February 28, 2007

Lay 'Em Down and Smack 'Em Yak 'Em!

Whenever I work from home, I remember what awesome TV I miss all day long when I'm at work.

Like today's Comedy Central showing of Airplane!, maybe the best movie spoof ever made. This is how movie spoofs are supposed to be. Take note, Wayan's brothers.

My favorite thing about this movie is how well it nails the little things, like how every time someone dramatically throws off their hat/coat/whatever, someone throws it back at them a couple of seconds later. I'm sorry, that's just funny.

This one also has sentimental value, becuase me and my best friends in high school used to rent the movie at every sleepover* and watch the disco scene over and over and over and over. Watching it now, I don't even get what we thought was so amazing about it...it's certainly not the strongest sequence in the movie (I think that honor has to go to the jive talkers). Not that it's not hilarious.

Ah, nostalgia!



* Note: I am NOT aging myself here, I am only 27! I have no idea how we ever discovered this movie, but we definitely watched it about 1487 times during my 15th year...

February 26, 2007

The Oscah Blog, Part IV


(Click here, here, and here to read parts 1-3 of the Oscah blog, or just scroll down to the bottom and read your way up! If you have 300 years.)
1031: Oooh, Keith Urban! Earlier Ellen created this special “Oscar holder” she invented. I wonder if she also invented a special Oscar for Keith that has a screw-off top. Hehe. Because, like, he is an alcoholic.

1033: Ellen claims to have a crush on George Clooney. This means supporting actress! But what’s with lesbians pretending to have crushes on handsome movie stars?

1035: Predictably, Jennifer Hudson wins. I’m too glad she took off that ridiculous bolero to say anything else. Do you think she’ll cry, and thank God? (snicker)

(mmm, snickers….Dang, I am on Day 5 of the No Candy plan, which is more impressive than you might think considering it’s me.)

1052: zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

1101: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

1110: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

1115: Who would have thought that the interpretive dance troupe’s shadow puppets would have been the best thing about this year’s Oscars? We haven’t even had any inappropriately outrageous acceptance speeches. You know you’re in trouble when you miss Roberto Begnini.

1120: Jennifer Hudson borrows Patricia Fields’ Jessica Rabbit gown for a musical number. I love her figure…but the dress doesn’t do much for it. And her boobs are about to come right out of it.

1123: Oooooooooh, burn! If I recall correctly, Beyonce sang the song “Listen” as a solo in the movie. Now it’s a duet with Hudson? Or rather, a belt-off. They’re both kind of over-singing it, kind of like the vocal version of the walk-off from “Zoolander”. If Beyonce pulls her thong out, that would be awesome.

1129: Melissa Etheridge's tuxedo is not good either. I love a sharp pantsuit on a woman, but dang. You’re rich enough to have it tailored, right Meliss?

1129: Forget I said that, I loooveee youuuuuu! I’m still working up the courage to karaoke “I’m the Only one”! I’ve got to be better than the chick I heard at McGarvey’s a couple weeks ago, I will tell you that much.

1134: I am seriously—seriously—considering going to bed if this drags on much longer. This is starting to get insufferable. And where’s the goddamn death montage? I’m sorry, but I was playing video game bowling with a Wii at 330 in the morning last night and I’m fucking tired.

1135: I’m so tired I can’t even get excited about a montage. ~sad face~ I do wonder how many times “say hello to my little friend” has made it into montages. Honestly.

1140: Oh, my, GOD. We’re still on boring awards like editing? Oh my god. I really might have to go to bed. This is unprecedented. Then again, I’m up over 2500 words at this point and 7 pages in Word. No wonder I’m tired, dang.

1142: Very cute, portly older lady wins for editing “The Departed.” Everyone seems really happy about it. So, yay? Yay!

1143: Pleeeeease let Jodie Foster be presenting something good, and not like, “Best Performance by a Lesbian Pretending to be Straight.” (What? Perez isn’t the only one who can think so!)

