Natural Calico”. Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie has charisma and charm, as well as a unique and unconventional look. Blake is pretty, but it ends there.

Other names linked to the role include Miley Cyrus, Emma Roberts and Chloë Grace Moretz. Miley and Roberts I can just about grasp, but Moretz IS 14!!!! Yes, she is most famous for dropping the c-bomb on screen at the tender age of 12, so she makes some of Samantha Jones’s shock tactics look, quite frankly, banal. But these TV shows are meant to have twenty-somethings playing teenagers, not actual real teenagers. You don’t mess with the magic.

Casting decisions aside, the art of good film and television is knowing when to stop. Sex and the City could, and should, have been great, yet with every sequel and prequel the original show loses some of its sparkle. I find it hard to think of the Sex and the City “brand” without phrases like “cynical exploitation”, “product placement” and “big money merchandising deals” springing to mind.

Listen carefully and you can probably hear the soft plop of two turds falling into the already undrinkable Sex and the City brew (served in a pink and glittery Sex and the City 2 official branded mug).

BBxx

Grunge happened five years too early for me. My sister did it properly, what with her riot grrl friends who gave her tapes of Veruca Salt songs and had rainbow-streaked hair adorned with daisies*.

I came of musical age post-grunge and post-Brit Pop. To over intellectualise the issue, it was a time of musical flux. Britney was prancing about in her school uniform, Christina was writhing around in the sand and I was still wearing white knee socks and velvet Alice bands with my name piped on them in puffy pen. Pop was reigning supreme and I was not feeling it in the slightest. I‘d seen my sister grow up and thought she was pretty damned cool. So I decided to be an alternative indie rocker, just like she was.

It was a nice little identity to play with as a 14-year-old. The make up was glittery; the hair was dyed with pots of gloopy paste from the hippy shop and the nails where always black and always chipped. The tights and accessories were pretty awesome too.

Faux-fur and tiaras aside, the music really mattered to me. Music is still very much my radar, it is where I find myself when I’m losing sight of who I am and what matters to me.

Some of the albums from my teenage years have not aged well. A case in point: Tura Satana’s** All Is Not Well album (sample lyric: “In the back of their neck, I got a nickel plated flex-g and a right to dress sexy”). As a 15-year-old I considered this to be a masterpiece in rap-metal and feminism. As a 27-year-old, I consider it to be “a bit of a racket”.

I’m on a bit of a musical nostalgia trip this evening, so here are five of my teenage albums that have stood the test of time. As you’ll see, I lived many of my indie rock ‘n’ roll dreams through my big sister. This was because I wasn’t allowed to go to gigs until I was 15. I missed out on lots of cool stuff and I’m still a teensy bit jealous.

No Doubt: Tragic Kingdom

No Doubt were one of my more chirpy musical indulgences. I dabbled with ska-punk for a while but always found it a bit too samey. No Doubt came along with just the right balance of ska, pop and punk. Tragic Kingdom moves from the stomping Just A Girl to the soaring balladry of Don’t Speak with ease and finesse. Excuse Me Mr is still something of a personal anthem.

Memory: Sitting up and waiting for my sister to get back from a No Doubt gig and making her tell me all about it. She caught a bouquet that Gwen threw into the crowd and gave me half of it.

Hole: My Body The Hand Grenade

I could have said either Live Through This or Celebrity Skin, I love them both dearly and it would be impossible to pick one. My Body the Hand Grenade is a collection of early Hole recordings and rarities that I remember saving for weeks to buy on import. I can’t even listen to the first half of it now – heavily distorted noise rock was never really my bag. 20 Years in the Dakota and My Beautiful Son are two of the best tracks, as well as the acoustic Season of the Witch.

Memory: Playing Retard Girl very loudly and my Mom getting really pissed off/worried about me.

Pavement: Brighten the Corners

Mainly for the lyrics “the actress is always breaking things, the things you made she took you for” from Date With Ikea. I loved Pavement (and still do) because they seemed kind of wiseass and snarky and geeky and clever and cute. Listening to this album made me feel really sophisticated and intellectual. Shady Lane was mine and my husband’s “song” for the first couple of years we were together.

