- Gilmore Girls has gone downhill. Full speed. Into a tree. Sookie is so freaking annoying. And, so is the rest of the cast. What happened to my beloved show? Even Logan and Christopher can't save it.
- American Idol is the only show on television that can make me laugh, cry, anxious, grateful and horrified all within 25 seconds.
- Oh, George W. First of all, it's NEW-KLEE-AR. NOT NEW-KU-LER. Since Dennis Miller has moved on to [bigger?] [better?] things, we were forced to watch the real thing.
- Travis and Shanna spent $20,000 on a new bedroom set for Landon, one that he is only going to use for one year. And, wwwwaaaahhh, Shanna, you've had a rough day because you've been dealing with furniture issues all day. And by you I mean your assistant.
- Ashley Angel wears eye makeup. His fiancee/girfriend/baby's mama looks like she has an extra chromosome. And, what's with naming the kid (who's actually cute) Lyric? Lyric, Ashley? Really? You said you wanted the kid to have a normal name because you know what it's like to have a rainbow name. And then you give the new kid one. And what's with the pausing of the background and Ash moving into the forefront with his "deep" commentary? Lisa Loeb kind of does that, too. A new techinique of which I am unaware? (Yes, Tiffany, the baby does hate you and that's why he's not coming out. It has nothing to do with the fact that you are young, penniless, jobless, and that you are going to name him Lyric.)
- How convenient that Shanna and Tiffany are having their babies on the same day (ie next week's episodes). Welcome to the world, Alabama and Lyric! May your lives as offspring of musicians who married insipid females turn out well for you. Sorry about your names.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Observations from Tuesday night television.
In no particular order (and observed from halfhearted watching):
I didn't want to. But "I do."
I like the Lisa Loeb reality show on E!. I tried not to watch. I really did. But there was nothing else on tv Sunday afternoon. So I was sucked into it. And now I like it.
Haha, get it? "I do" is one of Lisa Loeb's "hits." But it wasn't a #1 single, which is why you don't know it. And if you do remember it, you don't have to admit it.
Lisa is just kind of cool. Sure, she was pretty much a one hit wonder. But she's nice and normal and not really all that annoying. Sure, she has a little bit too much self-esteem at times (ie prancing around the Isaac Mizrahi set in a thong...no 36 year old should be doing that). And, she's bit obsessed with the Hello Kitty thing (again, no 36 year old should be obsessed with a cutesy Asian cartoon cat).
In every other sense, though, she's pretty normal (or seemingly so). She's just a girl looking innocently for love. She's been burned a couple of times (by not so attractive or famous men), but she's not so burned that she's overly cynical. Now, while she likes to shop with the best of them, she is a clear contradiction to most other reality television female "stars" (especially those who are on her home television channel) in that she reads books (Hello, Girls Next Door (minus the one getting her Masters, I know)). She likes to eat (Alert, Dr. Rey: your wife is severely anorexic.). She's smart (hello, to the Amazing Vapid Duo of Britney and Lisa Gastineau). She hates being gossip fodder and stays out of the limelight (paging Ms. Hilton. Ms. Paris Hilton.).
Nerdiness has reached new heights.
Casey's post today struck a chord with me. You know, I like food, too! Always have. You all know (especially if this isn't your first time visiting) that I enjoy going out to eat, that I do it often, and that it is my goal to eat my way through Zagat's and The Washingtonian's Top 100 list (thank goodness I have partners in crime for these daunting tasks). Amazing how, at one point in my life, I was thinner than stick thin (CB likes to liken me to a certain WWII "hero," who I shall not name for fear of offending).
Casey likes to watch shows about food. So do I! I have become quite enamored by the Food Network as of late. I know it's hip and trendy, so I'm just on the bandwagon with that. Now on to the nerdiness: among my favorite Christmas gifts this year were...cookbooks. At my super fun gift exchange, I traded a very cool and fun wristlet (along with a Starbucks debit card!) for two spoontulas and a cupcake cookbook. Wow. And, Jizzle, who didn't even need to be told that I would love them, got me three very cool books, too; slightly selfish were his motives, though, as I'm sure he expects me to use the books and not just read them (and he needed easy access to photos of Giada). And, yes kids, I read them. I actually sit down and read them as if they were novels...except I skip around some and don't read them in the proper order.
This new fascination has also [unfortunately] gotten me readdicted to ebay, my own personal gambling haven. In the past week, I have bid on and won no less than five highly renowned books of cooking (some of which I didn't know were veritable cooking bibles until told so by LBB who, let's give her some nerd props, too, claims to own over 90 cookbooks but remains, as my mom says, "the smallest person I've ever seen."). This means several things: (1) I'm a great and steady bidder who doesn't falter under pressure (2) I get so into the "game" that I end up bidding, sometimes, more than the book is worth (more often than not, though, I get them for dirt cheap) (3) I get packages on an almost daily basis and (4) I am a reckless spender (but that is neither here nor there right now).
On a side but somewhat related note, in case anyone is interested, I finally finished Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. And I will never eat eggs benedict or mussels again (at least not without seriously contemplating it first).
Casey likes to watch shows about food. So do I! I have become quite enamored by the Food Network as of late. I know it's hip and trendy, so I'm just on the bandwagon with that. Now on to the nerdiness: among my favorite Christmas gifts this year were...cookbooks. At my super fun gift exchange, I traded a very cool and fun wristlet (along with a Starbucks debit card!) for two spoontulas and a cupcake cookbook. Wow. And, Jizzle, who didn't even need to be told that I would love them, got me three very cool books, too; slightly selfish were his motives, though, as I'm sure he expects me to use the books and not just read them (and he needed easy access to photos of Giada). And, yes kids, I read them. I actually sit down and read them as if they were novels...except I skip around some and don't read them in the proper order.
This new fascination has also [unfortunately] gotten me readdicted to ebay, my own personal gambling haven. In the past week, I have bid on and won no less than five highly renowned books of cooking (some of which I didn't know were veritable cooking bibles until told so by LBB who, let's give her some nerd props, too, claims to own over 90 cookbooks but remains, as my mom says, "the smallest person I've ever seen."). This means several things: (1) I'm a great and steady bidder who doesn't falter under pressure (2) I get so into the "game" that I end up bidding, sometimes, more than the book is worth (more often than not, though, I get them for dirt cheap) (3) I get packages on an almost daily basis and (4) I am a reckless spender (but that is neither here nor there right now).
On a side but somewhat related note, in case anyone is interested, I finally finished Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. And I will never eat eggs benedict or mussels again (at least not without seriously contemplating it first).
Monday, January 30, 2006
Britney Spears = role model?
So, Oldest Friend and I had our Christmas Dinner lunch on Saturday (don't ask, it was the only time we could do it, as we're both worldy women with hectic social calendars). It was quite delicious and much better than the last "good" Italian meal I ate (or, if you will recall, that I vommed...yes, I was the puker).(As a complete aside and unrelated to the main "point" of this post, on our way from our fantastic parking spot to the restaurant, we passed a woman "riding" a stuffed ostrich. There was literally a stuffed ostrich head coming from between her legs, and she was somehow steering it and walking down the street like it was perfectly normal. Was this part of some job she had?? What kind of job?? I was extremely intrigued.)
Anyway, soon after we saw a sign for a psychic. "That might be fun," OF said. "I've never done it." "Me neither," I said. "Let's do it after lunch!" It might be a fun, spiritual thing to do, right? If Britney could take Sean Preston to a Hindu temple, we could be just like her (well, kind of) and do something similar. Duh, like get our palms read and have her do something to our chakras. That's spiritual, right?
So it was decided. After a leisurely, gluttonous midday meal, we headed out of the restaurant and up Wisconsin Ave. We saw the enticing sign "Psychic. $5. Ask about our two for one special." Two for one?! What a deal.
Into the building we walk. We follow signs that supposedly are leading us to this so called psychic. One flight of [steep and narrow] stairs. Then another. And another. And, yes, another. Finally, out of breath, we reach the psychic's door. It has a window. I knock on the window. Immediately thereafter, a dog (wearing an argyle sweater, mind you) runs to the door and starts yapping. There is a woman sitting at a table within our view. She looks to be in her late 40s or early 50s, with salt and pepper hair. She is on the phone. She is also staring into a magnifying mirror and either (1) plucking her mustache or (2) picking her teeth. We weren't quite certain. If we had been using our best judgment, we would have left right then. But we didn't.
Upon hearing her dog bark, she looked over and saw us at the door. She gave us the "one second" gesture. So we waited. She continued to pick/pluck/talk. We waited. The dog continued to yap. We waited some more.
About three minutes later, said pyschic got up from the table and walked her sweatsuit clad body into another room. She emerged soon after with a paper towel, which she was using to blot her face. Um, ew. Yet, we still did not leave. She walked into another room, at which point I looked at OF and said, "Dude, she obviously doesn't care about making her $5. Let's get out of here."
So we run away. We book it down one flight of stairs. Then down another. We hit staircase number three and come to a SCREECHING halt. Emerging from the tuxedo rental establishment that was conveniently housed in the same building was a man. A very big man. A very big man with a walker. A very big man with a walker who then proceeded to precede us down the remaining three flights of (need I remind you narrow, steep) stairs. Yikes! What if psychic decides to chase us down?? But what could we do?
At least we were able to not get winded going down the stairs. We get to bottom, at which point the man holds the door open for us, walker and all, and tells us to have a nice day. Gold star for politeness.
So, [very] long story short, we didn't even get our palms read (or whatever it is she was going to do). But, did we really want her touching us, anyway? Ew.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Today's "shocking" news.
- In looking to find a picture to illustrate this post, I found if you google "Kristin Cavallari" and images, you only get two pages. She is obviously not putting herself out there enough. That would be sarcasm.
- Kristin Cavallari's tried cocaine and it was only "fun for, like, 20 minutes, but the next day, I just didn't feel good about myself," she told the mag. Like nothing else she does doesn't make her feel good about herself (ouch, double negative...but you know what I mean). "It's a dirty drug. I find people who do coke to be very shady, that they're doing it makes them lie about things. Because you don't lie otherwise. And, tell us tell us tell us who you know who does coke! Please! I wouldn't want to date someone who's into it." Apparently, her bf du jour (Brody Jenner, to whom we should give a pat on the back for knowing how to cash in on someone else's fame (ie Kristin's and his father's))is drug-free. "With Stephen [Colletti], it was like high school fun." Um, because you were in high school?? And, Miss Kristin, please tell me how that relationship was fun...I mean, it was fun for us to watch, but was it really "fun." "I saw what happened [with LC] when I watched the season-one DVD," Cavallari said. "I cried for days." Awww. Per MTv.com, this, of course, didn't stop Cavallari from doing something similar to Lindsay Lohan, who she says flipped out when she walked in on Talan Torriero and her in bed together. Ew the visual. "She was never nice to me until the story about the fight came out," Cavallari said. "But she was so nice once that went public." ... Because Linds, like you, is a media whore. Two peas in a pod, the two of you are.