1144: Oh, yay, the death reel! Whoohoo. I’m rejuvenated. Love Love LOVE how people clap for the people they like best no matter how much show-runners tell them it’s disrespectful to do so. I’d like to think that if I ever made it into a death reel, I’d get some good claps. (Applause that is, NOT venereal disease.)

1151: Philip Seymore Hoffman was definitely just doing drugs and/or fucking in the men’s room. His hair is a mess sticking out in every direction, and he can barely stand and focus long enough to read the nominees for best actress. They should have just skipped calling him out and just called Helen Mirren up.

1154: You know, with 5 nods and no wins, Kate Winslet is really starting to rack up a bit of a losing streak for being only 31, eh?

1155: Why. WHY more interpretive dance and talk from Chris (fucking) Connolly when it’s 1155 p(fucking)m? WHY?

1157: You know what just occurred to me? This fricking thing started at 830. WHY? So ABC can have a pre-show red carpet bullshit thing. WHY can’t they just do that at 730 and start the show at 8? Everyone knows the Oscars are close to 4 hours long. Why make movie fans cranky at work on a Monday, when Mondays are certainly stressful enough without sleep loss. Am I being punished for being an awards show junkie?

1200: Oooooh, Reese Witherspoon’s dress is amazing. Navy so dark it looks black, or black with shades of blue? Beautiful. Just get Forrest Whitaker up there already. And he better not drone on. According to his clip, he’s winning this award based on the amount of actual sweating he did.

1203: It’s kind of boring there weren’t more surprises in the acting categories but the one with Alan Arkin. Oh well. (God, Whitaker is definitely droning on. God. This show will end sometime Friday afternoon. Zzzzz)

1206: Because I am so cranky, I just know that Scorsese is going to get shafted. Again. AGAIN.

1207: Oh, thank god. Thank GOD. Yeah, and we’re on page 8. Love you Marty, really do, despite your Uncle Junior glasses. But if you babble on I will take my own life.

1209: Oh, Jesus. He is holding a stack of index cards. Jesus.

1212: Diane Keaton looks remarkably chic, but holy crap she is on some drugs. She’s shouting. I am too tired for this Diane.

1213: Yep, definitely drugs. She shrieks out loud when “The Departed” takes it. let me just say, after my previous rant on this subject, that I did see “Babel,” as well as “The Queen,” and “Little Miss Sunshine.” I didn’t see “Iwo Jima,” but of the other four, I really do think “The Departed” deserves it. I am pleased.

And I am also exhausted. If any of you actually read this whole thing, I salute you. Now, I am off to bed.

February 25, 2007

The Oscah Blog, Part III


(Click here for part one of the Oscah blog, and here for part two. Or, just scroll down, lazy ass.)

(Oh, and I did not proof or edit any of these, so the writing may suck and I may lazily repeat the same jokes or phrases repeatedly. It's haaahd to write a 4 hour live blog, so hopefully the three of you who read will cut me some slack.)

830: Showtime! I sort of am in love with this montage of nominees against a white background, talking about their nominations (even the nobody sound effects guys, who discuss being nominated 19 times with no wins…take that O’Toole!). But Martin Scorsese looks like Uncle Junior, freaks me out a little…

836: Ellen’s wearing…a maroon velvet suit? Is this an Eddie Murphy reference or something? Didn’t he wear some hideous red suit or something? Purple? Wow, it’s bloody awful. I really hope it’s a joke, really.

838: I think Ellen just called Penelope Cruz Mexican. Now she’s going to get cut after the show. Hopefully, it will ruin the hideous suit. “Soy de Espana, puta!!!”

842: Huzzah! An audience cut to Jennifer Hudson shows that she lost the hideous coat. I knew she was a FuManchShoes reader.

846: I’m so glad I bought a People magazine to read during the boring awards. See you in a couple hours!

852: Will Ferrell and his giant afro, Jack Black and John C. Reilly sing a weird production number that is pretty funny, especially when Jack Black threatens to beat down octogenarian Peter O’Toole with his Nickleodeon award. All this to introduce the Makeup nominees. Weird! But…Will Ferrel. So it is automatically awesome.

