You Can't Just GO to Pigfarts - It's On MARS

What's better than Harry Potter? Why, a parody of Harry Potter, that's what. Jen turned me on to what actually might be The Greatest Thing I've Ever Seen, aka A Very Potter Musical. It's a parody play put on by students from the University of Michigan, and it's simply magical. No pun intended. It's on the longer side, but worth it.




Highlights totally include the amazing Draco (who's in love with Hermione and wants to go to Pigfarts, which is, inconveniently, on Mars), the sassy Snape, and a really boss Zefron poster. Also, Voldemort never wears a shirt.

You're welcome.

Brokeback By The Bell

lololol

Damn You, Gaga

I really, really wanted to hate Lady Gaga. I mean I really wanted to hate her: the bitch kept walking around outside in flesh colored leotards with bows made out of her own hair atop her head.

But, alas, she has officially grown on me. It started when I saw her live at the House of Blues (she can actually sing, which was pretty shocking), and then grew with the tea cup she kept toting around, and then she had to go and dress like a giant used tampon for the VMAs, and there was no going back for me. And now I just saw the video for "Paparazzi", and all of that insanity + Eric from TrueBlood = I Love Lady Gaga.


Minnie Mouse get-up and all.

Fishsticks + Imma Let You Finish = Meme Heaven

Oh, Pop Culture

It's a never-ending cycle: one may pass on, but there's always another to pick up the reigns.

What makes this even more amazing is that it's from a TextsFromLastNight entry. God, do I love life.

I Am A Magnet

Like the title implies, I am a magnet for a variety of interesting things, including - but not limited to:

1. Guidos
2. Insane People
3. Potentially Violent Insane People
4. Alcoholics
5. Short, Rotund, Poorly Tattooed Women That Hate Me
6. Hot British Men in Clubs

Okay so #6 is a good thing (god save the queen, was it a good thing), but the rest of it? Not so much. Today I dealt with a death threat aimed at my 14 year old, toothless, harmless, just-shaved-so-is-absurdly-ridiculous-looking dog by a woman in her 40s who then proceeded to throw a tantrum that would make a toddler feel awkward, right after having my aura and energy cleansed by a cashier at Vitamin World. I'm not entirely sure if the last thing is a good one or not, though if I don't wake up tomorrow, we'll all have the answer to that one.

It's like they can always find me; like the flock magnetic North and boom! there I am, just waiting for them, like a Statue of Liberty for the fucking insane. And the Italians from Jersey (or the ones who wish they were from Jersey, if you can even contemplate such a thing) with enough hair gel on their being to choke all of the bottle blonds down the Shore.

At any rate, no work for me today, so that lowered the violence quota exponentially.

The Real World is Following Me

Apparently I live in really cool neighborhoods, cause The Real World: Hollywood house was like 3 blocks from my apartment in LA, and the new Real World: DC house is like 3 blocks from my apartment in DC. Interesting. Now if only they'd been filming when I lived there so I could've made a huge ass of myself on national television!

WHA WHERE??

Ben Barnes is filming in Boston RIGHT NOW? WHERE IS HE?

Why Is Pop Culture Dying??

First Ed McMahon, then Farrah, then MJ, now Billy Mays?? Who's going to yell at me from my tv screen and convince me to buy things like the wonder that is OxiClean? Especially with the Shamwow "The Germans make everything better!" Guy in shambles? WHERE IS THE HUMANITY??

Goodnight, sweet prince. May you rest in infommercial peace.

Holy Shit

Farrah Fawcett died :(

Eye See You

So normal vision is 20/20 - that's what your optometrist, if you should need one, will work to get your vision to if you need glasses or contacts. Low vision is anywhere from the 20/60 to 20/400 range (where a -4.00 stands for 20/400 vision) - legally blind (but able to be corrected to 20/20) vision is 20/800.

My mother always had the most notoriously bad eyes in the family; it's a well known fact that without her glasses or contacts, she'll trip over things and walk into doors and such. Her vision is 20/500, or -5.00. My father always said he really hoped my eyes never got that bad.

My eyes as of today?

20/700. That's a -7.00.

I think it's time for lasik.

