Have a Rockin' New Year

Merry Tennis Balls!

I must be one of those people. Those people that other people like to talk to.

A strange woman started talking to me in line at Starbucks. She asked me what to get a pedicurist for Christmas. After a 5 minute discussion (entirely on her end), 'we' decided that since you never get the same girl twice, and they are tipped already for their service, the Christmas present should be for the entire group of girls, and my new friend would make them a batch of cookies.

She then told me about her son, who really wanted a down vest and they went to Banana Republic, but you know how they’re preppy, and her son is preppy, but not THAT preppy, plus they cost about 80 dollars, so she went online to Land’s End, and they have these great jackets that are rated for 15 below, and they actually say that on the website with the ratings and the temperatures, so if it's rated for 15 below it must be good enough for L.A., so she ordered it, and it came yesterday…

And it was about then that I tuned out. I’m glad I was wearing sunglasses, otherwise she might have seen that glazed donut look in my eyes.

As she continued to tell me about this down jacket, and it’s miracle-ness…I realized that I must have a certain look. The look of a ‘listener’. I nod, I smile…so maybe I have that ‘therapist’ look to me. "And what do you think about that?" should be my common retort.

Or maybe I'm kindly. Like Santa Claus. I'm Miss Claus - tell me what you want, tell me about your son's down jacket. Talk to me.

Or maybe, the world is just so full of crappy people that when someone even appears remotely nice, friendly and 'there', you latch onto them like they are the only remaining vestige of a real human connection out there for you. I, the random starbucks patron, am the only woman who will listen to the tale of the pedicurist and the down jacket like it’s an Aesop fable, and nod knowingly at the end. I'll be kind, and allow the connection.

And that's a pretty sad state of humanity. When, even in the holiday season, you have to turn to strangers for a human moment. Tis the season to be cold and distant. Tis the season to be with your family, and ignore the beggar on the corner. Tis the season to say Bah Humbug. Well...not for me. I welcome being Miss Claus, and I welcome giving whatever I can.

As she wrapped up her story, grabbed her latte, she reached the moral to the fable – "You know how you keep a down jacket fluffy when you wash it?" I answered ‘no idea’ politely, and she looked knowingly at me, and said "tennis balls in the dryer".

She giggled, and slyly said "now the only problem is keeping them away from the dog!" - and we shared a moment of strange absurd laughter at the absurd story, the absurd moral, and the absurd Santa Claus/child on my knee relationship developed.

She left smiling, after my pat on the head. Miss Claus will be sure to deliver your cheer and whatever your hearts desire...even if it's only a latte and a kind ear.

Ho Ho Ho...Merry Christmas everyone!

Porn For Women

Tuesday Blues

Why?

I don't know. Just because.

Hot Damn

What amazing novelty is this?

Self-heating hot cocoa?

The light in the grocery store seemed to narrow and focus on the shelving with this glorious invention. Angels sung a symphony of praise and wonderment. Trumpets blared Vivaldi, and pimpley-faced clerks in red aprons bowed in humble worship.

Are you seriously telling me that without access to a microwave, without a stove, and even without the cave-man ability to make fire, milk a cow and shell cocoa beans, I am able to enjoy a lovely hot chocolately beverage?

With marshmallows?

My god, it’s a christmas miracle.

She Said Guacamole...(giggle)

My friend V and I had the following discussion about food:

V: It's so psychological, all this eating and starving. Food is the great love of my life.

me: I know - but I'd prefer it be a person!

V: Yeah, just think if food was a person!!!

me: I'd be having a passionate addictive affair...

V: I would never be bored. Especially if my man was Mexican food incarnate. Come get in bed with the spicy creamy guacamole man. No strings attached. Just nonstop melted cheese and crunchy chips.


I'm heading to Don Cucos...anyone care to join me? Wink wink.

Green Arrow & Black Canary

Is it just me, or is this a darn sexy comic book frame?

Because Hyperion Said So

Hyperion threatened my husband (Richard Dean Anderson aka MacGyver) with death if I did not post today. Far be it from me to mention that I am CONFINED TO BED by doctors orders due to back spasms. In fact, it hardly hurts. Not even noticeable if you don't count the hot searing pain and writhing followed by bouts of falling to the floor.

However, I shall post on...

Last month, the results of a poll commissioned by the McCormick Tribune Foundation (designed to urge people to become better prepared for disasters) asked Americans whom among seven fictional heroes they would choose to ask for help in the event of an emergency.