857: Boy, this People magazine review of “The Astronaut Farmer” is pretty fascinating! Oh, and “Pan’s Labrynth wins for makeup. My dad calls, “What is Pan’s Lab?” WHY, when they send two people up to accept an award, can they not just decide in advance who gets to talk? Flip a coin. I know it sucks to not be able to thank your mom for inspiring you to edit for sound and shit, but you’re just going to get played off the stage anyway.

859: Future it-couple drug addicts and Us Weekly regulars (circa 2018) Abigail Breslin and Jaden Smith (as in Will Smith’s kid) present animated short. Ugly Canadian woman wins, Smith flubs one of his lines to the delight of his dad.

905: Wow, Jaden struggles reading the winner of the live-action short! Are the Smiths one of those “we let them decide if they want to go to school” families, like the Osbournes?

906: Live-action short winner babbles through his speech like the MicroMachines guy. Good job dude! Holy crap, he fit a 3 minute speech into 45 seconds, I swear! I think he probably practiced that at home. It was eloquent too. I’m speechless here.

907: Crusty old Clint introduces clips from his Iwo Jima movie and is. zzzzzzzzzzzzz

911: Oh, sorry, just woke up. I hope I didn’t miss much. Ellen just corrected herself on Penelope Cruz’s nationality. Good for you Ellen, no knifing tonight!

921: Finally, a good award! I predict Eddie Murphy, but I secretly want Alan Arkin. Annoyingly, they seem to have cut short the clips. They have time for the “Sound Effects Choir” but not to give each actor a decent-sized clip?

922: Surprise! Alan Arkin wins, and I’m taking full responsibility. If he does not thank me, I’m going to be insulted. (Jesus, his speech sucks ass. He’s an actor, he can’t memorize that shit? And maybe think of a way to make it interesting? He does cry though, I like that.) I wonder if this means there will be a surprise for Jennifer Hudson too…we all know Beyonce would like it.

925: Okay. OKAY. Interpretive dance troupe? Seriously? How about, instead, we have a nice montage? WTF, mates. Their penguin shadow puppets are pretty good though.

933: Man, I know this is liberal propaganda, but I just love Melissa Etheridge. If I could sing like her, I’d never leave the house. Or something. You know what I mean. Everyone looks appropriately serious and “Yes, I took a private jet here, but the environment is like, soooooo important” after she’s done.

935: Ew, Leo. Why appear with the former Veep who shall remain nameless? Because he’s the only one with puffier eyes than you?

942: Jack…Nicholson? With a shiny bald shaved head? Was that him, though?

945: I take back what I said about Cameron’s dress. Now, it sort of looks like the napkins at a fancy restaurant. You know how they are all folded up in fancy shapes, and they get magically refolded while you are in the bathroom? I always wonder if they are afraid of like, finding the napkin full of boogers or chewed up food when they go to refold it for you.

945: Ben Affleck alert! I love how they introduced him as an “Academy Award winning screenwriter.” I guess, “the star of Reindeer Games” doesn’t really have the same zing.

946: An hour and forty five minutes in and we finally get a montage! And it’s a montage about writing! Oh, love love love! (I know, I’m a geek, but if I didn’t love writing you wouldn’t be reading this remarkably entertaining blog.)

952: Yay, a “Departed” win! William Monahan wins for “The Departed.” Let’s just say if “Borat” had won I wouldn’t have been upset, but this pleases me also.

1004: Anne Hathaway and the English chick from that movie are visibly disappointed that the haggy Jessica Rabbit did not win for “The Devil Wears Prada.” I am not disappointed, because a totally insane, terrified, Frenchwoman in an odd tuxedo who likes like a white Prince wins instead. Although I would have liked to make fun of the other lady again too.

1005: Tom Cruise! If there is no Nicole Kidman audience shot I’ll be pissed.

(pissed)

1006: Zzzzzzz, the Humanitarian award. In the past, this award went to Oprah. Now it’s being given to someone who I’ve never heard of. I just hope it results in a good montage.

1007: Oh, okay, fine, this chick seems worthy and stuff. I just hope it doesn’t take too long.