Memory: Writing “Pave” on the right shell toe of my trainers and “ment” on the left. Where Ben Kweller went I tended to blindly follow. Leading me neatly to…

Radish: Restraining Bolt

Ben Kweller was my first official indie boy crush. He was totally like Kurt Cobain, only not dead and he looked like he’d smell way better. This was another album that I saved my paper round wages for – it arrived from the states in a cracked jewel case. I was gutted. Kerrang! described Little Pink Stars as an “anthem for unrequited love” or something like that. This made it sound, like, really deep and meaningful to my hormone-addled ears. Radish may well be lost in the musical ether; to me they will always be a precious piece of punk-pop perfection.

Memory: When my sister sat and got drunk with Ben Kweller’s Dad at a Radish gig in Wolverhampton. Apparently, he was “a lovely man”.

Garbage: Garbage

Whilst I wanted to be Courtney Love, I knew deep down that Shirley Manson was a far more achievable goal. I remember buying Milk as one of my first CD singles and playing it on repeat – it wasn’t an easy listen, I’ll give you that, and I still have no idea what that bloody song is about.Then I saw the video for Only Happy When It Rains and decided that, one day, I would be as cool as that.

Memory: Buying a Shirley Manson inspired black and pink shift dress from Topshop and feeling like the queen of the universe in it. I wore it with black tights, Mary Janes and my sister’s fake glasses. Remember people, this was Dudley in the 90s, I was way ahead of the curve.

*My sister will readily admit that she didn’t like any of the music. She preferred Arrested Development, George Michael and Edith Piaf.

**An LA rap metal band fronted by Tairrie B.

Back when I was involved in community radio I was told: “never trail the news”. This meant that you could hint and build excitement about upcoming programmes and songs, but never be a tease about the news. It makes sense; the news transcends such cheap chicanery. As it is in community radio, so it should be in real life.

After all that, I’m now going to pull a rather dramatic about turn. Today’s blogpost is a collection of photos. This is because I’m really busy working on exciting stuff that I can’t tell you about. By my very nature, I want to tell you and squeak excitedly in your general direction (sorry). But I can’t, at least not just yet.

There you have it, I have become a cheap and tacky social media tease. I feel dirty.

Here are some pretty pictures from the day I went to Bridgnorth and Instagrammed the place to hell. If there’s one thing that the world needs, it is another blogpost of try-hard “artsy” pictures. Enjoy.

BBxx

Funicular Fun.

Blue skies and a beautiful building

Home to hats and many pretty dresses.

Moody and arty statue

Blue skies and a falling down castle

I’ve wanted to post a picture of this dress for ages. I picked it up for £15.00 from Cow Vintage in Birmingham a few months back. My guess is that it is either fully handmade or two dresses stitched together at the waist (the belt makes me think the latter). It is made from silk – with the bodice in check taffeta and the skirt in slubby raw silk. The bright yellow, pink and navy are an unlikely combination but it somehow works.

Dress: Cow Vintage
Cardigan: Pied a Terre
Tights: Boots
Boots: Jones Bootmaker
Bracelet: Made

Vintage has been on my mind a fair bit recently, after reading Shopping for Vintage by Funmi Odulate. What I don’t fully grasp is the nature of being a “vintage collector”. These are people who buy beautiful clothes with no intention of ever wearing them. Really, what is the point? I doubt that this dress is of any real value to a vintage collector or a hardcore vintage fan. All I know is that it looks good and I doubt I’ll catch anyone else wearing something similar.

I’m also going through a phase of wearing lots of yellow. I’m not sure why.

BBxx

P.S. I have major bitch face in that picture. Me and my Gorilla Pod had just had an argument, otherwise I was practically dancing with joy on the inside. Honest.

There’s something magical about Birmingham’s Great Western Arcade. It is so grand, with arches, tiled floors and fancy light fittings. It reminds me of the scene in Francois Truffaut’s Jules et Jim (OK, the Sixpence None the Richer video for Kiss Me that was based on Jules et Jim) where Jules, Jim and Catherine run through the beautiful Parisian arcade, all bohemian, androgynous and chic:

That’s enough of the artsy-fartsy French film and middle-of-the-road ‘90s Christian soft rock references. I visited Great Western Arcade on Saturday to check out Birmingham’s first vintage charity shop: Forgotten Vintage.

The shop opened back in November and it is a natural fit amongst the old world charm of the arcade. Proceeds from the shop support Trident Reach the People Charity and SIFA Fireside, both of which help homeless people in Birmingham.

Forgotten Vintage stocks garments and accessories from ‘60s through to the ‘90s, ideal for folk seeking something unique with a charitable twist. All proceeds will be split between the two charities and will be invested into work to tackle  homelessness in the city.