MacGyver (27%)
Indiana Jones (16%)
John McClane (14%)
James Bond (8%)
Jason Bourne (8%)
Jack Bauer (7%)
Lara Croft (7%)

When Richard Dean Anderson was approached for a comment about the survey results, he sent this response:

"My initial reaction was: Aw, shucks...But then I'm thinking, well, yeah, he could handle it. In fact, truth be known, I'd want to be with Mac in any dire strait, too. I am flattered by the vote of confidence. And if any of the 27% need anything, let me know.
'Mac'"

I really need you to come over and rub my back, Rick.

Seriously.

Call me?

Match.me

I did it. I officially became one of the lovelorn throng.

I joined match.com.

I shilled out my 40 dollars. (holy jesus!) 40 bucks for 1 month of potential torturous flipping through pictures and profiles and finally realizing that I don't like anyone, and it's not worth it.

As soon as my credit card cleared with a mighty ka-CHING, Match sent me the following email:

"Hold on to your heart, schrodingerskitten, you just got a subscription for LOVE"

No, I am not joking.

James Always Loved You Best

Lois Maxwell (a.k.a. Moneypenny) 1927-2007

Bond: Moneypenny, what gives?
Moneypenny: Me, given an ounce of encouragement! You never take me to dinner looking like this James. You never take me to dinner period.
Bond: I would you know, only M would have me court-marshalled for "illegal use of government property".
Moneypenny: Flattery will get you nowhere, but don't stop trying!

If only

Only in my dreams do I get my foot broken while riding on George Clooney.....'s motorcycle.

Size DOES Matter

My toes are happy. Not since the great foot massage of '02 have my toes been so happy.

I have discovered the miracle that is sock-sizing.

Yes, you heard me. Sock-sizing. Most socks come in one size - women's. Alas, some of us have feet...say...the size of men...and women's socks are tight. They stifle. They stretch. The heels hit my arch. The ribbing leaves permanent scarring on my ankles.

So I was amazed to discover that there are some companies (thank you Hanes) that make socks for women with up to size 12 feet! Glory be!

I bought a package, and slipped a pair on...my god. They fit. My feet can bend without the sock flipping off a la Cinderella.

And my feet look normal, not like big giganto feet squeezing into baby socks. Which makes me feel good about my feet. And sexy.

Because you know what they say about women with big feet. *wink*

Saved by the WTF?!

My friend P is watching the DVD's of 'Saved By the Bell' - the entire series.

Now don't go grabbing your hair screaming 'Why god, why?' just yet. He says he wants to relive his childhood. However, references to Screech and Slater are going to get him shot sooner or later. By me.

So I got to thinking about what DVD's would help me relive my childhood...

Here's what I came up with.

'Simon and Simon' to relive my insane crush on Parker Stevenson.

'A-Team' to relive my laugh EVERY FRIKKIN TIME the cylon walked past Dirk Benedict in the opening credits.

'Magnum PI' to relive the time when I finally figured out who Robin Masters was.

'MacGyver' to relive my eternal love for defusing atomic weapons with gum and paperclips.

'GI Joe' to relive my screaming '...and knowing is half the battle!'

'Smurfs' to relive my belief that Handy and Smurfette were meant to be together.

'Ducktales' to relive my screaming 'D-d-d-danger!"

'Silver Spoons', because really, didn't we all want that train?

Guess Where I'm Going Tomorrow?

1 in 5

I guess it makes me feel less incompetent that I can't find someone either.

From e-harmony..." Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching model could not accurately predict with whom you would be best matched. This occurs for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply will not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand, and we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time. "

When Switches Attack!!

Holy Sweet Jesus, Ow.

All from a light switch.

Who would have thought that my light switch could do so much damage? I mean, short of opening it up and wiring my genitals to it, of course. (BTW, that's not good. Don't try it. Screw peer pressure. If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you? No wiring genitals.)

To clarify...I fell into my light switch yesterday.

It was a cat's fault. I stepped, cat was present underfoot, I tried to shift weight, and fell into the wall. BUT (here's the important part)...the part of the wall where the little flicker light switch was. A tiny 1/2 inch moveable piece of plastic.

And it ripped the crap out of my arm.

Literally, the skin just caught on the switch, and it was RIPPED off as I fell down.

And then the lights went out.

Sigh.

I am shoe, hear me step.

Stuck in a 3 hour useless endless meeting this morning, I began to study people's shoes.

My boss, the tiny pointed blonde, wore tiny pointed pumps.

My co-worker, the laid-back rough surfer, wore laid-back rough loafers.

Me...I wore grey suede 40's style pumps with bows. Analyzing this, I decided I am smooth & touchable, retro, middle-of-the-road, and girly.

Freud, eat your heart out.