1011: Psssst, Gwyneth! ~whispers~ I can see your bra!

1012: What number of diet root beers is too many? Because I’ve had four. And I’d like another. I know I ought to drink water instead, but…roooooot beeeeer. How am I hooked on something that doesn’t even have caffeine or calories? Fascinating.

1014: Okay, I am starting to get really tired. I’m going to lay down and come back the next time they present an award I care about….stay tuned for Part Four!!!

The Oscah Blog, Part Deux

(Please click here for the Oscah Blog, Part One..)

730: J-Lo looks pre-go in her pretty, kind of Grecian gown. But her husband continues to have the callow complexion of a cross between an AIDS patient and the cartoon guy from "Corpse Bride."

739: Oh my lord, Kate Winslet, can I be you? Please? Gorgeous. GORGEOUS.

750: All right, so I can’t really harp on Streep. I mean, my goodness, she’s Streep for chrissake. But she appears to be wearing a housedress of some kind, mixed with some sort of tribal necklaces/mardi gras beads. It’s a very…odd look. Great, now I’m going to get struck by lightning.

751: Now I’m really going to get struck by lightning. But: sorry, Abigail Breslin. Your dress is F-U-G. It looks like a dress that maybe would have come with Easter Barbie, if there were an Easter Barbie. There’s really not a whole lot a 10-year old can do about looking chic, I mean 10-year olds are supposed to look like Easter Barbie. But this is the Oscars. Would a little Dior have killed her, just for one night? Hm.

,mmkllll ß Brought to you by Chloe the cat, still not grasping the concept of “computer not cat” plan for my lap tonight.

800: Kind of fun little montage with characters from the nominated movies. But it’s always, always funnier when Billy Crystal does it. I think “Academy Awards Host” should be the only thing Billy Crystal ever does, actually. I know I’m in the minority on that, but hey, I can’t help it. I like those goofy little songs he sings.

803: Leo talks about conflict diamonds like his 12 year old model girlfriend doesn’t bathe in them nightly.

804: Naomi Watts….I don’t know. It reminds me of something Carol Seaver would have worn on the prom episode of “Growing Pains.” Nicole Kidman, in gorgeous red, is so tall and thin that she looks like a paper cut. A really, really, really pretty paper cut.

812: I am unsurprised to learn that Vogue’s Andre Leon Talley styled Jennifer Hudson’s look. That man is a big fan of the “obnoxiously unnecessary coat.”

813: “Devil Wears Prada” (and “Sex and the City”) costumer Patricia Fields, is wearing red sequins that do nothing to disguise her ginormous gunt, and with her hideously scarlet dyed hair, she looks like a haggy, washed-up, boob-sagging Jessica Rabbit. Sad! I’ll never look at “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” the same again.

817: Apologies for the lack of originality here, but…Penelope Cruz really looks like a feather duster. That’s not a creative way to describe her dress, which is stunning from the waist up. But really, I have a feather duster in my linen closet, that really is what it looks like.

819: Oooh, Eddie Murphy non-baby-mama Tracy Edmonds really should have pulled her Spanx up higher. There’s a definitive line at her waist, and her dress is, wow, well, there really may have been a Bedazzler involved.

822: Mmm, Ryan Gosling. Bad tux, hot guy. I need new underwear for the first time tonight. Good times!

825: Five minutes to showtime, I’m giddy. Need to pee, I’ll try to post Part Three, with the meat of the actual show, all in one big bit, probably around three hundred oclock tonight. Enjoy the show!

The Oscah Blog, Part Uno

Okay, I give, I give. I shall do an Oscars blog. I was inspired by the red carpet coverage on E!. More specifically, by the horror of Jennifer Hudson’s ill-advised golden tinfoil bolero jacket.

Oh, Jennifer. You’re the darling of the awards show circuit. You looked fierce at the Golden Globe awards. I liked your performance in “Dreamgirls,” and I think you’ll win the Oscar tonight. But why, why, whyyyyy did you add that tinfoil thing to your lovely chocolate gown? You look like you just finished a marathon.