BRB, switching to my new keyboard:

Noah's Arc

So if this is the weather forecast for the next ten days:


Is this what we'll need on the eleventh day?:

By the way - and I was very surprised to discover this - the first four or so pages under Google's Image Search for "Noah's Arc" doesn't cough up a plethora of pictures of the actual arc (and why are there no awesome pictures of the arc riding the waves?) but instead proudly displays a movie called Noah's Arc:


After careful consideration of the pictures, I think this outcome - rather than an arc with a bunch of wreaking wet animals - is clearly preferred:

For the Ladies

Microgestin: All Over Weight Gain
Ortho Tri-Cyclen Lo: Boob Weight Gain

Score!

The Best Music Video in the History of Time

Behold the wonder that is the literal music video rendition of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" - I almost pissed myself I was laughing so hard.

Mullet with Headlights!

The Breakfast of Champions

People Who Fucking Love Cheerios:

- Babies
- My Dog
- Me

And just like toddlers and my dog, I eat them dry, out of a bowl, with my fingers. Not that my dog has fingers, but you get the point.

For Everything Else, There's MasterCard

Looking Like a Beached Whale in Pictures: Soul Crushing
2 Weeks of Ass Whipping at Runyon: Muscle Crushing
2 Weeks of Dieting: Stomach Crushing
Getting on the Scale and Seeing You Lost No Weight: Resolve Crushing
Realizing Your Scale is Broken and You've Really Lost 10 Pounds: Priceless

Overheard in the Melrose Starbucks

"She was really young. And also really chubby. Bad combo. These pictures these girls take online? Man, I saw this one... I have nothing bad to say about large girls. You know what? You might be too sophisticated for her type. Bottom line. You just might be too darn sophisticated. It's not her fault. It's like, the same people who tell me how good they are in bed? They just aren't. Man, my head."

Wouldn't It Be Nice

If the men in LA weren't all gay or taken? Starbucks is killing me today! I'd say I should just get away from Melrose Ave and head to another part of the city, but there's no point in doing so; still gay, or still taken, from Santa Monica to Silver Lake. Fuck.

I Love Lamp

San Diego has got to be one of the - if not the - most beautiful places on earth. Especially La Jolla, which is a place that should only exist in the back lots of Warner Brothers and such. Where the hell else can you frolic in caves on the beaches, with seals on one side of the beach, and warm weather penguins on the other? To say we didn't want to go back to LA would be one hell of an understatement.

Go fuck yourselves, happy couple (but enjoy the scenery while you're at it!)

We were so relaxed (lots of weed and lots of beaches will do that to a person) and happy and carefree. We wandered around the beaches, we went to an Indian Festival in Balboa Park, we wandered into an Afro-Cuban dance class and had fun kicking our out-of-shape asses AND making fun of each other for making fools of ourselves, and it was pure perfection. Pure bliss. Pure happiness.

Of course then we got back to LA. Look at the difference between the serenity of San Diego, and the madness of what happened at Lucky Strike in Hollywood:

You've got a little crack under your nose, guys.

How were we not kicked out? I guess it's cause we're professional backup dancers on tour. Such is the life of a Hollywood celebrity.

California Here We Come (Right Back Where We Started From)

I do need to catch you all up on the things that happened before I left for California: namely, teaching sex ed to 13-15 year olds, and having my car towed and nearly witnessing a shoot out in the process, deep in the ghettos of... Newton?

But for now, I'm back in Los Angeles, and things are already back to business as usual. As of this morning, I've already:

- had my favorite turkey bacon BLT from Toast
- been molested by Andrea
- got a sunburn
- went shopping on Melrose
- tripped over Adrian Grenier when he jumped out of his car too quickly and almost took the both of us out

It's good to be back.

Heil Donald?

Ho....ly fucking shit. I've heard of the Academy Award winning (for Animated Shorts) anti-nazi propaganda film that Disney made - the premise being that Donald Duck has a nightmare that he's a nazi - but I'd never seen it until someone posted in on OhNoTheyDidnt (randomly, on a posting about Disney working with Hulu.)

There's something vaguely horrifying about Donald heil-ing Hitler, but the assembly line scene with the pictures is fucking hilarious (if deeply disturbing, because, minus the cartoon figures, I'm sure that totally happened.)

New England Spring

Yesterday at 3pm it was 93 degrees in Boston.



Today at 3pm it was 53 degrees in Boston.




Tonight we might have frost by the shore.

Man, do I love Boston Springs! Three seasons in one - you can't just find that anywhere.