How I became the badass I am today.

In the summer of 1976, Mom and Pops were having a tough time. The entire valley had dried up. The crops were dying, and the bank was ready to forclose on the farm. Barely able to speak, I nonetheless muttered 'Oh Crap' when suddenly Dad got gout. With bankers looming, I had to do something. I had to bring in the crops. Mom cut down a pair of Dad's work overalls, and with my trusty Keds, I set out for 'Bertha' our main tractor to save the family. There was only one problem...how to reach the pedals?

At least 4 year olds love me.

Leaving work last night, a father and his 4 year old son were sitting on a bench by the elevator. I smiled, passed, and while waiting for the elevator to come, the 4 year old kid says in his not-too-sotto voice...'She's hot'.

And the father nearly choked on his soda.

He looked to me, to make sure I was not offended by his little lethario. I smiled back, and said 'I heard that'...and winked at the kid.

My elevator came, I got inside. As the doors closed, the kid says to his Dad...

'She'll be back'.

In 14 years, he's all mine, ladies.

Gordon, Stewart & Andy

Oh yeah, in case I forgot to mention it... 56 year olds ROCK.
They have a certain...synchronicity.

Sephora is my stalker.

Sephora continues to creep me out.

I mean, yeah...they're awesome and all that. But...creepy.

I went into the store to get something, and while purchasing, the sales lady says 'Happy Birthday!' and hands me a free lotion with a bow on it. I stammered 'Thanks?' and got flustered. How did they know it was my birthday? And how did they just happen to have my gift pre-wrapped under the counter?

It's almost as if they KNEW I was coming in, and they KNEW all pertinent information about me. I wouldn't be surprised if they started stocking all the things I liked in a 'Sara' section and rang a bell and showered me with confetti when I came in the store. It feels like something out of 'Brazil'.

Disneyland does the same thing. When I enter the park at the main gate, the cast members always say 'Hi Sara! It's good to have you back - it's been months!'...and the people I'm with always go slack-jawed and stammer. They think I'm a disney freak, when in reality...yes, I'm a disney freak, but it also shows my name, and my last date of attendance on the computer screen when they scan my pass. It's Magic!

Sure, I know at some point I voluntarily provided my birthday to Sephora. And sure, they had to scan my card to know it was me...but it just seems more magical to think they KNOW me, and what I like.

Magical...and creepy.

Taco! Taco!

You know what surprises me? The fact that vegan tacos taste good.

I really have no idea what they're made of. Clearly not meat or dairy.

And yet, taking a bite, they tasted almost BETTER than the regular tacos I eat. Obviously more healthy.

But somehow they still do feel artificial - like there are things in there I wouldn't normally eat in lieu of the beef and cheese. Cashew cheddar? Sure...still sounds good. It's cashews. I like cashews. But spelt? Flax? I havent heard that since that old card trader game where I used to yell out 'FLAX, FLAX!' and I tried to pass off the 'WHEAT, WHEAT!' to my little brother. What the heck was that game called? And honestly, what crazy person thought trading in grains would make a great card game?

Yet, I gamely tried the tacos - to accept the vegan status of a new friend. I got them because he got them, and if he could eat them, then so could I.

I ate, I enjoyed and I resisted screaming out 'TACO, TACO!'. I muttered it under my breath, though.

Hardly Workin'

I dont get friends' e-mails at work. And I'm not too upset, as it's fair - they're not work-related.

Yes, (gasp) - sometimes I'm not really working at work. I'm e-mailing people videos of scubadiving cats. Sometimes I'm trying hard to figure out how to get my IM to work with addresses outside the company. I'm watching powerpoints of resorts in Bali, or sending on that classic 'crazy things to do at work'. I did page myself and didn't disguise my voice. Nobody got it.

But mostly it's the scubadiving cat thing that gets my panties in a bunch. Who DOESN'T want to see that video?

I do work at the US's 4th largest financial institution and they're pretty paranoid about stuff like that. Scubadiving cats may just bring them to their knees. In fact, I'm certain it would.

However, it ticks me off to get censored in any way - be it blog, email, art, tv, film etc....any sort of expression. so, here is a little presentation on some censorship in TV - my favorite medium. It's called that because it's neither rare, nor well done.

I crack myself up. Too bad I couldn't have emailed you that joke.


1942 -- Tweety Bird first appears in "A Tale of Two Kitties." Animator Bob Clampett originally draws him without feathers, but the Hays Office censorship bureau thinks the plucked bird is just a little too naked. So Clampett covers Tweety's titillating flesh with yellow plumage. Clampett doesn't let this pass quietly, though. In the episode, a cat yells to his partner, "Give me the bird!" To which the other cat responds, "If the Hays Office would only let me, I'd give him the bird, all right!"