Pesky stains and odors.
From the official Urine Gone! website:"Getting rid of stains and odors caused by cat, dog or human urine can be exasperating. Urine Gone! is the quick and easy answer to the problem. Just spray it on and let it dry, fast acting enzyme action attacks urine and other odor causing matter and eliminates their stains and odors.""No matter how much I cleaned my house, it still smelled like a big litter box," says a satisfied consumer.
Um, gross.
Good news! Urine Gone! also gets rid of human urine that may collect along the outside basin of your toilet bowl. Now, I will admit that I'm not really a cat person, so it might be easy for me to say this, but if you have cats (or dogs, whatever) who pee all over the house, maybe you should get rid of the animal instead of disguising the odor of pee (not to mention all the germs that are abounding in your house) with a poorly marketed spray. And, if you have humans in your home who cannot aim well enough to get their business into the toilet, well...
But wait! Urine Gone! isn't for just urine! "Fast-acting Enzyme Action also attacks other organic matter (such as feces, blood, saliva and more) and essentially eats up their stains and odors."
Chances are, if you have animals or people who pee, poop, spit, or bleed all over your house, you have bigger problems than trying to get rid of the odor and germs. How did you let your life get this bad?
If you order now, you also get a black light.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
ALERT: On television RIGHT NOW.
On television right now, at this very second, is The Karen Carpenter Story. Yay! This is one of the best eating disorder movies. As my oldest friend in the world (in that I've known her since I was zero, not that she's the oldest of my friends) would call it, this is a BOTS (based on true story) that is well worth the time. It's actually probably more of a documentary. But whatever. It's on Saturday afternoon television and it's about eating disorders. And it features all of the greatest of the Carpenters' songs.
Friday, January 27, 2006
E! Online is mean!
LOTS OF LOSERS: Hundreds of people sent away Thursday from an open casting call in San Diego for NBC's popular weight-loss reality series, The Biggest Loser, after the restaurant holding the audition couldn't cope with the huge crowd.
Hahaha. And it was at a restaurant.
Hahaha. And it was at a restaurant.
Lunesta, lullabies, or insomnia?
While I ate lunch today, I tried to be intellectual by reading the newspaper. Ok, so it was USA Today, which doesn't really lend itself to being a bastion of newsiness...but whatever.
As I read the Life section, I stumbled across an article about a new lullabye CD that our good friends at Rhino were soon releasing.
Are you ready for this? It's an adult lullabye CD. As in lullabies for adults. The artists? Celebrities! Featured on the CD are: Scarlett, Eric McCormack, Nia Vardalos, Uncle Jesse, Elaine from Seinfeld, Xena Warrior Princess, stupid Teri Hatcher, Jennifer Garner-Affleck, Ewan McGregor, and the dad from Alias.
My question (and I have several, but this is the most salient at the moment):
What adult in his/her right mind would purchase this (legitimately) and then actually listen to it as a sleep aid?
Whatever happened to Tylenol PM? Lunesta (one of my bff dressed up as the Lunesta butterfly for Halloween and her husband was an insomniac. Awesome. She must like theme costumes, as one Halloween when we were in college we dressed up, together, as vacation. That was also the year we saw Alf (in a toga) going at it (extremely inappropriately) against a column on the dancefloor with a girl in a toga. Ew.)? Noise machines? Passing out? Good old fashioned insomnia?
I'm not sure I'd want to be lulled to sleep by any of the above. Really.
As I read the Life section, I stumbled across an article about a new lullabye CD that our good friends at Rhino were soon releasing.
Are you ready for this? It's an adult lullabye CD. As in lullabies for adults. The artists? Celebrities! Featured on the CD are: Scarlett, Eric McCormack, Nia Vardalos, Uncle Jesse, Elaine from Seinfeld, Xena Warrior Princess, stupid Teri Hatcher, Jennifer Garner-Affleck, Ewan McGregor, and the dad from Alias.
My question (and I have several, but this is the most salient at the moment):
What adult in his/her right mind would purchase this (legitimately) and then actually listen to it as a sleep aid?
Whatever happened to Tylenol PM? Lunesta (one of my bff dressed up as the Lunesta butterfly for Halloween and her husband was an insomniac. Awesome. She must like theme costumes, as one Halloween when we were in college we dressed up, together, as vacation. That was also the year we saw Alf (in a toga) going at it (extremely inappropriately) against a column on the dancefloor with a girl in a toga. Ew.)? Noise machines? Passing out? Good old fashioned insomnia?
I'm not sure I'd want to be lulled to sleep by any of the above. Really.
Education and self-sufficiency be damned!
I hate working. How can one be so busy that they don't even have time to blog? Seriously, this is horrible horrible horrible. I wish I were an heiress so I didn't have to work every day. To reap the benefits of the hard work of my ancestors. And by reap the benefits I mean have all the hottest bags, shoes and clothes, go out to all the cool night spots, have famous friends and be able to jet off to, say, Monaco, at the drop of a hat.
Can you imagine what it would be like to wake up every morning as Paris Hilton? (Minus, of course, the skankiness, idiocy, the inappropriate fashion choices, the inability to dance in a respectable manner, the ass clown tendencies, the sex tape history...) I think it might be quite fun.
What shall I do today, I might ask myself. Hmmm, I would respond. Maybe I'll hop in the Bentley and head over to Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf for an iced latte. Then maybe I'll hit up Lisa Kline for a couple new t-shirts. I'd definitely need a mani and a pedi. Maybe some lounging time. Then I gotta get on the sidekick and make sure all the right folks will be out and about tonight.
This, of course, is an easy day. I can't imagine a hard day.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Proof...
..that I have odd fascinations and my friends know about (and encourage?) them.
Part of an email I received, today, from Bandit: "changing the subject - i thought of you last night when i saw an ad for a lifetime movie about a cutter."
Let's go back to my English major days and take a moment to analyze this sentence.
Part of an email I received, today, from Bandit: "changing the subject - i thought of you last night when i saw an ad for a lifetime movie about a cutter."
Let's go back to my English major days and take a moment to analyze this sentence.
- "when i saw an ad for a lifetime movie..." Now, was Bandit thinking about me because it was a Lifetime movie or because it was
- "...about a cutter" and that is one of my favorite mental disorders?
A smorgasbord.
Because I didn't have one single source of inspiration today, I am giving you a hodgepodge of news.
MAKING NICE: George Lopez sending Jessica Simpson flowers to apologize for wisecracks he made about her ex, Nick Lachey, at the People's Choice Awards earlier this month. Why is he sending flowers to Jessica and not apologizing to Nick (ie the one who obviously got the raw deal in this whole thing)?
LEGAL HIT: Jamie-Lynn Sigler and her estranged husband, A.J., suing a Seventh Avenue fashion house for allegedly using their pictures in a fashion spread without permission. Do these people have nothing better to do than to scour magazines and newspapers for illegal use of their images? Seriously. I thought A.J. was busy partying it up with the above mentioned future ex husband and Jamie-Lynn was...well, who knows.
IT'S A GIRL: Pregnant Brooke Shields telling People magazine that she and husband Chris Henchy are expecting another daughter. The couple are already the parents of two-year-old Rowan. Does anyone care about this less than I do?
SPLITSVILLE: Melrose Place stars Josie Bissett and Rob Estes divorcing after almost 14 years of marriage. The couple have two children. But they just made an ABC Family movie together! And seemed so happy!
MODEL MEMOIR: Kate Moss teaming with Virgin mogul Richard Branson to pen her autobiography. Um, I could write it. I think it would go something like this: "I am born. [because she's adept at the literary allusion and all]. I am discovered at an airport because I'm so beautiful. I'm skinny and people are jealous. I make the waif look popular. My face never has any expression. I do lots of coke. I am in AA and Narcotics Anonymous. Haha on the fashion industry, I never walked down the runway sober! I was hospitalized for "exhaustion." I have lots of sex (with lots of different boyfriends). And a child out of wedlock. I make friends with weird people. I am caught by someone with a video camera snorting a line. Woe is me. I lose several big modeling contracts. Then I get some back."
MAKING NICE: George Lopez sending Jessica Simpson flowers to apologize for wisecracks he made about her ex, Nick Lachey, at the People's Choice Awards earlier this month. Why is he sending flowers to Jessica and not apologizing to Nick (ie the one who obviously got the raw deal in this whole thing)?
LEGAL HIT: Jamie-Lynn Sigler and her estranged husband, A.J., suing a Seventh Avenue fashion house for allegedly using their pictures in a fashion spread without permission. Do these people have nothing better to do than to scour magazines and newspapers for illegal use of their images? Seriously. I thought A.J. was busy partying it up with the above mentioned future ex husband and Jamie-Lynn was...well, who knows.
IT'S A GIRL: Pregnant Brooke Shields telling People magazine that she and husband Chris Henchy are expecting another daughter. The couple are already the parents of two-year-old Rowan. Does anyone care about this less than I do?
SPLITSVILLE: Melrose Place stars Josie Bissett and Rob Estes divorcing after almost 14 years of marriage. The couple have two children. But they just made an ABC Family movie together! And seemed so happy!
MODEL MEMOIR: Kate Moss teaming with Virgin mogul Richard Branson to pen her autobiography. Um, I could write it. I think it would go something like this: "I am born. [because she's adept at the literary allusion and all]. I am discovered at an airport because I'm so beautiful. I'm skinny and people are jealous. I make the waif look popular. My face never has any expression. I do lots of coke. I am in AA and Narcotics Anonymous. Haha on the fashion industry, I never walked down the runway sober! I was hospitalized for "exhaustion." I have lots of sex (with lots of different boyfriends). And a child out of wedlock. I make friends with weird people. I am caught by someone with a video camera snorting a line. Woe is me. I lose several big modeling contracts. Then I get some back."
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Shar has upped the stakes in the Hillbilly Skank wars.