I Love SomethingAwful.com

Things I love:

- 80+ degrees days on the water
- getting a little pink but not sunburned, so I won't fry in CA
- SomethingAwful.com when I'm drunk and hanging out on the porch
- SomethingAwful.com's Photoshop Phriday: Lets Ruin Emotional Movie Moments!

Thank You For Being A Friend

Today the legenday Bea Arthur died, and I now want to watch Golden Girls, eat cheesecake and cry myself to sleep. Bea was the fiercest HBIC and when Becca texted me to tell me the news, I got teary eyed and almost ran over some drunk college frat boys at BU attempting to cross the street and go to the Sox game.

The Golden Girls are what my friends and I aspire to be someday - fabulous, fashionable, slutty women who enjoy gossiping, drinking, and sleeping with more men than most of the people my age do these days. Add that to the old person wonderland that is Miami, and you have a recipe for the happiest retirement plan on earth.

At the very least, Betty White is still out there picking up where Bea left off, and for that, I am eternally grateful. The Girls aren't finished just yet.

How Do I Make A Pussy Joke With A Dog Instead Of A Cat?

So Paris Hilton is modeling for Guess' Spring/Summer 09 Collection, because apparently Guess really wants to go bankrupt and fold during these trying times. I couldn't think of a less appealing line of ads, unless of course she was naked in the them.


First of all, she looks like a drag queen. And, nothing against drag queens, but whatever it is she's attempting to do with her face (look sexy? seductive? constipated?) isn't working, and, quite frankly, no one - man, woman, or one who dresses as such - should be wearing a fur vest poolside. It's terribly gauche.

The worst part about the whole thing is the poor dog (why hasn't PETA already started picketing for the poor thing?) who looks so supremely disgusted at the fact that he has to sit that close to her cavernous, man eating vagina. The look on his face clearly says "Bitch, please."It's a wonder her twat didn't burst free from her shorts (bikini bottom? hot pants?) and eat the dog whole. You know your life is sad when even Tinkerbell is grossed out by you.

Well done, Guess, well done. I'll be shopping at Bebe this season for my overpriced, tacky beach wear.

Mad for MadTV

So I'm watching my MadTV season 1 DVDs, and man did I forget how damn good the early seasons were. The skit on right now is the XXX Files and it's pure gold. Mad was a thousand times better than SNL up until the last few seasons. RIP, MadTV.

My Mind Has Been Blown

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Chuck Norris is 69 years old?!?!

How is that even humanly possible????

Burn After DCing

So I'm watching Burn After Reading (okay, only sort of - it's on but I keep getting distracted by other things, so I'm going to have to sit down and rewatch it later) and they keep showing shots of DC, and for the first time in over a year I actually miss the place. Not as in I want to move back, as politics is to DC as the entertainment industry is to LA, and I'm just not a proper political junky, but in the spring and fall it really is a beautiful city. This time of year the Cherry Blossoms have already come out, the weather's at least in the 60s, and the city is full of college students drinking obscene amounts of alcohol in protest of finals. 

Ah, to be young and in the nation's capitol again. God I miss college.

Goodnight, Sweet Prince

Fuck. I'm old. I am now officially 24 years old. 

I bid you adieu, early twenties! And I welcome you, mid-twenties. 

Just kidding, I need to drown myself in alcohol, wear my sorority letters, attempt to infiltrate a college, and pretend like I'm still in college and forever 21 and all that. Keg stand, anyone?

Too Close For Comfort

T-Minus 3 hours until I'm an old fuck. Well, if you want to nitpick, it's 4 hours and 21 minutes, as I was technically born at 1:19am, but still.

Running (Away) In Heels

Goddamn do I hate Ashley from Style's Running in Heels. I've met this bitch a few times in person, thanks to mutual friends back at GW, and she's done absolutely nothing to redeem herself. I know they edit the crap out of reality shows, and that they spin them to make the 'villain' and the 'heroine' and all that crap, but Ashley is a white trash, obnoxious, shockingly egotistical bitch. 

Also, she looks like that - all the time. Like, all the time. The only time she's ever even remotely smiling is when she's smirking over someone else's misfortune (which she does all the time, whether it be gloating over someone failing, gloating over stealing something from someone else, or gloating over how awesomely she screwed someone else over) and it makes me want to start shanking bitches left and right.