1959 -- On the dramatic anthology series "Playhouse 90," an episode titled "Judgment at Nuremberg" has all references to gas chambers eliminated from its re-enactment of the Nazi trials. This is done at the behest of the show's slightly sensitive sponsor, the American Gas Association.

1964 -- Mary Ann from "Gilligan's Island," Jeannie from "I Dream of Jeannie," and "Gidget" are all barred from baring their navels. Actress Mariette Hartley receives the same treatment in a 1966 episode of "Star Trek," but the show's director, Gene Roddenberry, gets his revenge in 1973. He recasts Ms. Hartley in the pilot for his new show, "Genesis II," and gives her two belly buttons.

1979 -- "The Muppet Show" is banned from TV in Saudi Arabia, due to Miss Piggy's, well, pig-ness. (The Prophet Muhammad declared the flesh of swine "an abomination.") Merchandise bearing her likeness is confiscated from shops and destroyed.


HIIII - YAH!

Mamma Mia that's a spicy Sara!

I heartily recommend this slogan generator.

It makes me feel a tad kinky. See which ones you recognize...

Hungry? Why wait? Grab a Sara..
Nothing comes between me and my Sara.
Good to the last Sara.
Whatever you're into...get into Sara.
Little. Yellow. Different. Sara.
Just for the taste of Sara.
I am stuck on Sara, cuz Sara's stuck on me.
Break me off a piece of that Sara.
Bet you can't eat Sara.
You deserve a Sara today.
Come see the softer side of Sara.
8 out of 10 owners who expressed a preference said their cats preferred Sara.
Wow! I coulda had a Sara!
How do you eat YOUR Sara?
It's DIFFERENT in a Sara.
Built Sara tough.
Nothing sucks like a Sara.
Sara keeps going and going...
You're in good hands with Sara.
I can't believe I ate the whole Sara.
When it absolutely positively has to be Sara overnight.
Because so much is riding on your Sara.

And my favorite...

We do Sara right.

Simple Truths

I got a fortune from 'Estrella' last night at the Santa Monica Pier- she said, amongst other things, that 'you are fond of gay music'.

Ok, I admit, I do like Disco. Jeez...

First Blood at the Apple Store

I have apple-shaped bite marks on my hand.

It happened when I went to the Apple store yesterday. I was taking in my old tired G4 tower to get memory-transferred into my new spiffy MacMini...

I lugged that G4 tower on my hip, MacMini in my bag. But, as I entered the door to the Apple store, my G4 turned on me. Put both it's feet out. Braced against the door. It decided it wasn't going back - wasn't getting it's memory put into the young body. It wanted to LIVE!!!

3 black-shirted Apple geeks bounded toward me, and wrestled it to the floor. He screamed, his fan whizzed and he spit resistors at us. While we dodged and weaved, he bit my hand, blood oozing over the Apple store tile.

With me distracted by my blood, he made a dash for the door. A passer-by screamed 'First Blood!'

But the way out for G4 was blocked by a big red-headed 18-year-old Apple kid who looked the G4 in the eye. He quickly made a DOS prompt symbol with his hands. The G4 stopped in it's tracks. Red-headed Apple kid began speaking dulcet tones - I couldn't understand, maybe it was BASIC or C.

Lulled by the BASIC, the three other Apple boys wrangled G4 to the ground. He was still whirring and beeping as they carried him to a nearby door labeled 'repairs'. The red-headed tech, calmly explained to my G4 that he would take care of him, and patted him on the head. He told him it wouldn't hurt.

As the G4 walked off reluctantly, hand in hand with the red-head Apple guy, it turned back and gave me a look - a look of sadness, broken-hearted - he was a goner. I yelled at him to have hope - he'd be retrofitted as an external drive for my edited film clips - a far more important and dignified job! He smiled, but he wasn't convinced.

My new MacMini slept through the whole thing, but as I yelled to my G4 to be strong, MacMini woke up suddenly - stuck his tongue out at my disappearing G4, and pooped in his diaper

Amazon Recommends...

So, I ordered some hair conditioner on amazon.com, and when opening it today, I got a bonus gift.

A coupon for bagels.

Now, far be it from me to determine the logic that went into that decision. Amazon.com has recommended some pretty crazy stuff for me. I know somehow there is a method to their madness...but really.