The shop is initially open for a six-month trial period, but there are high hopes to make it a permanent fixture in Birmingham’s growing collection of vintage retailers.

Shop Manager, Carl Franklin, believes that Forgotten Vintage fills a gap.He said: “There are very few vintage shops in Birmingham compared with other cities in the UK and this certainly  is the city’s first vintage charity shop.

“I am convinced the demand is out there and the vintage market will grow and grow in Birmingham once there is somewhere like this for people to go.”

Having paid the shop a visit and rummaged through the rails, I can report that there’s some nice stock and the shop looks great. The charity angle is what I find really appealing. I’ve seen it work in cities like London and Edinburgh and browsing the Oxfam online vintage store can fill many a lazy lunch hour. People love vintage and they also love helping good causes. I really hope that this is big success.

Good luck to Forgotten Vintage!

BBxx

Visit Forgotten Vintage at:
Unit 9,
Great Western Arcade,
Colmore Row,
Birmingham,
B2 5HU.

Cardigan: Topshop
Black Top: Florence and Fred at Tesco
Jeans: Topshop
Boots: Jones Bootmaker
Skull Pendant: Lynsey Luu
Horn of Plenty Pendant: Mom found it on the car park at Dudley Zoo in the 90s. True story. Probably Elizabeth Duke at Argos.

I haven’t posted an outfit picture for a long while. Don’t worry; I’ve still been looking smoking hot. I’ve just not felt like posting pictures of myself. I’m not 100% certain why, but here are some options:

1) Plastering pictures of myself all over my blog still makes me feel uneasy and silly. (With the exception of the ones I had taken by the brilliant  Alex Styles that you’ll see on the “About”  page of this site, I want to plaster those everywhere with an accompanying note stating: “I look like this ALL of the time”.)

2) My winter wardrobe is a tad predictable – short skirts, opaque tights, skinny jeans, cardigans and riding boots in a variety of combinations. Yawn.

3) It is dark when I leave the house and dark when I get home. I used to take my pictures on my way out in the morning, hence why you can probably see eye snot in them.

I was all ready to put my half-assed attempts at “style blogging” to bed, and then I bought this cardigan. I blogged about my love of sequins before Christmas. Since then, several sequined cardigans had caught my eye, but I couldn’t bring myself to shell out £50.00+ on something I knew would be heavily discounted two weeks later.

Lo and behold, I picked up this ritzy little baby yesterday for a mere £15.00 from Topshop. That’s correct, £15.00. Reduced from £55.00. It is the best bargain ever and I’m going to wear it until all of the sequins fall off (give it a week).

My plans for wearing it revolve mainly around jeans, vests and my new riding boots. There’ll be no jewellery except for my gold horn of plenty (or, as my sister likes to call it, my “sperm necklace”) and my cute skull pedant from Lynsey Luu.

I’m aware of the school of thought that decrees sequins as “for Christmas not for life”. I’m well aware that some people find sequins tacky and vile. To them I say “Look, you’ll probably end up owning a caravan. No judgment in that; caravans are fine, just not for me, as sequins are not for you.”

Today has been a good and exciting day; wearing a sequin encrusted cardigan just felt right.

In other news, this is the first picture I’ve posted of me wearing glasses. The arrival of glasses should really have been item number four on the list at the start of this post. I’ll admit it: they made me self-conscious; not because I didn’t like how they looked, more because I could hardly recognise myself. It was weird seeing my reflection in mirrors and windows. I don’t particularly fear looking dorky or nerdy, I’m self aware enough to know that I am both of those things with or without glasses.

It has taken me a while to get my getting dressed groove back. Certain things just don’t work anymore, especially black pleated skirts teamed with orange polo necks (far too Scooby Doo Gang). A plus point is that I can wear stuff that I would have previously considered a bit too “obvious”. Glasses seem to take a clingy cocktail dress down a few notches on the va-va-voom scale, which, for me, is a good thing.

To wrap this up, I predict that 2012 will be the year of the glasses and sequins. Taking over the world, baby!

BBxxx

*The phrase razzle-dazzle has forever been tainted by the fact that it rhymes with “vajazzle”. Eugh. In years to come, 2011 will be remembered as the “year of the vajazzle”, which is kind of depressing.

Pugs: at least these guys make perfect sense.