(Sidebar: I never got that aspect of marathon running. I know it has some shit to do with body heat or evaporization, or whathaveyou. But it’s like, if I ever ran a marathon, I don’t think the little tinfoil blanket is really going to help me feel any better about all my toenails falling off and the pee running down my legs, and the cardiac arrest and stuff.)

So, I’m settling in with several cans of Diet A&W Root Beer, some Easy Mac, and a very disgruntled cat who doesn’t understand that “laptop computer” means “computer on my lap, INSTEAD of a cat.”

652: Looks like Cameron Diaz has packed on the old Breakup 15. Nice dress though.

655: In response to Rachel Weiszcghzlnzzzz’s Vera Wang gown (which is lovely, by the way), Seacrest says “Wow there’s a lot of wang here.” To make up for it, he turns to the camera as Jessica Biel makes his way towards him to say, “wow, there’s just hottie after hottie out here, wow.” Just keep sayin’ it, Seacrest.

658: Speaking of repressed homosexuality, here comes John Travolta and his lovely beard. Kelly Preston, wearing some sort of shiny animal print monstrosity. Her hair looks nice though, and she looks not a day over 30, so good for her.

659: Seacrest pumps Travolta (heh) for information about dressing in drag for “Hairspray.” Travolta looks pissy about it. Hey Zucko, maybe if you don’t want people to think you’re Gay-o, you shouldn’t do a role last made popular by one Harvey Fierstein. Just sayin’.

704: Seacrest plays a hilariously heartfelt “good luck” message from Simon Cowell for Jennifer Hudson. Do you think he’s angling for a “thank-you” in her acceptance speech?

707: Flipping to the Barbara Walters special in time for her to ask Ellen Degeneres if she’d be dancing. Degeneres looks like she just asked her if she would wear a dress, all annoyed by the question. Um, again, maybe if you don’t want people to think you dance everywhere you go, you shouldn’t do damn American Express commercials where you….dance everywhere you go.

710: I really miss Pretty Leo. Not that Grown-Up Pinched-Looking Leo isn’t still a dish, and not that I wouldn’t totally do it with him (although, at this point, I’d totally do it with like, a bookshelf).

Okay, taking a break from the Seacrest, because he’s making my brain hurt, and he just pulled down his pants to show what brand his underwear is…in front of Helen Mirren. So yeah, it’s hard to type while blind.

(Also, I’m hungry. Time for Easy Mac.)

Stay Tuned...

Boy howdy, do I love Oscar night.

I may or may not keep a running diary tonight...depends on my motivation level.

I was actually out until 4 in the morning last night, a highly unusual move on my part these days, but it was indeed fun.

Yesterday, I bought four pairs of shoes for 90 dollars from the Nine West outlet. I am such an unbelievable sucker for the buy one get one half off deal. But they're all so darn pretty!

Then it occured to me that three of them are suede, and it's the dead of winter. I'm wicked smaht. But, again, pretty!!!!! Slingbacks and platforms and spikes and kitten heels, eggplant suede and charcoal tweed...aaaaah. Who needs sex, honestly?

Last night, on day seven of 28 Days, I folded like a cheap suit. Since I did not get drunk, I do not consider it a total failure. And I only drank beer. Oh, and a shot, whoops. Oh well.

In all honesty, how is a person supposed to give up smoking, drinking and candy all at the same time? Impossible! I did not smoke last night, at least...siiiigh.

Anyway, this is just a space filler in between the depressing post previous and the no doubt awesome Oscars wrap-up later.

February 23, 2007

Everybody Must Get Laid (unless you are me)

This is a major overshare, and for that I apologize.

But I'm currently in the biggest cold streak of my sexual career, and it's really starting to bug. Today marks the 125th day since I got any, and that is pretty much the absolute longest its been in the entirety of my life.

Well except for the mumble-mumble years I spent as a virgin, which so obviously doesn't count.

Now. I'm no spring chicken. If I were still 22 I'd just head out to a bar and grab the first warm body I could find. But as a lady (snerk) of 27, I am not really feeling the need to do that.