Let's re-live the SATs for a moment:

"Conditioner is to Bagels as _______ is to _________."

a. pengiun ; non sequitor
b. Hart ; Hart
c. the shape of a bucket of water ; the shape of an eagle
d. Depeche Mode ; Flock of Seagulls
e. none of the above

Here's a lovely short list of the strange items Amazon has recommended for me recently:

Goji Tibetan Berries - I must seem the 'fruity' type.

Freddie Mercury Action Figure - Don't we all want one?

How to Mend Your Broken Heart (Paperback) - There's something you assume AMAZON shouldn't be aware of. Maybe I'm sharing too much?

The Edible Woman (Paperback) - Ahem.

What's New Scooby-Doo, Vol. 4 (DVD) - Who WOULDN'T want this? Rooby Racks!

Why Men Marry Bitches (Paperback) - Yeah, just tattoo the word ' hidden agenda' on my forehead.

Naked Chocolate (Paperback) - A girl's got to eat.


As I later washed my hair and used my amazon conditioner, I thought...'you know what would be really good right now?'

A bagel.

The 5 Most Important Questions in the World

The five great questions - (and my predictions)

1. Is Dumbledore really dead? (not really)
2. Who else dies? (Snape & Neville (both helping Harry))
3. Is Snape really evil? (no)
4. Do Ron & Hermione survive & get together? (yes)
5. Harry vs Voldy - who wins and how? (Harry, barely (or he dies and comes back) With a little help from his friends.)

I shall be sitting curbside on Saturday wating for my amazon.com box in a gryffindor scarf and wand in hand.

Oh, and don't call me all weekend. I'm busy.

Palm Springs

Only in Palm Springs does the radio station play 'Theme from A Summer Place.' Not ironically. It does so in all seriousness.

It's a world in itself.

Full of fantastical creatures that only appear here, and only a few times a year.

From the flaming spa owner who professed the benefits of a dry finnish sauna and his mineral pools...to the wealthy socialite wearing her layered heavy gold chains into the pool, complaining about the pressures of a vacation in Tuscany or Venice. 'Which spa to go to next week?', she wondered aloud as we floated on our water noodles with indecision. We couldn't advise her, so she retreated to her aromatherapy massage to ponder in tension-releasing silence.

Here in Palm Springs, the passing of centuries seems only no longer than one night. Or more precisely, the mid-20th century stands still.

There were our new friends, two men so in love. They referred to their own community as 'the gays' and suggested softball might be a good way for me to meet quality guys. They informed me that Palm Springs' is 47% gay. It was proved when we took our evening stroll on Palm Canyon, every second car waved at them, and every second passersby was a neighbor or friend. That makes it more like 50%.

The enchantment of Palm Springs is limited... no-one may leave, otherwise the one-night enchantment spell will be broken.

We walked in vain, searching for the elusive restaurant Melvyn's, Frank Sinatra's wedding spot, only to decide it was the Brigadoon within the Brigadoon. We walked past the hoochie mammas in skirts smaller than their heads, all tan and slicked up for free margaritas bought for them by balding divorcees in tropical shirts. There were the locals at the pinkberry rip-off 'cactusberry' ordering 'the usual' frozen passion-fruit yogurt with kiwi and tropical fruit.

And yet you fall in love. With the city. With the people. With the yogurt. You want to stay.

'Caution Blowing Sands' signs frame the highway, and the cliffside of a mountain rises up, blocking Palm Springs from the infrared vision of the desert. It hides itself away underneath the palms, each street named Palm Drive, Palm Canyon Drive, Palm Tree Drive...evoking images of Cary Grant lounging with Randolph Scott pool-side, their secrets hidden from the world.

But you cant stay, otherwise you'd get sucked in, forced to live in Palm Springs forever...you must leave, and those with you disappear.

Late that night, after discussing love, Palm Springs, and the elusive search for a place to call your own...my friend V tore me out a magazine photo of a Palm Springs Boy in sympathy naming him 'Henry'. I was allowed Palm Springs Henry for only that night. He would comfort me. She placed him next to my pillow for company. But in the morning when I awoke, Henry was gone, disappearing in the night. Only there for the moment, before vanishing from view.

Such is Palm Springs.

Not-So Real Genius

My dream is finally coming true! I'm starting at M.I.T. in the Fall!

Ok - not really. I'm getting my geek on by taking the online courses M.I.T. offers. Nearly its entire undergraduate and graduate curriculum is represented in free online courses. What's the catch you ask? I can't legally enroll, take classes on campus, or earn my long-missing Ph.D. in Physics. But I can at least tell people I'm attending M.I.T.

You won't tell anyone, will you?

I'm sure you're asking, 'Who in their right mind would take Graduate Quantum Physics if they don't have to?'