Thanks to The Superficial for that [I couldn't have said it better myself] synopsis of what has to be the oddest news of the day.
Shar Jackson + [not] Jason Alexander (aka Brit Brit's first ex-husband) = L.O.V.E.
You might be having the same reaction as I...WTF?
Page Six is reporting that Shar (aka the other idiot mother of KFed's children) is shacking up with Jason. Says The Superficial, "Jackson showed up at the 25th-birthday party for singer Ray J, Brandy's younger brother, in L.A. Saturday night with Alexander. A spy says, 'They made out all night before going upstairs to the off-limits bedroom area of the house.'"
Couldn't she have gotten "revenge" in a better, classier way? Like having a stellar music/acting/whatever career while also being a great mom? Like...I don't know, staying out of the tabloids and not trash talking her trashy BabyDaddy? So many other options, Shar.
I think we can all agree the "winner" here is Jason.
Ew. What good can come of this? This has the potential of becoming a family tree of OC proportions.
Shar Jackson + [not] Jason Alexander (aka Brit Brit's first ex-husband) = L.O.V.E.
You might be having the same reaction as I...WTF?
Page Six is reporting that Shar (aka the other idiot mother of KFed's children) is shacking up with Jason. Says The Superficial, "Jackson showed up at the 25th-birthday party for singer Ray J, Brandy's younger brother, in L.A. Saturday night with Alexander. A spy says, 'They made out all night before going upstairs to the off-limits bedroom area of the house.'"
Couldn't she have gotten "revenge" in a better, classier way? Like having a stellar music/acting/whatever career while also being a great mom? Like...I don't know, staying out of the tabloids and not trash talking her trashy BabyDaddy? So many other options, Shar.
I think we can all agree the "winner" here is Jason.
Ew. What good can come of this? This has the potential of becoming a family tree of OC proportions.
Monday, January 23, 2006
You probably think this blog is about you.
I remember sitting in church one day a long, long time ago. Father Joe (or FoJo, as we like to call him) was giving a homily about something or another and he was referencing Carly Simon's "You're So Vain" (he's hip like that). At that time (it was pre-How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days) I did not know what he was talking about. My dad looked over from his seat and jokingly sang the song to me. I was like nine. Seriously. I surely wasn't vain then (though I definitely had more reason to be), and I'm not necessarily now. (Shh. Keep your comments to yourselves.)Unless you count craigslist. I am obsessed, as you know, with Missed Connections. I will admit to opening listings that could be, might be me. Does this mean I'm vain? When Sass was here last week, we tried desperately to make an impression--of any kind--on someone, anyone, so that we would be a missed connection. It didn't work, although there was a listing called "Looking for [insert Sass's real name here]" that got us excited...it wasn't her, but it was still a momentary feeling of awe.
I thought about this today as I was driving home from work and the song came on the radio (I forgot the iPod, don't have satellite like the cool kids, and all the stations except this particular one were playing commercials. And, fine, it is preset. But leave me alone.). Instead of "you probably think this song is about you," one could easily replace the lyrics with "you probably think this listing's about you." Sad that I thought about that. It had been a long day.
Now, I know that I'm not the only one who scours the listings. I read ones that are asking about people who were at places where I had just been or who were at places I go. I read ones with catchy subjects and that name people I might know. You do too, I know it.
Some of you (backhanded shout out alert) even post fake listings, knowing I'll read them. Some of you read them and send them to me. You are all, my friends, as addicted as I am. And there's nothing wrong with that. You can think it's you if you want, there's nothing wrong with that. I won't judge. But, think about it: however "romantic" the notion might be of you grabbing the attention of a handsome stranger (who then has no other way of finding you than to post on a very public (and much ridiculed) website) might be, there is some antiquated sense of fulfillment when "love" happens the old-fashioned way.
So hooray for craigslist for instilling in us a sense of hope--however momentary--or, at the very least, for giving us hour upon hour of entertainment [while at work].
PS, I'm convinced that "You're Beautiful" is an MC put to music. Think about it.
Ahoy.
So yesterday, while taking a break from "working," I met up with LBB at the mall for lunch (btw, Jenni, I did not appreciate the obvious in your face-ness of your Friday lunchtime entry) and some much needed retail therapy.
On our list of "approved" stops was a new favorite (thanks to Recently Married Friend who will, heretofore, be referred to by her real nickname, "The Bandit" (which, in case you are curious, came about with the help of some Ledo pizza, some major intolerance to lactose, and a fateful trip to another favorite store)). I convinced LBB to try on and subsequently purchase the cutest pair of "fancy" gaucho pants ever. Like seriously. They had a tie belt thing (to make them fancy and, thus, work appropriate) and were super cool and trendy. I convinced her, too, that they were totally appropriate to wear to work, just as long as she wasn't going to court.
So today I get an email that says this:
"BTW, 2 of my co-workers are referring to my gauchos as pirate pants."
Soon after, this email followed:"The coworkers offered to get me a parrot to go with the pants...and they suggested I color in one of my eye glass lenses to resemble a patch...and they address me by saying, "Arrrr matey.""
Stop it, Dr. McDreamy! Stop!
Stop looking at Meredith like that. Don't look at her like that in the elevator. Or in front of your trailer. Or in the hallway in the hospital. Don't look at her like that in the operating room. Or the cafeteria. Or on the roof. Don't look at her like that at the bar or in her house. Or when you're visiting her mom. Just stop. It makes my heart hurt.(And, who are you kidding when you say you can be nice without being dreamy? LBH, you can't be anything without being dreamy.)
Sunday, January 22, 2006
DJ Slit My Wrists.
That's what my brother calls me. Now, I haven't ever thought my music taste was soooo awful. But apparently, it is.
It's so bad that, if he is ever in the car with me, he brings his own iPod so as not to have to listen to the music that resonates from mine. I didn't really think it was so bad until:
- I sent a mix CD to my good friend Abu Shekha and she called immediately after receiving it. The conversation went something like this:
AS: Dude, did you feel better after making that?
La: What are you talking about?
AS: Seriously, that must have been some serious therapy.
La: Oh, wow...I see what you mean.
(Don't worry, friends, I will post a "How to Make A Therapy Mix" blog sometime in the near future. It is an art.) - I was on a roadtrip with my favorite resident of Virginia Beach a few weeks ago (we were on our way to Recently Married Friend's wedding) and we were listening to the pod on shuffle. She commented before I even admitted to the nickname.
So I'm sitting here supposedly doing "work," but really I'm listening to music and waiting for McDreamy. These lyrics are horrible (but, conversely, absolutely fantastic). They really are depressing and must contribute to myriad cases of angst and cynicism. I now know why I have been given this moniker. Seriously. I guess it's safe to say that if you ever want a pick me up, don't ask me to make you a CD or to recommend favorites. Here are just a few examples of some lyrics, from a random mix of songs.
Disclaimer: I will not name the songs or the artists because that will just lead to ridicule and embarrassment. If you're so inclined and so bored, I know you will google them, anyway. Don't hold my music selections against me. I'm cool. Really. Some of you closet bad/depressing music lovers will be able to pick them out, though. Don't try to front like you don't know who you are.
- "I saw the end before it began."
- "And so I am a stranger but especially today, as I get sad and lonely and you get your way."
- "And hopefulness is like a drug, it makes a girl believe in love."
- "I'll close my eyes, then I won't see the love you don't feel when you're holding me."
- "It's funny what you know, but still go on pretending, with no good evidence you'll ever see that happy ending."
- "Time is leaving us behind, another week has passed and still I haven't laughed yet."
- "They're all watching us now, they think we're falling in love, they'll never believe we're just friends."
- "So afraid to love you, more afraid to lose, clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose."
Geez, and that's really just a random sampling. Good thing I have songs like "I'm Real" (shout out to J.Lo in her prime and my friends (you know who you are) who really heart this song) and some Britney on there to counteract the [mania inducing] other songs. This, I realize, does not counteract the affirmation that I enjoy bad music.
To undamper this reading experience, I'll end with some of my favorite lyrics. I've said it before, and I obviously have no shame in saying it again. Courtesy of Lil' Kim (can we take a moment, please, to recognize that the apostrophe in her name is completely misplaced):
I had you up early in the mo'nin' moanin'.
Now, seriously, who but Kim and Fi'ty could make two obviously different words sound the same (by merely omitting some letters) and pack them with so much meaning? Brilliant.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Um, I'm sorry.
Yeah, sorry that you had to go to jail, Big L, because you hired a stripper for your son's 16th birthday party and you got caught.
Are you serious?! Thank you, Oprah, for putting onto television parents (and by parents I mean adults who conceived children and then let them live in their house) who do things like this. "Parents" who, and I quote, "regret it to an extent" when they hire strippers (I'm going to say it again) for thier son's 16th birthday. Oprah, in all her journalistic glory, finally got the mother to admit that she didn't regret that she hired the stripper but, rather, that she was caught. Caught by the good people at Walgreens, where she took the film her son used to take pictures of the completely nude stripper. In her defense, the mother did tell the photo technician to send the pictures out and not to develop them in the store. Because she didn't want to embarass the family, the store, or the technician. Aww, how sweet.
Apparently, it was against the wishes of the father (aka Big L) to hire the stripper, but he still attended the party and enjoyed himself. When Oprah asked him if he was okay with his wife hiring the stripper against his will, Big L said, "Parts of me was, parts of me wasn't." Which parts, Big L?
I haven't done a list in a while.
Are you serious?! Thank you, Oprah, for putting onto television parents (and by parents I mean adults who conceived children and then let them live in their house) who do things like this. "Parents" who, and I quote, "regret it to an extent" when they hire strippers (I'm going to say it again) for thier son's 16th birthday. Oprah, in all her journalistic glory, finally got the mother to admit that she didn't regret that she hired the stripper but, rather, that she was caught. Caught by the good people at Walgreens, where she took the film her son used to take pictures of the completely nude stripper. In her defense, the mother did tell the photo technician to send the pictures out and not to develop them in the store. Because she didn't want to embarass the family, the store, or the technician. Aww, how sweet.
Apparently, it was against the wishes of the father (aka Big L) to hire the stripper, but he still attended the party and enjoyed himself. When Oprah asked him if he was okay with his wife hiring the stripper against his will, Big L said, "Parts of me was, parts of me wasn't." Which parts, Big L?
I haven't done a list in a while.
- Per Big L, it was okay when the stripper was just topless, because young boys see topless women all the time.
- The mother had ben depressed in the months preceding the birthday. Duh, her judgment was obviously affected.