Yet.

It's kind of like how I never had the good sense to be afraid of living alone, until recently, when I've been on an "I'm definitely going to get murdered" riff and have been doing things like buying pepper spray for my nightstand and putting a big 2x4 in the track of my balcony door and checking every closet and behind the shower curtain before I go to bed. I guess I'm not putting enough faith in the cats as a security system....

A person who does these things isn't likely to be taking some stranger home from the bar all willy-nilly. But. Um, yeah. Talk to me at Day 250, I may have to sing a different tune.

Or maybe...get a new boyfriend? A hooker? A male Real Doll? A mail-order husband from Kazakhstan? Hm.

February 20, 2007

Come Fly With(out) Me

Am I the only one who understands how completely insane it is to ride on an airplane?

Why is everyone else always acting so damn normal, like they aren't potentially minutes away from a tummy-churning plummet several thousand feet out of the air ending in a horrific fiery death?

If I'm not sedated with a nice cocktail of wine and Advil PM, flying could pretty much count as cardio for me, considering my heart doesn't stop pounding the whole time. And yet I sit there on the plane next to all these people who are just hanging out, having conversations, reading books, not clutching the armrest with a Vulcan Grip of Death (or whatever) and gasping like it's their last every time there's even a teensy bump.

I guess it does occur to me that I do all sorts of stuff that other people think is just as terribly abnormal as strapping themselves into a flying metal death tube several miles above earth.

Like when I mentioned to my friends at brunch on Sunday about how I ate an entire box of Life cereal in one day last week. They looked at me like I'd just told them I'd eaten an entire box of toenails.

(You know what though? If eating an entire box of Life cereal is as horrifying to them as flying is to me, perhaps I ought to rethink my position on it.)

(Nope, it's still delicious.)

I never made it to Mardi Gras, as flying standby in a blizzard isn't really conducive to such things. I did, however, make some excellent friends waiting in line for flight re-bookings for two point two hours.

Regardless of the lack of Mardi Gras, the official Fu Manch Shoes 28 Days of Virtual Rehab officially began at 12 pm on Sunday (before which I had the obligatory last glass of champagne with brunch, of course) and I'm on Day 3. So far, I haven't been shaking in a corner cranking butts and scratching at the invisible bugs on my skin...but the night is young.

Not to mention that tomorrow I've agreed with my friend Kelly to give up candy for lent. Despite my whole "not believing in Christ" thing.

CANDY! Talk about scratching myself and cranking butts.

And that's forty days. I mean, good god!

Although perhaps being cut off from my nougat I.V. cold turkey might be good for the alarmingly yoooge size of my ass lately.

(I may have to cheat on the no smoking pledge at some point here. Most people eat candy to combat smoking cravings.)

(Mmmm, I smoked this weekend, sooooo goooood....)

February 16, 2007

That's What Friends are For?

"Someone smells like FEET."

"Yeah. It's me."

"DUDE."

"I've been wearing these tights since 5 this morning biatch, and, uh, I wore them to work yesterday. I didn't know I didn't have any other tights or hose in my house that were run-free to wear on the plane! Leave me be!"

"You are disgusting. You're making me gag."

"Thanks, dude."

"I have Febreeze, you cannot come back into the room until you spray yourself down with it."

"I've been in an AIRPORT for like 16 hours! This is discrimination!"

She was even more appalled when I went to put the tights on again this morning, but what was I gonna do?

"If I don't wear these my legs will freeze off, I know it's gross, but I will burn them as soon as I get to New Orleans!"

"Don't do it. I'll puke if you do it."

"You're supposed to look NICE when you fly on an employee buddy pass, and this is the only nice outfit I brought, and I have no other hose. I was not expecting to get stuck overnight here, cut me some slack!"

"You're supposed to LOOK nice, how are you supposed to SMELL???"

As it turned out, I didn't make the flight, and I'm in DC for the weekend. The offending tights are wadded up in the bottom of my luggage, and I am now nicely showered and wearing very clean socks.

But you got to love a friend that will tell you when you smell exactly like you'd spent the preceding 36 hours in air travel hell on Earth.