Um...that would be me.

And who told you I was in my right mind? I handled radioactive Uranium with my bare hands. If that doesn't bode badly for my mental state, I don't know what does.

He had to look...

Tracy sent me this - I just have to say, she ROCKS.

No soup for you!

Not that I'm the champion of everything Disney (ok, shucks...I am), but I've become distressed with the lack of knowledge regarding the recent movie Ratatouille. Not that people don't know about this movie in general. I am not a marketing person for Disney films (ok...I am). It's more about the amazing slew of people that don't know...

A. How to pronounce this word.
B. What it is.

I got tired of hearing 'Want to see Rataroo?' 'How about Rattan?' 'Or Rat-a-tat-tat?' The Rat Movie?

So, for the edification of everyone...here you go:

Ratatouille ("ra-ta-TOO-ee", IPA:[rætəˈtui, -ˈtwi]; French pronunciation: [ʁataˈtuj]) is a traditional French Provençal stewed vegetable dish.

Tomatoes are a key ingredient, with garlic, onions, zucchini, eggplant, bell peppers, some herbes de Provence, and sometimes basil. All the ingredients are sautéed in olive oil.

The name of the dish appears to derive from the French touiller, "to stir", although the root of the first element "rata" is slang from the French Army meaning "chunky stew".

There you have it! From now on, I expect you all to at least call it 'The Soup Movie.'

There will be a quiz on this tomorrow. Bring your scantrons.

Your tail bone's connected to...well...nothing.

Did you know we all have a tail bone?

Of course you did.

But did you know this?... When you slam that tail bone directly into hard pointy plastic at the speed of 1g, it really FUCKING HURTS.

It hurts in that 'funny bone' ringing way. That rings up and down your spine. It makes your entire torso ring with incessant pain.

And really, there's nothing more disturbing than your ass ringing. Really.

Especially when you do it the very second you sit down on Space Mountain at Disneyland.

When you drop into your seat, and mis-judge the distance in the darkness, landing straight on your tail bone on the pointy seat divider. And suddenly you're ringing with pain just as you're strapped in to a flat-as-a-pancake rocket seat that will jostle you with drops and about 50 right turns slamming down on said tail bone for the next 3 and a half excruciating minutes.

This wasn't me. I'm just saying I IMAGINE it's painful in that ridiculously funny way.

Go Long

I'm sure you're all now well aware of my schoolgirl crush on little seems-like-jail-bait Justin Long. He is however, a manly 29, which makes me just a regular stalker instead of a child molester.

That being said...here's a nice photo of him in the new Die Hard movie - in theaters tomorrow. He's the one on the right. Nothing against the guy on the left.

Yippie Ki Yay Moth....

Spiders Documentary

Just can't get enough...

Snot what you think...

I don't know what the hell happened to me last week - but I am insanely sick this week.
Flu/Cold/Virus-who knows. Doctors pretty unsympathetic, and I should buy stock in Dayquil.

As a jolly reminder of what fun it is to be phlem-y...here's a re-post on the origins of Snot.

200 or bust!

Dwight D. Eisenhower was President of the United States for eight years after serving as Supreme Commander of the
Allied forces in Europe during World War II. Early in his career, however, he didn't win many accolades. Referring to his mediocre stint as an undergraduate at the U.S. Military Academy, he said, "If anybody saw signs of greatness in me while at West Point, they kept it to themselves."

I mention this only because I found it in remarkable parallel to Hyperion's announcement regarding my 'bedpost notch tally" - only a sad 118!

Clearly having schtooped only 118 men, I have much to do. This is only mediocre. Much as Dwight D. Eisenhower did, I shall push towards my goal despite a lack of recognition or applause. The Presidency of under-appreciated whoring awaits!

Clooneyfied

George Clooney needs to leave me alone.

Seriously.

I can only say 'I'm not interested' SO many times before I have to get a restraining order.

I went out with my friend B last night to Hollywood to see a movie. As we approached Hollywood Blvd, suddenly we were accosted by bright lights and the streets were blocked, traffic insane. Possibly construction, I thought. But I knew of a secret little parking spot behind the theater that I only shared with my closest of friends. So pulling in, I was SHOCKED to see a gigantic tent over the entire parking lot blasting Sinatra, with palm trees.

I began to smell something was up, so we parked far away, walked to the theater, where I was confronted with the realization that something was amiss.

Paparazzi were EVERYWHERE. Red carpet, movie lights hanging from the sky brighter than the sun.

This type of hype can only be attributed to the presence of Brad Pitt. Or George Clooney. Holy Sweet Jesus it was Brad Pitt AND George Clooney! It was the premiere of Ocean's 13.