When You Go Down: The Pole vs. My Pole

So apparently Flo Rider's remix of "Right Round" isn't as dirty as I thought - it's about strippers, not about getting head/getting eaten out.

I still totally think it's about oral sex. And Benja-man Frank-a-lans.

Confucker

So tomorrow the Conficker virus is supposed to hit (Ha! Get it! Happy April Fool's Day! God it's so genius to do something unfunny on a funny day! How original!) and despite taking all the steps to keep my computer clean and safe (and scanning it like 4 times with 4 different programs to make sure the virius isn't already lying dormant, ready to turn my computer into a zombie machine tomorrow, omfg) I still feel like my computer's gonna crash and burn. Murphy's Law of Computers applies to me - Whatever can go wrong with my laptop, Will go wrong with my laptop. It's a terrible shame.

So, alas, if tonight is the last night my Dell Inspiron 1505 will pseudo-live, then adieu, darling. You were mostly great while you lasted, despite that 6 month period where you didn't want to work and wouldn't start, and the whole battery issue where the battery died then the new one fried itself, and the viruses, and all the rest. Goodnight, sweet prince.

I Don't Want to be the "I" in First

So the other night at dinner, Jen and I were discussing the idea of first person narratives. We'd been chatting with some other writer friends earlier in the week, discussing third person vs. first person, and how everyone generally felt more comfortable writing in the third person. There's something strangely bizarre about writing in first person, because, when writing fiction, you're not actually writing about yourself. My writing jumps around all over the place, from childhood nostalgia to bitter drunken rantings to softcore pornography that would make lots of money on Cinemax Late Night and really, no matter what my topic or audience, first person just doesn't sit well with me.

Whether you're writing horror "My spine was ripped out from my mouth", suspense "I can't believe it's not butter!", gritty noir detective novels "I threw the body into the trunk but it was too big, so I kept slamming the trunk hood onto the guy's head to squish him in properly", happy fluff "I skipped down the bustling street, the sky a cotton candy pink above my head", or porn "I touch your cock, okay?" it just doesn't mesh.

Now, to be fair to first person, I also strongly dislike Second Person, because it's giving me the distinct feeling of being told what to do and/or being unnecessarily scolded for something I'm pretty sure I didn't do: "You went up to the cliff and threw yourself over the edge for being a cheating bastard" (I did what now?) / "You are the incarnation of evil" (but why?) It also gets really weird if the story's dark or depressing or sexual at all in nature: "You bent over and took it like the whore you are" (whoa whoa whoa, are we taking doggy style or buttsex, cause I draw the line somewhere, buddy) because it's almost like you're being told you personally are doing these bizarre things, and it makes you feel oddly squirmy inside. Which, I suppose, is the entire point of second person anyway, because (save for one extremely awkward story someone wrote in one of my fiction classes in college) they're all "modern and edgy" so of course they want to make you squirm. Yeah yeah, I get it. But still.

Yet I still prefer second person to first person. (As I write in first person, but my blog is a blog, not fiction, so yes I am actually writing about my own life, no matter how psychotic and unstable it sometimes seems.) I think another of my fears of writing in the first person is that I'll somehow contract Stephanie Meyeritis and everyone will think my writing is my own sick, twisted fantasy. I guess it's not too much of a stretch, I have always wanted to be a codependent, depressed, can't-function-without-my-male-boyfriend, sex-starved, vampire baby having, sparkly vampire lusting, terrible role model to girls of all ages. I just can't help it.

Gag(a) Me

This picture perfectly sums up why I hate Lady Gaga so goddamn much:

It's literally makes me want to hunt her down and stab both her and that damn hairbow, because jesusfuckingchrist she's walking around wearing a bow made out of her own hair.  Add that she's hiding her face from the paparazzi and she officially becomes the most baffling person in existance. I don't get it. How could she possibly want to "hide" from the paps with all of this going on:

1. Hairbow. Hairbow. A bow, made out of her own hair, sitting atop her head.

2. A flesh. Colored. Unitard. AND THAT'S IT. I get it, she's ~edgy~ but does that really mean she needs to wander around in a nude colored unitard, looking like an unsettling mix of a gymnast, a stripper, and a Cirque du Soleil member? It makes me want to cry.