So now there will most definitely be no live-blogging from Mardi Gras, becuase I'm pretty far away from New Orleans. Which sucks, but at least I get to spend the weekend with my peeps in DC.

As long as I promise them to remain clean and odor-free while here.

(I don't normally stink, I swear!)

February 14, 2007

The First Annual Feast of Bitterness

I have two Valentine's Day dates tonight. Too bad they're a couple of chicks instead of Tom Brady, but I guess he seems to think that Gisele is better looking than me or something. Whatever.

It will be a grand time though. We have champagne, we have candy, we have all my "Sex and the City" dvds, and--most importantly--we have the baked ziti.

Let the First Annual Feast of Bitterness begin! Think of it as a Valentine's Day Festivus. After the feast, before the dvds, we will pass around the Unofficial Man-Beating Baton (okay, probably just the remote) and speak of all the bastards that have done us wrong in the previous year.

Then we will view "Sex and the City" and discuss how we do not understand why Carrie always had a boyfriend when she dressed like a homeless person and was constantly squealing like a rutting hog, and how in the early seasons it is inexplicable that Miranda was laid as much as she was when she appeared to be raiding the closet of one Paula Pound(somekids)stone to assemble her wardrobe.

This year will also feature a special prayer for another blizzard next Valentine's Day, since it tickled us pink that chicks were denied getting their "I've got a boyfriend and youuuu dooooon't" bouquets at offices across the land.

(And trust me, I'm a big-time veteran of the "I've got a boyfriend and youuuu doooon't" bouquet. There isn't a girl in America that doesn't take pleasure than getting called to the front desk to retrieve their bouquet and have everyone commenting, "Oh those are lovely" every time they come round your desk. And there isn't a boyfriendless girl in America that doesn't want to punch these bitches. It's like the feeling you get when you're walking through first class on your way to coach. Just admit it, and we can all move on.)

Bitching about men and trashing other women over with, we will be cleansed and able to welcome February 15th with open arms. Aaaah.

I'd like to say I'll be live-blogging from Mardi Gras this weekend....but, well...I am lazy. I do promise to post photos though!

I wish I'd have had time to make my own YouTube video of this song, but this little kid will have to do:

February 13, 2007

Snow? Ohmigosh, Run for Your LIfe!

You know, I haven't spent a winter in New Hampshire in several years. But...this IS still New Hampshire, right?

As in, right next to Maine? As in, right under Canada??

Why the ruckus over this storm? I've been watching the local news, and the entire first 17 minutes of this 30 minute broadcast were ALL about the snow.

There are presidential candidates up here. There's a damn war on. And, um, hello! Have we already forgotten about Anna Nicole??

Oh, they just spent a whopping 2 minutes on other news, now they are back on the storm. Thank goodness, becuase otherwise we might forget that it's supposed to snow.

Like 10-12 inches of snow is a good-sized storm, sure. But do we really need the coverage they are describing for tomorrow? Special early edition of the morning show. Reporter blogs! Minute-by-minute updates of accumulations! Reporters on location at frantic grocery stores! Lookout!

Am I think only one who understands that snow is rather portable? People stock up on supplies like it's a damn concrete storm. Snow all over your car? Brush it off, shovel it away. Now, if concrete falls on your car, that would require a jackhammer. That's something to actually worry about.

Anyhow, I'd better go to bed, I'll need to be well-rested for this apparent apocalypse that's coming. Good lord.

G' (Valentine's) Day Mates

I keep hearing this radio commercial urging guys to take their sweethearts to the Outback Steakhouse for Valentine's Day dinner.

If I actually had a boyfriend, and he actually took me to the Outback for Valentine's Day, I'm really not sure what I'd do.

Part of me would be insulted he'd dare take me to a cheesey-ass chain steakhouse for the Big Romantic (fake) Holiday.

But part of me would be like, "Well...Bloomin' Onion. Okay."

Nothing says I love you like a bowling-ball sized onion dunked in batter and deep-fried, you know?"

But I'm also not really like other girls.