- They didn't tell the stripper to leave because they didn't want to disappoint the 10-15 males under the age of 18 who were at the party.
- They sent the daughter away because they didn't want to expose her to such a thing.
- They weren't exposing the boys to anything they hadn't already seen. (Um, simulated sex acts? Really? This is something they've seen? Where do these people live??)
- The psychologist in the audience was "touched" that their "hearts told them that this wasn't okay." Their hearts, not their brains.
- OMG, the psychologist blamed peer pressure for the parents not telling the stripper to put her clothes back on...they apparently felt like they couldn't tell her to do that, because the kids were expecting her to be naked (and had taken the trouble to collect $150 of their hard earned could go to chewing tobacco money to get her to take it all off).
- "If they're going to do something, try something, I want them to do it while I'm around because I'm a caring mother." Oh dear.
- Because of what happened, the family lost their business, their house is in foreclosure, the mom has gone back into her depression...and Big L has had to "step up and go to the grocery store."
- They are not teaching their sons that women are pieces of meat. They are teaching them to be respectful. "If they want meat, Oprah, they can get it."
I can't watch any more.
A little off color (literally and figuratively).
And an atypical Lala post, but since the topic of Fergie and her "pee" issues came up at lunch today (delicious, I know) and since our friend Paris has been in the news (and by news I mean www.thesuperficial.com) recently for having an accident in a Hawaiian taxicab, it seemed somewhat apropos.
So...
Also atypical of Lala, I was at the gym yesterday, taking a kickboxing class. What is typical is that the class was made up of females (partly, I conjecture, because we have great imaginations and can pretend the air that we're punching and kicking is a person). Except yesterday, there was one lone gentleman in the class (note: not a place to meet chicks). This man was in his workout gear, which consisted of a gray t-shirt and light gray shorts. We're coming into the homestretch of the hour. We're punching and kicking and sweating. It is very hot in this room full of people. This is very important.
So, we're doing a pretty difficult combination of kicks, punches, and squats. I look in front of me as the instructor yells "HIGH KICKS!" Aforementioned gentleman does as instructed and I notice (as do the two ladies next to me, as evidenced by the deep intake of breath at an inopportune breathing time) that his light gray shorts are seemingly dark gray in a very unfortunate spot. A very unfortunate spot.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Mid-season change in the game?
So I was recently talking to Laguna Beach Buddy and she was bestowing upon me some wisdom. (Because (for obvious reasons) this is not a dating or relationship or otherwise similar blog, we will not go into the background of this conversation or the events instigating it. I may or may not be sorry about that. You should be grateful.)
"Lala," she said, "You really need to learn to like the lovable dork."
"Hmmm," I thought. "I have never like liked a lovable dork before," I said to LBB.
"I know this," she said.
In fact, it has always been quite the opposite--I usually like like the selectively emotional idiot (to put it nicely). "Maybe it's about time you started," LBB continued. "Look where liking the good looking assholes has gotten you in the past." (The "place," in case you're wondering, is no where). Apparently, in this world, (and I know some of you will beg to differ) good looking and asshole are not mutually exclusive.
When I recounted the conversation to CB, she agreed, saying, "LBH, we're not the un-nerdliest of folks ourselves" (sorry to crush any imaginations those of you who do not know me have of me). Ah, so true, CB. So true.
Sadly, this isn't the first I'd heard of this new approach to relationships/picking men/dating. My recently married friend (whose husband is neither nerdly nor unattractive, mind you) has been telling me for ages and ages the same thing. Without even meeting most of these no longer potential love matches, she has known.
So this got me thinking...ultimately, would I rather have Travis the Bachelor or Seth Cohen? (And, yes, I realize that Seth...I mean Adam...is a better looking "nerd" than most, but I'm also talking about more than just physical attributes here). What is appealing about one is lacking in the other, and vice versa. An interesting thing to think about I think. The naivete, the nerdiness, the intellect, the cluelessness, the normalcy of a "geek" is appealing, I will admit. And, personality does wonders for someone. I mean, it can make or break a relationship, as we are all aware.
(And now for the segue...)
That is why our friend Ashton had such a great idea when he decided to produce Beauty and the Geek. The show, which airs tonight (but at the same time as The OC!), is wonderful. A lit
tle hard to believe sometimes (are there really people who are so socially inept that they have to take a Xanax before talking to someone of the opposite sex?) but entertaining nevertheless. At the beginning of the season, you are cringing as these geeks fumble their way through even just talking to the "beauties." But, by the third of fourth episode, the geeks have grown on you. You're actually rooting for some of them and thinking, "Hey, he's not so bad after all." Because, as Ashton is working so hard to teach us, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it comes from within, and all that other good stuff. Really, I think LBB is on to something.
"Lala," she said, "You really need to learn to like the lovable dork."
"Hmmm," I thought. "I have never like liked a lovable dork before," I said to LBB.
"I know this," she said.
In fact, it has always been quite the opposite--I usually like like the selectively emotional idiot (to put it nicely). "Maybe it's about time you started," LBB continued. "Look where liking the good looking assholes has gotten you in the past." (The "place," in case you're wondering, is no where). Apparently, in this world, (and I know some of you will beg to differ) good looking and asshole are not mutually exclusive.
When I recounted the conversation to CB, she agreed, saying, "LBH, we're not the un-nerdliest of folks ourselves" (sorry to crush any imaginations those of you who do not know me have of me). Ah, so true, CB. So true.
Sadly, this isn't the first I'd heard of this new approach to relationships/picking men/dating. My recently married friend (whose husband is neither nerdly nor unattractive, mind you) has been telling me for ages and ages the same thing. Without even meeting most of these no longer potential love matches, she has known.
So this got me thinking...ultimately, would I rather have Travis the Bachelor or Seth Cohen? (And, yes, I realize that Seth...I mean Adam...is a better looking "nerd" than most, but I'm also talking about more than just physical attributes here). What is appealing about one is lacking in the other, and vice versa. An interesting thing to think about I think. The naivete, the nerdiness, the intellect, the cluelessness, the normalcy of a "geek" is appealing, I will admit. And, personality does wonders for someone. I mean, it can make or break a relationship, as we are all aware.
(And now for the segue...)
That is why our friend Ashton had such a great idea when he decided to produce Beauty and the Geek. The show, which airs tonight (but at the same time as The OC!), is wonderful. A lit
tle hard to believe sometimes (are there really people who are so socially inept that they have to take a Xanax before talking to someone of the opposite sex?) but entertaining nevertheless. At the beginning of the season, you are cringing as these geeks fumble their way through even just talking to the "beauties." But, by the third of fourth episode, the geeks have grown on you. You're actually rooting for some of them and thinking, "Hey, he's not so bad after all." Because, as Ashton is working so hard to teach us, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it comes from within, and all that other good stuff. Really, I think LBB is on to something.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
To add to your personal lexicon.
Beastie Boy v.: To sabotage, whether intentionally or not.
Could you please use it in a sentence?
Certainly: LBH, Lala, you really need to stop Beastie Boying these relationships before they start.
And, yes, I have every intention of adding this to Urban Dictionary (see post below).
Oh dear. Who knew?
So I was led to www.urbandictionary.com the other day. It's quite an amazing, amusing and time consuming little place, that website. Everything you wanted to know is right there at your fingertips...and some stuff you don't want to know. Like this.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
No one wants to marry Ryan Banks.
And that's why he's on a mid-season replacement. On CBS.Why didn't anyone tell me that Jason Priestley was joining the former teen wonder ranks and returning to primetime this season (see also Doogie Howser, David Silver and Kevin Arnold)? He's on some CBS show called Love Monkey with the guy from Ed who reminds me of Jon Stewart. I am trying to watch it but I'm not liking it. But I will try to give it a chance, just for old time's sake. Though, I would have so rather made out with Dylan than Brando (geez, hearing "Losing My Religion" still takes me back to the beach, to Brenda's and Dylan's breakup...yes! He's available!).
Getting into college just got harder.
On ABC World News Tonight tomorrow there is apparently going to be an "important" story that "every parent must see." It's about how blogs are bad! And how it is the center of life for teenagers (and sometimes even younger!) and how teens take on new personas, talk about doing things they aren't (or are?) really doing--all without shame. Kids are putting themselves in danger without even knowing it.
Good thing I already went to college. And grad school. And have a job.
It's funny how pervasive this issue is lately. There was an article on msn today, and also one in The Post. Apparently, human resources departments, hiring managers and admissions officials are checking out blogs before offering jobs or admission to applicants. They are taking what these individuals say on their sites--and not what they're capable of or what they've accomplished--and using it against them.
Some are decrying this as an invasion of privacy. Kids are getting angry with their parents when they "discover" their MySpace profiles or find their blogs. Is it an invasion of privacy when you put your thoughts and ideas and emotions out there for the world to see? When I was younger (seemingly decades ago) we had journals and diaries that we "hid" in our closets or under our beds. They had those flimsy little locks on them that, if you bought the diary at Hallmark (like many of us were prone to do), had the same combination as your bff. Your brother sneaking into your room and reading your diary? Invasion of privacy. Your mom "putting away laundry" and finding and reading your journal? Invasion of privacy. Your dad stumbling upon a recently viewed website and finding your MySpace profile, then linking to sites of all your friends? Not so much.
While it's not, in my opinion, an invasion of privacy, I still take issue with penalizing people for expressing themselves. Is it really fair to penalize kids for freedom of expression? I mean, I've read some Xanga postings of some 12 year olds (I know 12 year olds, unfortunately). And they are far more provocative and--I'll say it--unwholesome than anything I personally say, think, do, or write. But what if kids are using this as a means of expression? What if it is, actually, creative expression? Why are we stifling such expression, especially in an age where reading and writing (albeit awful and full of acronyms and computer speak) is so uncommon?
On a side note: How cool would it be to have that job in the college admissions office where you scour Facebook, MySpace, Friendster, Xanga, etc. in search of pages of applicants?
Good thing I already went to college. And grad school. And have a job.
It's funny how pervasive this issue is lately. There was an article on msn today, and also one in The Post. Apparently, human resources departments, hiring managers and admissions officials are checking out blogs before offering jobs or admission to applicants. They are taking what these individuals say on their sites--and not what they're capable of or what they've accomplished--and using it against them.