3. She's carrying around a cotton candy pink bag with a Playboy magazine clearly (and, I'd assume, purposely) hanging out of it. First of all, who the hell walks around with a Playboy these days, besides old men wearing trench coats in vans? (And even then, most of them are carrying around pictures of prepubescent children, as opposed to naked adult ladies.)

She tries so goddamn hard to be "unique and edgy" that's she's driving me to seriously abuse the use of italics. No one in their right mind - who's not desperately trying to garner as much attention as humanly possibly - would actually throw that outfit on without thinking or caring about what it actually looks like. This bitch plans all of this out in advance (probably days in advance) and probably obssesses about every little detail (such as: will my tampon string hang out of my unitard today? Man, that was awkward the last time that happened!)

I'll take trainwreck Britney over this bitch any day.

AOL Doesn't Understand Concept of "Best"

So AOL Music and Movies  made a list of 10 Movies You Need to See Before You Die (someone's not great at PR over there) and came up with a few great hits:

- The Shawshank Redemption

- Witness

- Citizen Kane

- The Deer Hunter

- Life is Beautiful

Okay, pretty damn good movies. Then there was:

- Amelie

Fun? Sure. Quirky? Sure. A movie you absolutely have to see before you die? No. Not even a little. Not even remotely. Not on any planet. 

But it gets worse, because someone - someone getting paid to have an opinion on these sorts of things - added these "movies" onto the list:

- The Notebook

- Mamma Mia!

- The Others

I don't give a fuck if you're pissy at me for knocking The Notebook, but there is NO WAY IN HELL that movie is a must see before you shuffle off this mortal coil. It was so boring, so insipid and obnoxious and borderline mentally retarded, and I couldn't even finish the movie, it was that bad. 

Mamma Mia? Couldn't pay me to see it.

The Others? The Others? Funnily enough, I was literally talking about this movie at dinner tonight, commenting on how absolutely stupid and painfully obvious it was (this from a 6 Degrees Of thing, where we were discussing Michael Jackson's Glory Days > Michael Jackson's Revival > Michael Jackson's Plastic Surgery > Michael Jackson Spoof in Scary Movie 3 > Scary Movie 3's Michael Jackson + The Others Spoof > The Others) and how it only deserved to be mocked, and nothing more.

And yet AOL thinks we haven't lived our lives if we haven't seen it.

Can I take that person's job, please? I promise I won't force you to see movies that will end up killing you, rather than fulfilling some greater purpose in life.

GraphJam = Awesome

I'm so tired I have nothing even remotely witty to say, so here are some graphs fromGraphJam:

In Vino Mood Swing

Note to self: When feeling a mood swing coming on, do not continue imbibing wine, it only leads to very bad things. Very bad things. No matter how good of an idea it seems at the time, or how good it tastes going down the hatch, it is a recipe for emotional disaster.

Hasn't it been almost a year since I went off th Lupron? Good lord. 

Let the Countdown Begin

So in 17 days I will officially be in my mid-twenties. Gone are the days of college, the sleeping till 2pm, the drinking at 2:30pm; gone are the days of my early twenties, being broke and nomadic, moving from city-to-city; now all I have to look forward to are the new gray hairs I spot every now and then. Thanks grandma, for passing on your "gray at 30" genes!

Tomorrow begins my "attempt to diet and look good" extravaganza, which will have to begin with losing the 10 or so pounds I put on over the course of today. Handful of Cadbury Cream Eggs? Check. Pepperoni pizza for lunch? Check. Pizza for dinner? Check. Half a freaking loaf of bread before the pizza? Check. Four drinks at dinner? Check. I think my waistline's expanding as I type that out.

I'd like to pretend that I'll have an apple for breakfast, nibble at a salad for lunch, and eat a small portion of protein and veggies for dinner, but then I have those Cadbury eggs in my desk drawer, and someone will suggest Panera sandwiches for lunch, and then my mom will cook me a massive dinner and ply me with wine, and by the time I turn 24 I'll be 400 pounds and I'll need to be rolled around on a forklift. Ah, ambition. 

Oh, and if you were wondering: Endo Diet? Total failure. Back to bread and caffeine for me!

xkcd (gesundheit?)

So my friend Erin linked me to this blog called xkcd, which is described as a "webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language." Obviously I know nothing about math (or physics, or computer programming, which are frequent offenders there) but holy shit, the rest of it is magical. And I suppose, if you're intelligent enough to be able to understand more than basic addition and (some) subtraction (i.e. you're not me) then it really is magical.