Which is probably why I'm single. All the girls with the good sense to throw a hissy over and Outback Valentine's Day probably won't be home eating Easy Mac with bacon bits and talking to their cats on the dreaded night.

Speaking of the cats, I'm violently resisting the urge to mention them more than once weekly in this space, because it's pathetic, and I can't be cat lady.

(Seriously though, Butters is getting really fat. I've only had them a month, and she is now the size of like, two Bloomin' Onions. Great, now I'm picturing her all fried and edible, so I clearly must go, as am losing mind.)

February 6, 2007

It Takes Two...To Pull Me Away from the TV

I've been a fan of Sarah Bunting's (aka "Sars" for those non TWoP readers among us) writing for ages, but I don't recall the last time I ever came so close to snapping my neck nodding along with one of her posts until today.

The nodding started last week, when she listed out a bunch of classic books and movies she has always meant to read/watch but never got around to. I currently have a post-it full of book titles I need to take down to Barnes and Noble, which I've been meaning to read for, oh, three hundred and eighty-seven YEARS. It's stuck to my desk right next to the unpaid doctor's bill I keep meaning to sort out from October of 2005, where they are trying to claim that I was diagnosed with chest pain or something when it was only a damn physical. Every day I think, "I will call about that again today and see about getting it cleared up."


And every day I leave work going "D'oh!"


So you can imagine how far through that list of books I've gotten.

But there's better things to do, don't you see? Like my 85th viewing of the Farrelly brothers crapfest otherwise known as "Fever Pitch."

Which is the point Sars made, today, as I chuckled and giggled myself into several damn coughing fits (oh did I mention that I'm pretty sure I have the flu? Good times!):

"Why? Why? I could read Dante! I could catch up on vintage sitcoms! I could tutor a child or have tea with a friend! But no: I've got my feet up on the coffee table, sharing a bowl of kettle corn with an overweight feline and watching Stakeout -- again! Actual astronauts do not know as much about airlock technology from the 1980s as I do, because I have seen SpaceCamp more times than Americans have gone to the actual moon!"

I bolted from work at exactly five today, more excited for my couch than I've ever been in my life. And found (fucking) "Fever Pitch" waiting for me on HBO.

This movie is about as good as I feel right now (read: as in, NOT GOOD AT ALL).

But you know what? I watched it anyway. For the 85th time. I can't turn it off. I'm powerless against it. Why? Becuase they play Dropkick Murphy's at the end and show real footage of the final out and the victory parade, which makes me fire up the waterworks and get all giddy and happy and flashbacky to when it actually happened.

(*tear)

Ever see "The Long Kiss Goodnight?" This is seriously (seriously) in my top five. I would normally never admit this. But I'm sorry, Geena Davis straps on FIGURE SKATES and chases the bad guys across a frozen lake and SHOOTS THEM WITH A MACHINE GUN while performing a CARTWHEEL. On ICE SKATES.

It's so good. And Samuel L. Jackson is there. And Geena snaps the neck of...a deer. Yeah, I don't know. It's just so good. I've seen it like, 24 times.

So Sars? I feel ya. And don't even get me started on the Olsen twins/Kirstie Alley/Steve Guttenberg trifecta also known as "It Takes Two." Can't. Not. Watch. Mary-Kate Olsen driving a hansom cab. Seriously. Can't resist. I mean, come on.

In other news, I think I'm checking myself into rehab.

Well, Virtual Imaginary Rehab anyway.

Next week, I go to Mardi Gras. When I return, I am going to sentence myself to 28 days sobriety.

(Ah! "28 Days!" Sandra Bullock goes to rehab and meets quirky characters! Steve Buscemi as a drug counselor! Viggo Mortensen as a drug-addled baseball player! It's gold!!)

I know those of you who know me in real life are probably laughing hysterically. But really, I think it's necessary.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go fish my lung out of the kitchen sink and try to stuff it back in after my latest coughing fit.

I promise to blog about it often and will totally cop to it if I cheat...wish me luck! (Oh, did I mention that the 28th day is St. Patrick's Day? Yeah.)