Some are decrying this as an invasion of privacy. Kids are getting angry with their parents when they "discover" their MySpace profiles or find their blogs. Is it an invasion of privacy when you put your thoughts and ideas and emotions out there for the world to see? When I was younger (seemingly decades ago) we had journals and diaries that we "hid" in our closets or under our beds. They had those flimsy little locks on them that, if you bought the diary at Hallmark (like many of us were prone to do), had the same combination as your bff. Your brother sneaking into your room and reading your diary? Invasion of privacy. Your mom "putting away laundry" and finding and reading your journal? Invasion of privacy. Your dad stumbling upon a recently viewed website and finding your MySpace profile, then linking to sites of all your friends? Not so much.
While it's not, in my opinion, an invasion of privacy, I still take issue with penalizing people for expressing themselves. Is it really fair to penalize kids for freedom of expression? I mean, I've read some Xanga postings of some 12 year olds (I know 12 year olds, unfortunately). And they are far more provocative and--I'll say it--unwholesome than anything I personally say, think, do, or write. But what if kids are using this as a means of expression? What if it is, actually, creative expression? Why are we stifling such expression, especially in an age where reading and writing (albeit awful and full of acronyms and computer speak) is so uncommon?
On a side note: How cool would it be to have that job in the college admissions office where you scour Facebook, MySpace, Friendster, Xanga, etc. in search of pages of applicants?
Haha, no trophies for the wives.
I know I'm not the first or the last blogger (haha, I'm a blogger) to write about the Golden Globes, but I feel the need. As is my (apparent) custom, I'm going to give you a list of my observations. Please note: I stopped watching at 10:00 because, duh, Travis was on and he needed--no, demanded--my full and complete attention.
- Why was Nicolette Sheridan the only housewife to have a date? Because she wasn't nominated? Was Michael Bolton compensation for not getting a nomination? Sad.
- Speaking of random dates...Mandy Moore? The on again/off again gf of Zach Braff was there in the audience, but she seemed really out of place to me. As did Alanis Morissette. Why were these randoms there? I'm just as unlikely to be in the audience. I wasn't invited. *
- Did the housewives REALLY need to keep kissing each other on the cheek and pretending they were bff? Seriously. We don't care if you love each other. Or hate each other. I'm still not going to watch.
- Awesomeness goes to Mary-Louise Parker for ousting the housewives (much like she was ousted by Claire Danes) and winning Best Performance by an Actress in a Television Series.
- Thank you, Reese, for winning. And for earning me lots of points for my fantasy fashion league. Now, Jenni seems to think that Reese and Ryan are the cutest couple...I don't know that I buy their relationship. Maybe I'm in cynic mode today.
- Why was Hillary Swank there? Did I miss a movie she was in or something? Or was she trying to make a grand first public appearance?
- Way to go to my peeps for winning the foreign language film (and for SJP and Matthew McConaughey for actually looking legitimately excited about it).
- Why was Kristin Cavalleri there??
- I hate Giuliana Depandi. And everyone else who E! employs, to be quite honest. That one girl who was interviewing people, post-show, on the Red Carpet was SUPER annoying.
- The older Ferris Bueller gets, the younger his wife looks. (PS, can you believe it's the 20th freaking anniversary of that movie?!)
- Why do stars' kids always get to be "Miss Golden Globe" (hello, daughter of Melanie Griffith...and I think, last year, it was Kevin Costner's [lucky] daughter).
- LOVED Steve Carell's acceptance speech.
- Oh, Opie looks old and haggard. In fact, so many people looked so much older this year. This does not bode well for any of us, friends. Also included in this list: Don Johnson, Russell Crowe and Rachel Weisz. Not included: George Clooney.
- I will admit Scarlett looked decent last night. However, it was absolutely, positively unnecessary for her to be mouthing her lines as the scenes from Match Point played.
- I don't remember which British person did it (he was a director/producer/and/or screenwriter), but the thank you to MLK, Jr. seemed a little ridiculous and unfelt coming from him. At least in my opinion.
- I hate Teri Hatcher. And Eva Longoria's extensions. And, speaking of EL, if she tells another magazine how she's learning French or she eats a lot, I will...well, I don't know what. But it's annoying.
- Larry McMurtry is kind of creepy.
The End.
*Thanks, Jenni, for setting me straight. Mandy was there because of Entourage (I heart E) and Alanis was there because her song for Narnia was nominated (even though Jenni thinks she should never be seen in public). And Sass, too, our resident awards show expert fo shizzle.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Stupid Astronomer.
Ugh. That's all we have to say. Somehow, Sass and La have managed to effectively waste an entire day...it's as if today didn't even happen. Somehow, we wish that it hadn't.
We had quite the evening yesterday. It started off getting all decked out and heading to our last Restaurant Week adventure. We were seated right away (at, arguably, the worst table in the resturant) and waiter took an immediate liking to Sass. Obviously. He kept trying to ply us with alcohol. So we acquiesed. Bellinis all around. Well, for the girls. Male cousin dining companion (aka Jizzle Mizzle) had his usual.
We ordered and had our first courses in front of us in 0.45 seconds. As far as La is concerned, they could have stayed in the kitchen. Vom. Literally. But more about that later.
As soon as the plates appeared, they disappeared. Before the fork came down to the plate after the last bite, a member of the 1232 person wait staff was there to clear the table. Magically, the next course appeared. Regardless, mind you, of whether the others at the table were finished with their course. So La's filet sat in front of her for 10 minutes while Jizzle Mizzle and Sass finished their appetizers. She's not rude, and she was trying to make a point. Unfortunately, it looks like a point was made to her.
The service was so annoyingly quick that Sass made use of her name and asked--hell, she told--waiter number 455 that we would appreciate it if she and JM could enjoy their wine before we were all shuffled our dessert.
Aside from the extremely rushed service and the sub par, seemingly already prepared miniscule portions, it was an okay experience. Male cousin dining companion made friends with the waiter and managed to wrangle us over the top (OTT) after dinner drinks. Those brown connections...
There may have been some non-alcohol induced vomming.
Because of other commitments, Rizzle Jizzle (not to be confused with Rizzle Mizzle aka Rom Steezy) showed up at the tail end of dinner and in time for after dinner beverages. After much contemplation, the foursome decided to head to a different venue to continue/start off their evening.
First stop: Two rounds of drinks. Interesting conversation. Lots of photos (that Sass is quite the photographer). Maybe some more puke. Again, non-alcohol induced. But, said puker is a trooper and rallied. There was no way this night was going to be cut short.
They braved the bitter wind. They headed across the street to a bar that was warm and cozy, filled with twenty-somethings like themselves and playing really awesome music, just as they hoped it would. [No dance floor] dancing and photo opportunities ensued. And more hurling. But said hurler remained strong, and no one knew of the hurling. La and Sass, though with two male escorts already, managed to garner the attention of some boys. Because her lap looks so comfortable and she, obviously, looks so inviting and approachable, La got some ass; and Sass got several come hither stares from a gentleman who was similar to the evil scrawn-monster from the previous evening.
Off to the next spot. The fabulous four left almost immediately after entering said hotspot. Proceeded to final destination where same of everything occured. Including throwing up. The rallying, continues, and the kids make it to last call. Because Vommy McVomerson had had no alcohol throughout the course of the evening (and obviously none left in the digestive track), there was a designated driver.
At 3 am and with every intention to continue the party, the four returned to La's. There were some accidents (poor Jizzle Mizzle forgot that socks on bamboo floors were extremely slippery (thanks for the two re-enactments, Rizzle) and who knew the damn two person chair was not really made for two people (poor Sass's thumb may be broken)).
There was no more booting. Until today.
We had quite the evening yesterday. It started off getting all decked out and heading to our last Restaurant Week adventure. We were seated right away (at, arguably, the worst table in the resturant) and waiter took an immediate liking to Sass. Obviously. He kept trying to ply us with alcohol. So we acquiesed. Bellinis all around. Well, for the girls. Male cousin dining companion (aka Jizzle Mizzle) had his usual.
We ordered and had our first courses in front of us in 0.45 seconds. As far as La is concerned, they could have stayed in the kitchen. Vom. Literally. But more about that later.
As soon as the plates appeared, they disappeared. Before the fork came down to the plate after the last bite, a member of the 1232 person wait staff was there to clear the table. Magically, the next course appeared. Regardless, mind you, of whether the others at the table were finished with their course. So La's filet sat in front of her for 10 minutes while Jizzle Mizzle and Sass finished their appetizers. She's not rude, and she was trying to make a point. Unfortunately, it looks like a point was made to her.
The service was so annoyingly quick that Sass made use of her name and asked--hell, she told--waiter number 455 that we would appreciate it if she and JM could enjoy their wine before we were all shuffled our dessert.
Aside from the extremely rushed service and the sub par, seemingly already prepared miniscule portions, it was an okay experience. Male cousin dining companion made friends with the waiter and managed to wrangle us over the top (OTT) after dinner drinks. Those brown connections...
There may have been some non-alcohol induced vomming.
Because of other commitments, Rizzle Jizzle (not to be confused with Rizzle Mizzle aka Rom Steezy) showed up at the tail end of dinner and in time for after dinner beverages. After much contemplation, the foursome decided to head to a different venue to continue/start off their evening.
First stop: Two rounds of drinks. Interesting conversation. Lots of photos (that Sass is quite the photographer). Maybe some more puke. Again, non-alcohol induced. But, said puker is a trooper and rallied. There was no way this night was going to be cut short.
They braved the bitter wind. They headed across the street to a bar that was warm and cozy, filled with twenty-somethings like themselves and playing really awesome music, just as they hoped it would. [No dance floor] dancing and photo opportunities ensued. And more hurling. But said hurler remained strong, and no one knew of the hurling. La and Sass, though with two male escorts already, managed to garner the attention of some boys. Because her lap looks so comfortable and she, obviously, looks so inviting and approachable, La got some ass; and Sass got several come hither stares from a gentleman who was similar to the evil scrawn-monster from the previous evening.
Off to the next spot. The fabulous four left almost immediately after entering said hotspot. Proceeded to final destination where same of everything occured. Including throwing up. The rallying, continues, and the kids make it to last call. Because Vommy McVomerson had had no alcohol throughout the course of the evening (and obviously none left in the digestive track), there was a designated driver.
At 3 am and with every intention to continue the party, the four returned to La's. There were some accidents (poor Jizzle Mizzle forgot that socks on bamboo floors were extremely slippery (thanks for the two re-enactments, Rizzle) and who knew the damn two person chair was not really made for two people (poor Sass's thumb may be broken)).