I knew Clooney was behind this. I KNEW IT! I elbowed my way thorough the throngs of photographers, gawking bystanders, and gaggles of screaming girls. I crossed in front of supermodels in evening wear grubmling at the flashing lights and cameras. I literally had to cross the red carpet the wrong way to GET to the theater. I could almost sense Clooney smirking from the shadows.

Only Clooney knew my favorite parking spot. Only Clooney would have dared set up something THIS elaborate and THIS dramatic to ruin my evening. I rebuffed him, and this is how he repays me. That evil grey-haired bastard orchestrated this whole thing!

I stomped across the red carpet screaming 'LEAVE ME ALONE GEORGE CLOONEY - I HATE YOU...YOU...STALKER!'.

I just hope he heard me over the Sinatra and screaming girls.

Rant

I'm not as good as Dennis Leary at ranting. Nor as 'What's the deal with...' as Jerry Seinfeld. Nor as snarky as Bill Mahr. (Remember when he was an 'actor'? Those were the days!)

But there's a fundamental fact that I just can't let go...

Coffee Bean sugar-free nonfat lattes have 50 more calories than Starbucks sugar-free nonfat lattes.

You know why? Because they use this crappy sugar-free powder instead of normal sugar free syrup with no calories.

So if I was just to go about my normal business and think 'sugar-free, nonfat - that means it's just 2 cups of nonfat milk' I'd be WRONG. OH SO WRONG. Because the main ingredient on their sugar-free powder is CREAM. That's right..powdered MILK. Not NONFAT. So in essence by making my latte sugar-free, I negated the nonfat option!

Yes, I know. No snarky Bill Mahr. No swearing a la Leary. But just about as irritating as someone stealing my marble rye.

And I know toasty.

I just got gangraped by 10 women and 1 really flamboyant gay man.

Ok, it was at Sephora, and not rape per say, but I'm sitting here looking an awful lot like a cross between George Hamilton and RuPaul with over 150$ of unnecessary bronzer.

I barely made it out alive, after being spritzed and fluffed within an inch of my life. I never have been cornered animal-style at a Sephora before, but going at an odd time, I was the ONLY customer in the store and there were 15 salespeople just staring at me with that hungry hyena 'must... apply... stain and gloss..." look. After getting bronzed, stained and slathered in not 1, not 2, but 3 kinds of perfume, I broke free from the pack and ran for the counter to purchase enough goods so they'd let me go unscathed.

I'm a makeup whore. And now I look like one.

Interview Me

Best Blogging Bud Cheryl agreed to interview me - here's her questions, and my answers!

1. What would you be if you weren’t a screenwriter-slash-mortgage professional?

Put 'successful' in front of screenwriter. Ah...that would be nice.

2. If you could remake any classic movie, what would you choose and why?

Do NOT remake classics. Screenwriters are unemployed! Although honestly, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari would be an awesome thriller.

3. If you ran into your junior high friends today, what about you would surprise them most?

The fact that I dont wear checkered Vans.


4. What makes you cry?
That scene in English Patient where he carries her out into the sun. Also really spicy tikka masala.

5. Macgyver wants to marry you, but he’s insisting on a full Catholic wedding, and he wants the two of you to live on a ranch in Montana, thousands of miles from the nearest beach or Anthropologie store. What do you say?

In the name of the Richard, the Dean, and the holy Anderson, Amen. I now pronounce you MacGyver and wife. You may duct tape the bride.



Here are the rules if you want ME to interview YOU....

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick them, and you have to answer them all.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

And how do you feel about that?

So I had a break-up the other day. One with a guy I wasn't dating. Yes, I got a guy I was NOT dating to break up with me. I'm THAT good.

It all stemmed from my standard-issue friend asking me if I was interested in him. In the 'more than friends' way. He didn't have that air of 'I hope she says YES!' to his voice, so of course I vehemently said, "No' and almost as if on cue, pavlovian-style, I suddenly began planning our wedding. I kept our wedding idea scrapbook a secret and I thought we were plugging along as Balki Bartokomous/Larry Appleton-pals, but then as Emeril says, "Bam!" - I got crazy needy, and he freaked out.

Him : "Hey..."

Me: "Are you mad at me? What's going on? Why are you ignoring me? Am I ugly? How come you never call me anymore? Let's move in together. Do you want to be roommates? I miss you. Let's hang out more often! Let's do couple-things but not be a couple. I'm coming over tonight. Can I cook you dinner? How come you don't want to hang out more? Let's go bowling. Why don't you want to go bowling? Do you like me? Are you mad at me still? Do you hate me? Do you? I think you hate me. Do you?"