There has been lot of stuff that has baffled and bemused me this year. I kind of wish that I’d kept a list of all these things, it would have made writing this list easier and have resulted in a far superior piece of work. Well, there’s always next year…

1)    Downton Abbey: Not seen it, don’t want to see it. Bring back The House of Eliott, now that’s what I call a period drama.

2)    How Facebook is ever going to make any money: You don’t want to know how much of my time and energy has been wasted pondering this issue. Best solution? Fine users for the following infractions:

i.     Status updates that hint at political allegiances with the EDL

ii.    Status updates whilst in labour

iii.   Spelling “with” as “wiv”

iv.    Stupid chain messages/statuses suggesting that I can help cure breast cancer by sharing my bra size and colour with all and sundry. It isn’t funny, it is just plain creepy.

There are more but I’ll stop there.

3)    That Fenton video on YouTube: It is an old dude chasing a dog through a park. I can watch my Dad doing something very similar on a daily basis.

4)    Thatcher “nostalgia”: Yes, she’s a powerful woman. This doesn’t mean that I should respect or give a shit about the heinous old cow.

5)    Why everyone suddenly became a current affairs pundit/satirist: I blame Twitter for this one. From Hackgate to Higgs Boson, everyone has suddenly decided that their opinions and gags are so important and hilarious that the WHOLE WORLD needs to read them. I really hope 2012 is a slow news year.

6)    The Kate Middleton look: Hurrah! Sloane for the 21^st Century! That’s just what we need! That “glossy mane”, those pretty but boring frocks – big deal. Just because she wears clothes doesn’t make her a “style icon”.

7)    The Rihanna look: Just because she doesn’t wear clothes doesn’t make her a “style icon”.

8)    Miranda: She’s still here and I still find her about as funny as a bout of gastric flu with Olly Murs holding the sick bowl and Michael McIntyre mopping my fevered brow.

9)    The obscurity of American Horror Story: I predict this will be major in 2012. I’m totally ahead of the curve.

10) How Bruno Mars, Nicki Minaj and Nicola Roberts produced such ridiculously catchy songs: HeybabyIthinkIwannamarryboombadoomboomboombadoomboombassdancetothebeatofmydrum.

I hope that you had a great Christmas and wish you the most wonderful, happy and satisfying New Year.

BBxx

Image via adihrespati's flickr

Reading

Googled: The End of the World As We Know It by Ken Auletta

The end of the world as we know it? Is it? Really? If it is, I feel fine. Obligatory REM gag out of the way, I must stress that I’m not really buying the whole “Google/Facebook/Twitter has changed the world” schtick. Yes, they’ve changed some people’s lives, but there are still people who genuinely don’t give a crap. Take my Dad – his world is very much like it was pre-Google. He gets up, has a cup of tea, takes the dog for a walk, reads a book about sharks or Nazis, watches a documentary about sharks or Nazis, has another cup of tea, plays with the dog, reads the Screwfix catalogue…

…you get the picture. The only people for whom the world really has changed are Larry Page, Sergey Brin, Mark Zuckerberg and the dudes who invented Twitter whose names escape me. They are really bloody rich now and full of the smug satisfaction that comes with being told that you’ve “changed the world” on a daily basis. Bravo.

Everything “changes the world” now, just like every event is “historic” and every celebrity or handbag is “iconic”. I’m bored of it all. Here’s something that could change the world: perspective.

Rant over.

The subtitle is my only real beef with Auletta’s book; otherwise it is a really intriguing and inspiring story of how two nerds changed the internet (note: not “world”). His investigation is thorough and balanced, grilling Page, Brin and Eric Schmidt along with their rivals and former employees.

It is quite cute how utterly clueless, naïve and arrogant Page and Brin were when they first started out. They made rookie errors and had no idea how to monetise their wonderful creation. Maybe I’m buying into the myth of “cuddly” Google, but it is hard to see them as anything other than the good guys standing up to the mean old media order. Google sounds like a brilliant company to work for that truly values people and their skills.

It is a fine parable to illustrate that success can often arise from doing things differently and with a deep passion and purpose. Inspiring stuff.

Watching

American Horror Story

Anyone who knows me will know that I am a wuss. I can deal with blood and guts; it is the psychological headfudgery that gets me. A fine example being the time that I watched American Psycho and didn’t sleep for 48 hours straight.