There was no more booting. Until today.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
"It's not because he has facial hair."
So, night number three has come and gone. And I'd love to tell you all, my faithful readers, that we went down in flames. And we were taken down not by a big ball of fire but, rather, an inconspicuous effing spark.
But before we get there, let me do a quick [listed, of course] recap of our day.
But before we get there, let me do a quick [listed, of course] recap of our day.
- We hung out with a barely one-year old decked out more fashionably than we were. Gotta love a cute baby with already apparent fashion sense (and an insane ability to flirt like a pro).
- Not counting said fashionable one year old, we were the oldest people (why don't kids around here ever go to school?) at the restaurant where we had our mucho delicious pizza lunch. (Bonus: Sass can cross another "good" restaurant off her DC restaurant list).
- We became intimately acquainted with all the sides streets in Georgetown [one way signs be damned] as we searched endlessly for a parking garage that was not "temporarily full."
- La practiced her parking in a small small spot abilities [to all you who know my parking abilities, this was quite a feat].
- We exercised our facial muscles by consciously and overly conspicuously smiling at everyone who walked by the Starbucks plate glass window as we sat and had our afternoon coffee. Despite our best intentions, we did not [or have not, as of yet] made it into Missed Connections.
- The weather was so nice that we opened the sun roof, rolled down the windows and let the iPod play all of its favorite ghetto jams [loudly] as we crawled down M Street during rush hour.
- We learned not to buy "designer" bags off the street, that FCUK shirts look cool folded up but not so cool on actual bodies, and that drivers around here are horrible (present company (ahem, me) excluded).
- "Cowboy man love is brutal."
So we go out for drinks. And we sit at the bar and order delicious mojitos. We ordered them because (1) we like them and (2) they seemed to be good at this particular venue, as implied by the sugar cane strewn bartop and the myriad "relaxed" fellow bar sitters. We made friends with our bartender, who served Sass even though she couldn't come up with the proper paperwork when he asked for identification. We love him. Since we were being adventurous and metropolitan, we hopped over to another venue.
After finding a spot, we made ourselves comfortable and made some observations. We watched as middle aged people on a date ignored each other. We watched (out of the corner of our eye, we're not rude) as an obviously overweight, overly blonde and overly made up woman sat at the bar, with her pink suede purse in front of her, drinking a beer. We felt bad for her. Until...
We listened as a scrawny scrawny skeevy short goateed man approached her. Her first comment to him? "I don't like facial hair." He then walked away and she called him back, saying she had a question for him.
Unfortunately, it was at that moment that our [until then absent] bartender came up to us to see what we wanted. We ordered and then she had the audacity to ask us for IDs. Sass admitted she didn't have hers. OH, dilemma.
Bartender calls over goateed man and says, "Hey, how old do you think she is?" He looks at Sass and says, "20." Sass, approaching a big birthday this year, takes this as a compliment. "Really," she asks. "Awesome." So then he's like "ID." Um, what?! She offers him other forms of identification that, while they didn't specifically give her age, implied it (um, I'm sorry, but when were 20 year olds licensed to practice law?). No dice. He was actually quite an asshole about it. So Sass and La had no other option but to blow that popsicle stand.
Worldly and mature Sass had been denied alcohol! By a "man" who obviously got his power trip from denying women the one substance that, under circumstances not ever ever involving La or Sass, could get him the one thing he needs and covets the most. We don't need your alcohol, anyway.
And, a man did find his way onto our radar screens. His name is Ronald. Ronald Miller. And he's not a doctor yet, but he will be some day.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
"We need to grab one of those young smart ones before he like, uh, patents something."**
So, folks, Sassafrass is here and we're taking the city by storm. Yesterday night we met all the gang at our favorite spot for chili dogs, beer and good music off the digital jukebox. Sass had a great time meeting everyone and taking in the sights that the inn had to offer (to include, but not be limited to, the table of 60+ year old men who were infatuated with our table full of fun, the shorts with Vienna Inn across the ass, the filet mignon special, and our docile friend Scoot making out with the Gashole pinup poster). After several pitchers of beer, at least two extraordinary crayon portraits, a dozen fully loaded dogs and lots of liquid cheese, we left. Our goal, as far as we were concerned, had been met: Sass had a good means of comparison for tonight, where we hit up 1789 for our first Restaurant Week adventure.
So our meal was definitely Top 5...maybe even Top 3. My Laguna Beach Buddy and a
friend of ours from our post-college hey days were our fabulous dinner companions. Because they have important jobs (hey, LB Buddy started a new job this week and one of her co-workers is one of the same age buddies we met at LuLus! Small world, huh?) and/or a husband and child, they headed home. We headed to a bar. Filled with gals and lads no greater than 22 years old which, if you're doing the math, is no less than seven years younger than we. But we're hot. And sassy. And breezy. And dammit if we weren't going to have a good time. I mean, this was prime opportunity for us to relive our glory days and make new friends. We had already totally befriended the restaurant bartender and our waiter. These were college kids. We could surely hang with them. Well, at least we tried.
**See also Beauty and the Geek (Thanks, Ashton).
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Boogies.
By virtue of my job (please please please don't ask me to explain what I do), I am often in meetings. And, more often than not, I am the only one without a Y chromosome. And, almost always, the only one under the age of 35. So, not surprisingly, I found myself in such a situation this afternoon. While I have a "wide and varied skill set" (and lots and lots of school behind me, go figure), I was in charge of...running the powerpoint slideshow. In case you were concerned, it went off without a hitch.
Anyway, this is not the point of my story. The point of my story is that old[er] men are interesting creatures to observe. I was sitting at the meeting today, carefully listening to pricing strategy when all of a sudden I hear a loud sneeze. Like a really loud one. A sneeze that definitely would never come from a woman. It's the dude sitting next to me. "Bless you," I say. Because I'm polite like that and I can multitask (see wide and varied skill set). He says "thank you," as he removes from his pocket a handkerchief. Which he then proceeds to use. He blows his boogies into it (like really blows) and then he puts it back in his pocket. Ten minutes later, he does it again.
I can't even say any more about this. I'm sorry.
Anyway, this is not the point of my story. The point of my story is that old[er] men are interesting creatures to observe. I was sitting at the meeting today, carefully listening to pricing strategy when all of a sudden I hear a loud sneeze. Like a really loud one. A sneeze that definitely would never come from a woman. It's the dude sitting next to me. "Bless you," I say. Because I'm polite like that and I can multitask (see wide and varied skill set). He says "thank you," as he removes from his pocket a handkerchief. Which he then proceeds to use. He blows his boogies into it (like really blows) and then he puts it back in his pocket. Ten minutes later, he does it again.
I can't even say any more about this. I'm sorry.
How dare you call me a cynic?
Linda Holmes, you MSNBC contributor, what do you know?
- She calls Travis "ordinary." Um, if he is ordinary than 99.34% of the males I know are less than ordinary. Sorry, guys.
- Why does she say it's an ideal show for cynics? It's not, I'm sorry. The Bachelor doesn't make you cynical that love exists but, rather, that love cannot be born and bred on primetime television. And, really, is that such a bad opinion to have? Trista and Ryan are just a fluke in the whole process...and I still find them hard to believe. (Six degrees of separation alert: my BFF Abu Shekha's brother is a college friend of Ryan. Ryan stayed at their house two days after my stay there ended (blast!). Brother went to the [famous stripper filled beach] bachelor party and was on tv and was heard telling Ryan to stop being such a baby. He also attended the wedding, and friend has a cookie plastered with the faces of the happy couple. Brother also spent time talking to Estella at said nuptials while Bob the Bachelor was off being annoying somewhere).
- Did anyone watch the Byron/Mary season? Who wants to watch old people fall in love? Not me. But give me a hottie and some vapid (way to go, Linda, for using such a good word), obsessed, catty females and I'm there.
- "...knowing all the time that they will one day be pictured in Us magazine in a graphic based around a ripped photo, under the headline, "WHAT WENT WRONG?" Haha, having the cover artist job for The Bible is the easiest/best job ever. This brings me to the fact that, once they appear on these shows, the "contestants" become "celebrities." Really? Come on. Take [omg I hate her so much] Jen Schefft as an example. Where the eff did she come from? And why was she, for so long, gracing the pages of Us? She was taking prime magazine real estate away from people about whom we really care. And you know who you are.
- Yeah, so Bob the Bachelor is now married. And so is the short little girl who made it to the end. Kellie Jo? Was that her name? Whatever. But, proof of #4...I know she's married because it was in The Bible. Why?! Who cares?? I don't even remember her name, yet I know she married some hockey player in Germany or something and she's really happy and that The Bachelor was the best experience of her life.
- "The behavior of the participants along the way is enough to convince anyone that human beings are just not meant to date each other. With the insistence that one can "fall in love" after two dates that included other people, the sloppy kissing, and the women who become backbiting seventh-graders when competing for the affections of a real live bass fisherman, none of the show's atmosphere makes relationships look appealing." So, human beings are not meant to date? Linda, are you giving a death sentence to the world, here? Yes, it is probably difficult to "date" and for a relationship to flourish in an environment where you are in obvious competition for the affections of the predator. And if the cameras are following you around, catching your every move (RIP Lacheys). But, though this is "reality" television, we still all are able to suspend our disbelief.
- "...jewelry doesn't make an engagement." Um, four carat Harry Winston, anyone? Ok, ok, love is more important. Finding your soulmate is priceless. I know, I know.
- "What cliché makes a more tempting target than strolling under the stars? Strolling under the stars in Paris!" Um, no, Linda, strolling under the stars with Travis. Come on. How can she be ignoring the fact that, despite being on a reality dating show, he is a very attractive, established, smart, and seemingly nice guy? That, dear writer, is the appeal. Not a hate-love relationship. Not a cynicism beyond repair.
- Our friend Linda claims that there are limited options in trying to garner interest in a failing dynasty such as The Bachelor and the something needed to be done. "That is, unless there is any interest in changing the formula of chiseled, boring men choosing from among dullard women born without the gene for pride." Hahahahaha.
- "No one watches it because it's good; people watch it because it's on, and because it's familiar, and because there's something reassuring about learning over and over again that however stupid love is, it's smarter than this." STOP calling me stupid.