Him: "Yes."

Thank you! You've been a wonderful audience. I'll be here all week - enjoy the veal!

So the secret is out. No more cooking him dinner. No more waiting for him to call every evening. So I did what all good broken-hearted girls do. I went shopping.

At the mall, I eyed a 275$ Prada purse, but that was possibly too much therapy. Like buying a Mercedes because you stubbed your toe. Walking past HotDogOnAStick, I realized I was still morose, and that not even retail therapy was making me feel better. I also realized those striped HotDog outfits are kind of kinky.

One friend suggested standard psychologist sit-on-a-couch-and-talk-about-your-parents therapy. "Like a spa for the brain" she says. I've never been to a spa, and even getting a pedicure seems like a luxury worthy of only Paris Hilton. Actually, what I think I need is a cupcake for the brain.

So, no retail therapy. No regular therapy. Blogging therapy it is then. It just makes me feel so secure to blog about how insane I am with my massive insecurities. And really, the bottom result is that I think haughtily, "Well, at least my insecurities were validated." I'm also aware how insane THAT statement is.

So the non-breakup breakup is over. And as they say - it takes you twice as long as you were dating to get over it. That means...oh hey - who is that cute guy sitting over there?

This is my brother

Really, I just wanted to share. Isn't he cute?

Can I be your Muse?

I'm not usually the kind of person that will shill music. I dont pick up megaphones and shout the greatness of the White Album. I don't haunt the 33 record racks at Amoeba. I think Tomas Tallis is equally as interesting as Frank Zappa. So forgive me while I put on my Professor Harold Hill hat for a minute here, and implore you to buy the shiny brass band I'm selling:

Muse: Black Holes and Revelations

I like sitting and listening to an album all at once - makes me feel like I gave the whole 'music enthusiast' thing a shot and really gave the 'theme' a chance. Imagine my surprise to discover that not only had I heard most of these songs already, but they were ones that I had thunk 'wow- I need to get that' the first time around. They got better and better, and I was truly surprised to hear a good album out of a band that I had only known as 'one of those alternative bands from KROQ'.

So, to all you nappy headed hos....go out and get this. Order it from amazon in your pjs. You wont regret it.

Muse, which starts with M which doesnt rhyme with A and that stands for awesome.

Eggs are so last year

I know the world has changed.

But color me surprised to see the Easter Bunny changing his style.

My friend's kids were looking for easter eggs hidden in their hotel room this morning left by the easter bunny. And suddenly the kids found...

Porn.

It was under the couch - that easter bunny is crafty with his hiding skills. Just the CD, but complete with some really graphic girl private part photos on the front. Jakob (6) said...'Ewww...naked girls', handed me the DVD and went on looking for eggs.

Maybe it was a present for me. How that crafy bunny knew I was going to be visiting a friend on vacation in their hotel room, I'll never know.

But really - I think he should get some better taste. "Pink and Pretty" isn't really my thing. I'll have to ask for "Big & Buff" next year.

Thoughts about Good Friday

MacMuffin's in a Movie

Tips To Improve Your Writing

1. Avoid alliteration. Always.

2. Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.

3. Employ the vernacular.

4. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.

5. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.

6. Remember to never split an infinitive.

7. Contractions aren't necessary.

8. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.

9. One should never generalize.

10. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."

11. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.

12. Don't be redundant; don't use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.

13. Be more or less specific.

14. Understatement is always best.

15. One-word sentences? Eliminate.

16. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.

17. The passive voice is to be avoided.

18. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.

19. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.

20. Who needs rhetorical questions?

21. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.

22. Don't never use a double negation.

23. capitalize every sentence and remember always end it with point

24. Do not put statements in the negative form.

25. Verbs have to agree with their subjects.

26. Proofread carefully to see if you words out.

27. If you reread your work, you can find on rereading a great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.

28. A writer must not shift your point of view.

29. And don't start a sentence with a conjunction. (Remember, too, a preposition is a terrible word to end a sentence with.)

30. Don't overuse exclamation marks!!

31. Place pronouns as close as possible, especially in long sentences, as of 10 or more words, to the irantecedents.

32. Writing carefully, dangling participles must be avoided.

33. If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.

34. Take the bull by the hand and avoid mixing metaphors.

35. Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.

36. Everyone should be careful to use a singular pronoun with singular nouns in their writing.

37. Always pick on the correct idiom.

38. The adverb always follows the verb.

39. Last but not least, avoid cliches like the plague; They're old hat; seek viable alternative