It is a mystery to me why I love American Horror Story. Especially when considering I have to fast forward the opening credits EVERYTIME. By Bookish Brunette standards, this show is scary. Maybe it is the quirkiness of it all – it was created by the guys behind Glee so there are some brilliant moments of high-camp. It also looks spectacular – moments of dazzling colour followed by claustrophobic darkness and menace.

The premise is simple – a beautiful, yet dysfunctional, East Coast family move to start a new life in Los Angeles. They buy a beautiful gothic house, which turns out to hide dark secrets and a blood-soaked history. Ben Harmon (Dylan McDermott), the father, is a therapist with issues of his own (mainly of the “knocking up a pretty twenty-something behind his wife’s back” variety). He is a bit of a creep, creepier than some of the ghosts that share the house now that I think about it. McDermott is kind of hot and brooding in the style of David Duchovny, which is always a good thing, and he sure knows how to rock a black v-neck sweater. I digress…

Shortly after moving to the house, bizarre things start to happen. There are mysterious callers, overfriendly housekeepers and a kleptomaniac neighbour. They soon discover that their new home is commonly known as “the murder house”. Gradually, the house’s history unfolds and the thin veneer of normality shatters over the Harmons. The family begins to implode in a tale that is as much to do with sex and betrayal, as it is ghosts and ghouls.

My favourite character has to be Violet (Taissa Farmiga), the Harmon family’s teenage daughter. She’s a clever misfit who some how manages to keep a level head amidst the craziness. Fair enough, she is in a risky relationship with a ghost who wants to be Kurt Cobain. Hey, teenagers will do what teenagers do.

Listening to

Earthquake: Labrinth featuring Tinie Tempah

This song is so freakin’ catchy. I love the bit when Tinie says: “this one is feeling like a straight 10 on the Richter scale y’know”. Apparently, if he wants Christian or Kurt Geiger he just phones up the designer! Cuteness! Now, I might be being a tad pedantic here, is Tinie suggesting that Kurt Geiger is in the same league as Christian Louboutin? Or was he just really desperate for a rhyming word?

I really don’t know. All I know is that this song makes me want to dance.

UPDATE:

Cheers to my buddy Omar for sending me a link to this. LOVE Labrinth’s shirt and the choir:

BBxx

Image via Rawmusic's flickr.

Do you ever get the overwhelming urge to go out and dance? Put on a trashy frock and highly impractical shoes; spend an hour applying eye make-up before trying to squish a huge amount of stuff into a teeny-tiny bag?

I live the good life – it is all cocktails, fancy dinners, highbrow cinema, galleries and obscure indie artistes. It is all terribly grown-up and I love it. I just sometimes miss going out wearing a short skirt, strawpedoing a Smirnoff Ice and dancing to Flo-Rida.

I was never a wild-child. There was a six month period in 2005 when I went proper batshit crazy (another story, a never time), I’ll be honest: it was bloody hard work. The cost of the extra eye make-up remover alone was very off putting. In the main, wild nights out were a rare treat rather than a weekly event. That’s probably why, six years on, I’m still not bored of them.

Growing up near Wolverhampton has given me a warped perception of what constitutes a “wild night out”. It is a place where a cocktail comes served in a pitcher and contains four cans of Monster. The music tends to be of the R‘n’B/Cheese/Reef Place Your Hands variety. By hipster standards, it is a lot shit.

But who cares? I’ve had enough of standing around and “appreciating” the music, I’m fed up of seeing blokes with beards wearing chunky pullovers, discussing real ale and nu-folk. I want to get sweaty dancing whilst drinking cheap gin and tonic from a plastic beaker. I want to laugh at silly boys with silly haircuts wearing silly All Saints low-cut  t-shirts. I want to eat a sandwich from Subway at 2am and spend the next day sending and receiving texts of the “OMG, do you remember…” or “My head hurts” variety.

In short, this Bookish Brunette wants to move:

Bookish Brunette’s big night out playlist:

• Flo-Rida: Low*
• Madonna: Like a Prayer*
• Tinie Tempah: Pass Out
• R Kelly: Ignition
• Beyonce: Crazy in Love
• TLC: No Scrubs
• 5ive: Megamix
• Lady Gaga: Just Dance
• Far East Movement: Like a G6
• Christina Aguilera: Dirrty
• Nelly: Hot in Herre

Feel free to add to the list in the comments below!

BBxx

*dedicated to my home girls. You know who you are. xoxo