- "No, The Bachelor is not a show for romantics. It is a show for cynics, in which the greatest pleasure is usually reassuring yourself that you don't want to date vapid people. You don't want The Bachelor. " I don't need a show to tell me I don't want to date vapid people. Don't tell me who I want or why I'm watching, Linda. The greatest pleasure you get from watching this show is hope. The hope that, while untraditional, this may lend itself to a relationship that works. Chances are (and speaking based on the show's statistics), this is unlikely. But when is a relationship ever a sure thing? In order for the show to make you cynical, you need to have cynical tendencies already, and those come from life, not from the producers at ABC.
*Travis Stork picture count for the week: 2
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Is that what the kids are calling [you] these days?
Welcome to the first of what hopefully will become a frequent joint venture between Borrowing (and causing) t-r-o-u-b-l-e and The Soup du Jour. So, we never really call anyone (at least when referring to them in [slanderous] conversation) by their real names. Everyone has a nickname and, for some reason, they always seem to stick, no questions asked. The inspiration behind some of these names has long since been forgotten, but the name--and legend--lives on. Sometimes, if you're lucky, the names are based in love/like. But, more often that not, not so much.
Sometimes the names come about from certain events where the person was present (I will never live down Pooponya...shortened to, you guessed it, Poop). Other times, it is because of a characteristic (whether beyond the person's control or not) the person has (sup, Brown Sara). Sometimes, it's because of a misunderstanding (hey, Nick the Granite Guy). And sometimes, it's just because (Asshole--fits several individuals interchangeably). Sometimes, because they are so "worthy," individuals have more than one nickname, the one you use chosen based on that day's/hour's/minute's specific transgression(s) (Sweenie, Morris the Cat, Effer). More often than not, the individuals are unaware of their pseudonyms. Thank God.
Sometimes the names come about from certain events where the person was present (I will never live down Pooponya...shortened to, you guessed it, Poop). Other times, it is because of a characteristic (whether beyond the person's control or not) the person has (sup, Brown Sara). Sometimes, it's because of a misunderstanding (hey, Nick the Granite Guy). And sometimes, it's just because (Asshole--fits several individuals interchangeably). Sometimes, because they are so "worthy," individuals have more than one nickname, the one you use chosen based on that day's/hour's/minute's specific transgression(s) (Sweenie, Morris the Cat, Effer). More often than not, the individuals are unaware of their pseudonyms. Thank God.
So, you already know
- Nick the Granite Guy and
- Brown Sara
And you've met, through our blog links,
We'd like to introduce you to:
- My favorite "cousin"
- Abu Shekha
- Mean Uncle
- Her rainbow husband
- HAB
- Monochrome
- W.T.F. T.O.T.
- Sketchy Eddie
- Car Wash Gary
- Rizzle Jizzle, Jizzle Mizzle and Rizzle Mizzle (aka Rom Stizzle or Rom Steezy)
- Tom Dildo
- JRizaradSK8gal
- Habib Marwan
- Tommy Tow Truck
- Chico
- Larry
- Hua Mei the Baby Panda
- Squeaky
- Aunt Danny
- Our white cousin
- Belinga (Bling Bling)
The joy of having the two of us write this is that you don't know who made which nickname contributions. This is sure to be (oh we hope we hope we hope) kind of like "Missed Connections" on craigslist...you're going to think/hope/wonder if the person being spoken of is you or someone you know. In this case, you probably better hope that it's not. We're not mean, really. We're just...convenient.
You can't have unwholesome...
...without the ho. I guess if you're Scarlett Johansson you can make comments about how you don't believe in monogamy. Because then, when you act like an unwholesome girl, you have an excuse, because you never believed in only being with one person, anyway. Way to cover your ass, Scar.
I will commend her for admitting that if she finds someone she wants to have children with she will marry him. Because nothing is better for raising children than a loveless marriage.
Also, per this article, she denies making out with or ever wanting to date Jonathan Rhys-Meyers because he's gossipy and likes shoes. Hmmm. I think I'd overlook those downfalls. He has an accent, for God's sake. I mean, she's dated Jared Leto (sloppy seconds go to Linds), she has had a rendezvous in an elevator with Benicio Del Toro (ew. Slimy and dirty. He falls into the Ethan Hawke/Richard Grieco/Keanu Reeves/Christian Slater category for me) and Josh Hartnett (so she likes her brunettes). Jonathan is a bit better than those dudes, in my opinion. But what do I know? (That was rhetorical, btw).
Monday, January 09, 2006
All she wants to do...
...is kick him in the ball[s].
Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong are, in the immortal words of Kristin Cavallari, dunzo.
Our good friend at E! Ted Casablanca broke the news today, but word was on the [Gray] street two weeks ago, when Jenni let the cat out of the bag. Way to scoop Ted, Jenni.
Per Ted (and the awesome rumor mill), Lance dumped his paramour right before Christmas. Apparently, Lancey has broken up with Sheryl before, and not just once. Um, hasn't she read He's Just Not That Into You? One of the cardinal rules, ladies (and gents) is: Never go back to someone who has rejected you in the past. (Again, peanut gallery, please keep your comments to yourself). She should've known better.
Not to mention the fact that he left a wife and children for her, too. So, the relationship never got off to a good start. Now that his children are sufficiently attached to their would've been stepmom, he pulls the plug. Sweet, Lance. Ruin some more lives.
Ok, so he's a great athlete. And he is a cancer survivor. But so are a lot of people. Come on Sheryl, you can do better. Now she's going to be all morose and depressed. Can't wait for the album that this inspires.
Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong are, in the immortal words of Kristin Cavallari, dunzo.
Our good friend at E! Ted Casablanca broke the news today, but word was on the [Gray] street two weeks ago, when Jenni let the cat out of the bag. Way to scoop Ted, Jenni.
Per Ted (and the awesome rumor mill), Lance dumped his paramour right before Christmas. Apparently, Lancey has broken up with Sheryl before, and not just once. Um, hasn't she read He's Just Not That Into You? One of the cardinal rules, ladies (and gents) is: Never go back to someone who has rejected you in the past. (Again, peanut gallery, please keep your comments to yourself). She should've known better.
Not to mention the fact that he left a wife and children for her, too. So, the relationship never got off to a good start. Now that his children are sufficiently attached to their would've been stepmom, he pulls the plug. Sweet, Lance. Ruin some more lives.
Ok, so he's a great athlete. And he is a cancer survivor. But so are a lot of people. Come on Sheryl, you can do better. Now she's going to be all morose and depressed. Can't wait for the album that this inspires.
Will the real Dr. McDreamy...
...please stand up (refrain from your Eminem references, CB).
The Bachelor starts tonight and I will, admittedly, be watching it. There's nothing I can do about my addiction to really bad television, especially if it involves dreamy main men and annoying women who are making fools of themselves. BTW, "dreamy" is highly underused and, thus, I am incorporating it into my vocabulary, along with Molly's (stolen from Bandit) "irresponsibly hot."
It's annoying to me that everyone is calling Travis (ew, bad name) the "real" Dr. McDreamy. What would they call him if The Bachelor and Grey's Anatomy weren't on the same network? It's bad marketing, at best. Like we wouldn't watch, anyway.
Hopefully he'll be better than Charlie. Charlie was annoying.
Ok, ok...I know most of you can see through this horribly veiled attempt to just put these two pictures up...pathetic.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
So wrong. In so many ways.
So there's an article in The Bible this week about the first single to drop from K-Fed's new "album." The song is called "PopoZao" and is being touted as a Brazilian dance track. Because Kevin is Brazilian. And has been to Brazil. And has a knowledge of Brazilian culture. And is fluent in Portuguese.In his "song," K-Fed says that the title translates to "bring your ass" [on the floor]. The article cites someone more familiar with all things Brazil as saying that what it actually means is "a girl with a large posterior." (K-Fed: posterior means ass).
The lyrics are horrid.
In Portuguese it means bring your ass on the floor and move it real fast
I wanna see your kitty and a little bitta t---y*
Wanna know where I go when I'm in your city
Girl, don't you worry about all the dough
Cuz a cat is coming straight outta the know
Bring that Brazil booty on the floor
Up, down, all around
Work that shit to this funky sound
Wanna see what I'm gonna owe
Po, Po, Po, Po, PopoZao, PopoZao
Po, Po, Po, Po, PopoZao, PopoZao
Po, Po, Po, Po, PopoZao, PopoZao
*(1) I will not dignify his lyrics by spelling out inappropriate words from this (2) worst song lyric EVER.
The "expert" opinion of [not] Steve Martin (he does PR for The Foo Fighters and The Strokes) is that "The American music-buying public will not stand for such flagrant disregard for grammar." Amen.
And, on that note, I'll end with a quote from Kevin himself (from his myspace profile): "I dropped my new single too [sic] start off the new year." Start it off badly, Kev? Was that your intent?
Wait! Before you go...look at this example of inappropriateness (a pic of "Kevin Fed
erline and baby"). Way to go, again, Kev. Don't smoke near the baby! What if that little hand reaches out a little farther and hits the cigarette and it ashes on you and you burn yourself? I guess it's better than Kev smoking pot in front of the baby...good thing Brit Brit has her priorities straight.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Will it ever end??
J.Simp has been announced as the opening act of the People's Choice Awards (Tuesday, January 10. See local listings for time.). Okay, as far as awards shows go, the PCA are B-list at best. But still. Jessica? She will be singing her [apparent] hit "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'" (OH OH OH...I get the headline now...she is "kicking off" the awards. Clever.). Frank Sinatra (RIP) will roll over in his grave (unless he was cremated, in which case I'm not sure).
Here we go with my comments:
Here we go with my comments:
- When are they going to stop calling her a former "newlywed." It's not cute or funny any more.
- Why is this performance "special," anyway? Is it because it's her first performance (VH1 "Big in '05" acceptance speech notwithstanding) since...dum dum dum...the breakup?
- “Jessica’s true vocal talent, unlimited energy and undeniable charisma will truly be a great addition to this year’s show,” executive producer Carol Donovan said in a statement Thursday. Pathetic alert: I have seen Jessica in concert. Disclaimer: the tickets were free, the venue was fun, and I went with fun people and it was excellent people watching. In fact, it was also the scene of "Ruffled Skirt Fest '04" where, in less than one hour, we spotted over 120. Note to 40+ year old men who might kind of sort of like Jessica...don't, please don't, go to her concerts. Especially by yourself. And, if you can't meet this one request and you do go, please wear something other than your Levis jean shorts and bright white Reeboks. She doesn't go for that. Ok, back to commenting...she lip synched (shocker, I know) and obviously didn't even have the energy to mouth the words. I can't imagine her actually having to sing an entire show. But I guess one song is fine.
- Jessica's competition for "Favorite Song in a Movie" is Amerie's "1 Thing" (from Hitch...um, anyone know this one?) and "Errtime" by Nelly (from The Longest Yard). I'm thinking "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'" is probably going to win. And then we'll get to hear another great acceptance speech!
- Poor Nick is always going to be labeled as a "former boy band member" or "Jessica Simpson's ex-husband" or "him."
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Why didn't I think of this?!
Brilliant. Shout out to Sara for calling this (and the fact that I didn't give her a shout out, and even Trent gives shout outs) to my attention.
Let's go paragraph by paragraph, shall we? This is kind of going to be stream of consciousness, which usually would annoy me but I see no other way.
Let's go paragraph by paragraph, shall we? This is kind of going to be stream of consciousness, which usually would annoy me but I see no other way.
- First of all, anything that starts with "according to the National Enquirer "is, obvi, the Word of God (and awesome). Didn't Michael learn his lesson re: the Jesus juice? Drugs and alcohol don't mix, dude. Well, not on a consistent basis, that is. Hey, my uncle just moved to Bahrain...it's not that big of a country...maybe if I go visit I'll see Michael.
- Jammies. HAHAHA. And, please, Michael should not be grouped into "our most beloved stars" category.
- Is exhaustion contagious? I secretly really really heart Mariah these days ( anyone else have"We belong together" on repeat?). And, where do I send my donation? Dad keeps saying I need to give more to charity so I can stop complaining about my exorbitant tax bills...
- Abso-effing-lutely.
- I'd be exhausted, too, if I had to carry around 500 lb. Paula Abdul is weird...let's not forget the whole Corey Clark debacle. And Liza Minnelli and Elizabeth Taylor? Ruben Stoddard aside, this is a list of veritable kooks.
- Um, if any one of you has a subscription to the Enquirer you are my new bff. I think my friends and I collectively get every single rag there is...except that one.
- Don't judge Colin Farrell harshly because he has a drug problem. Judge him harshly because he has a drug problem and a host of STDs.
- Hmm, add Eminem (and stupid stupid stupid Kim) to #5.
- The Simpsons save Ashlee's day yet again. What a nice family.
- Um, the author of this article obviously isn't reading Vanity Fair or my blog. This is some outdated info, dude.
- Hillary Duff was in three movies? I can name two (eek, did I just admit that?): the stupid singing one and The Perfect Man. Have I seen that one? Um, it has Mr. Big in it, so see #4. By "doing nothing for a while" I think the reporter means "Joel Madden."
- Poor Goo Goo Dolls...they get put on the RMAs after Hillary Duff and Bo Bice bail. Eek. Their 15 minutes of fame is long gone, I see.
- I can't even.
- We need to do a fundraiser. I like to plan things. Let's get this show on the road.
It's not raining men.
At least not in the town of Chewandswallow (or here, even, but that's neither here nor there at the moment). In Chewandswallow, my friends, it rains soup.
Welcome to a review (eh, it's more like a summary--can't be critical and analytical at the moment) of my favorite book Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.
The land of Chewandswallow is quite unique in that there is not a food store of any kind in the whole town! There's no need. The food comes with the weather, three times a day (coincidentally, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner). When it rained it came in the form of soup (lobster bisque with creme fraiche?) or beverages (vodka and lemonade?). When it snowed, it snowed mashed potatoes with a hearty helping of buttery yellow sunshine. On a good day, the wind blew in hamburgers and donuts.
What a wonderful life these townsfolk live, no? But wait! Trouble is bound to ensue...
Soon, the weather gets bad! The food got bigger and bigger and so did the portions. The townspeople didn't know what to do! Floods of gravy and chocolate milk threatened the town. Everything was a big mess. The townspeople began to fear for their lives (and, the food was going down in quality, too. Moldy bread was falling from the sky, and gorgonzola cheese. Ew!). What were they to do?
Ha, I'm not going to tell you. You have to go and read it for yourself (no worries, I have a copy if you want to borrow it).
This book was my all time favorite as a kid...I first saw it on Reading Rainbow (sup, LeVar?), where I was also introduced to my second favorite, Gregory the Terrible Eater (do we see a trend here?). So I was a nerdy book obsessed kid who was also obsessed with food. Ah, the more things change the more they stay the same.
Here's another (better? Debatable.) review.
This is La, signing out.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
These are her confessions.
Our favorite Mean Girl[s] has found her way into the spotlight yet again. As if being hospitalized for an "asthma attack" [while partying hardcore over New Year's in Miami] wasn't enough, today we get this startling (?) "confession"--Lindsay Lohan was bullimic and she dabbled with drugs. Shocker!
As usual, so much to say:
- There are typos in the article. Pet Peeve #1.
- L.Lo denies using cocaine saying, "'I don't want people to think that I've done ... you know what I mean?" She doesn't want people thinking or knowing? She just confessed to it. No backtracking, Linds.
- She confesses to having an eating disorder: "I was making myself sick." Literally? Figuratively? Both?
- Lorne Michaels and Tina Fey care enough about her to sit her down and have a pseudo intervention? Did they do that for Ash, too? Did they tell Ash she's too talented to waste away like that? Wait, I forgot...Ash's eating disorder ended when she was 11, after her family's love and concern saved the day.
- "I knew I had a problem and I couldn't admit it." Um, if you recognize that you know you have a problem, isn't that admitting it? I think she probably meant "I couldn't accept it."
- Why is she only doing movies, these days, about assassins?
- Dina Lohan is making comments to Ok! Does that mean it has replaced the bible?
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
This can't be true.
How can this possibly be true? Since when did Ryan Seacrest become the entertainment guru of the 21st century? What does he know about ANYTHING??
I am appalled. $21 million dollars???? Managing editor of E! News???? Filling in for Larry King??? There is just too too too much wrong with all of this...he looking like a muppet (per my astute brother) being the least of these atrocities. I'm totally just as qualified as he is.
Um, if I pen a best-selling book can I have this job? What is this book going to be about? And what deems it a bestseller? I wonder who will be his target audience. No fair if he gets a ghost writer (guaranteed this is going to happen--and I'm available, Ry guy...hit me up).
What does it take to be the executive producer of the Live From the Red Carpet? I mean, I can make sure my hosts are talking to the right people at the right times. I can tell people what to do, I can stage interviews. Dude, I could probably even host the dang show. If Joan and Melissa Rivers used to do it together...duh, I think I can handle it (fear of public speaking aside). It's not like I don't have opinions on stars' attire or an unhealthy knowledge of who they wear and why (I mean, I'm not almost winning Fantasy Fashion League for naught).
And, lead anchor of E! News? What's going to happen to Guiliana?? Is she getting nixed? For a muppet? Sad. Though, she kind of looks like one, too.
Ok, so he's also being groomed to host New Year's Rockin' Eve (I like New Years. And I can count down from 10-1 on time, unlike others), he's still going to do American Idol, and he's still hosting his America's Top 40 (I love pop) countdown (is Casey Kasem still alive?). Not to mention running Ryan Seacrest Productions (I can tell people what to do). Where does the boy find the time (I obviously have all the time in the world)? Good thing his talk show was cancelled. But not before I got to sit in the audience. In the front row. Don't be j.
He is taking lots of cool, entertainment jobs away from capable individuals. He's being selfish. He can't handle all of this. I know he can't. I wonder if he's the type of guy to remember the people who got him to where he is now.
Monday, January 02, 2006
"I have the ability to sense oncoming danger"
That was the quote of the night, spoken by my Laguna Beach fiasco partner in crime at an almost equally "interesting" drinking venue.New Year's Eve has come and gone, my friends, and here are a few things that I (and my fellow causers of trouble) would like to remember about saying goodbye to 2005...some lessons learned, if you will:
- If you happen to have a job where you create signs/"maps" for housing developments showing where certain addresses are located, make them understandable. Don't make them look like a compass, because directionally challenged people, even with navigational help (thanks, Jack) will not be able to figure out where to go.
- There are certain first names that make people un-dateable. To protect the [not so] innocent, I will not list them here. But trust me. Sadly, it was a conversation that I began that started this whole discussion. Suffice to say, more than one failed "relationship" in my repertoire can be attributed to the individual's first name...even though our names are none of our own doing and, per a fellow party guest, "we just have to deal with the cards we're dealt."
- SoCo and lime is always a good shot. And pay no matter to the type of red "wine" you put into a sangria mixture.
- If someone asks you what your plans are for the evening, and you tell them, don't expect them to show up (or even call) and hang out with you. Especially if they're male. And an asshole. (I see your brains working...this lesson does not correspond in any way to lesson one from above).
- Silver, sequined, sleeveless dresses that don't even come mid-thigh are not appropriate attire for a bar. On New Year's Eve. Or ever. Neither is big, blonde hair to go along with said outfit.
- Extremely intoxicated girls who break into an obviously exclusive dance circle should never be befriended. Especially if such a girl throws her arms around various members of the group and says "save me" while motioning toward a group of "men," two of whom (separately and at various times throughout the evening) she is later spotted smooching.
- If the band is playing good music and you want to dance, by all means, DANCE! Even if "dancing" to you is flailing around the dance floor in various stages of extreme hyperactivity and over-exertion. And even if you're slightly awkward and way over the age of 40. You will provide hours of happiness and smiles to all those around you (not to mention conversation fodder for at least days to come).
- If you're leading a countdown to the new year and there's a large crowd depending on you, make sure that you are on the same count as the television countdown. Please do not count ahead. Because when you scream "Happy New Year!" and there are five seconds left on Carson Daly's countdown (um, yeah, no Dick Clark at our bar of choice), you are officially annoying and it's ripping me off five seconds of what was a pretty good year.
- Cabs are always worth whatever they cost (again, a lesson already previously learned). This is especially true if the cab driver honestly and truly thinks you are 22 years old. And calls you his "two most beautiful passengers" (note: we were also his only passengers, but we know better than to look the gift horse in the mouth). And tries to get you to change your destination from home to downtown because, "that's where all the fun is." Dammit, we missed the fun again.
- Even if you're not as hungover as you thought/hoped you'd be, you can still pretend you partied like a rock star the night before (thus justifying any future caloric consumption) and go out for a recovery brunch the next day. And you're allowed to have some coke, even if you are trying your hardest (headaches, be damned) to get off of it. Come on kids, I'd be way skinnier if it was the real rock star stuff.
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