Also? they have this:

And you know if the internet ever got wind of someone actually saying that, it'd probably blow up from all the excitement. 

See? Making Strides Already

"I have twatted" - Stephen Colbert

Oh, Stephen; you can twat me anytime you want. I can barely restrain myself from twittering every ten seconds, which is odd because I'll only update my Facebook status once a day, if that. I think it's because I hate the goddamn status updates on FB, because they're the least interesting thing on there. On Twitter? Obviously there's nothing else on there; no wonder it's so damn addicting.

I didn't want to follow celebs or anything, but then John Mayer went and posted something about "his penis falling asleep" and I just couldn't help myself. I also kind of want to follow Britney, but I don't think it's really her, and that would be very disappointing. I also want to see Britney in concert at Mohegan Sun - who's in??

And before I keel over from exhaustion: Anyone watch E! News at midnight? They're swearing and being really dirty, and it makes the show 1000000x more interesting. I kind of love it.

I'm Sorry for Sucking At Life. Also, for Sucking Face.

Okay. OKAY. I know, I know, I'm the worst updater in the history of Blogger. At any rate, I have somewhat of an excuse as I have mono, and I've pretty much been a zombie for two weeks now. At least if I bit you you'd only kind of die.

Anyway, one of my four thousand new years resolutions was to actually update daily again, and so today I take the pledge to do so. Also, I just remembered I had Twitter, so I think that if I can update the stupid Twitter (which, who am I kidding, of course I will - I update my Facebook status like every ten seconds) then I can update my damn blog. I know that no one's expecting anything overly-intelligent from me, so it's not like my updates will disappoint. 

And with that, I leave you with a picture of Jazz not understanding how to properly use her bed:

Whit's End

So after reading the so-called "gospel of endometriosis" everyone seems to agree that yes, indeed, a diet free of wheat and dairy is the way to go. Most people see dramatic changes in 2-3 weeks.

It's been 3 months, and I feel exactly the same as I did when my diet consisted mostly of wheat and things I wasn't apparently supposed to be eating. I've tried surgery, herbal supplements, vitamin regiments, medically-induced menopause, therapists, massage therapy, and just about every other fucking ridiculous means of relief there are, and nothing's worked. 

So... now what?

What's 12 backwards? 21! Vegas time!

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

Tonight = Season Premiere of America's Next Top Model Season 12! Hard to believe that we've already seen 12 winners crash and burn; where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday Adrianne Curry was still pretending like she wasn't a raving psychopath.

Tyra didn't disappoint, with her keen observation that 12 backwards is 21, and thus they should jet (er, bus?) off to Vegas. Yeah, Vegas! If only what happened in Vegas actually stayed in Vegas this time.

I won't be able to see the entire finale (hello, Lost at 9) and I already know the 13 Finalists, but let me just say that my entire life has just become real and meaningful, because I got to see Angelea declare she wasn't there to make friends because she was going to be a model - I'm sorry, is a model - complete with her 3" talon acrylics, hair so hairsprayed it looks like a helmet, and enough acne to frighten off the bravest of makeup artists.

And yes, Cynthia, Tyra certainly is extraterrestrial. I think that's the smartest thing anyone's ever said in the entire history of ANTM.

I love this show.

Bed Time

It would appear that Jazz likes the bed I bought for her:

The head on the floor bit looks particulatly comfortable.

Of Writing, Ranting, and Gimpy Dogs

Everyday when I come home from work I say to myself, "I'm going to sit down, write a blog entry, and then start writing my first book!" And then I get into the wine, and all I end up producing are dirty doodles and a few Mrs. Jensen Ackles in hearts, and really, that's not doing anything for anybody. 

I have all the ammunition I need for my big bang onto the literary scene (and/or the illustrious blogger scene) but I'm having such a hard time stringing more than two words together lately that I end up throwing my notebook in frustration and wondering if I'll ever be able to write again. Blog entries come much more easily, but even then my posts are few and far between. I think part of it is attempting to adjust to working days right now; I'm not meant to wake up before 7am, it's just a fact of life. And being at a job where I can't stumble in at 9am hungover and in sweatpants, spending my time dishing about gossip with the girls, really takes a toll. Being "an adult" just doesn't work for me.

It also doesn't help that my life is one gigantic question mark right now. I don't particularly miss the city of LA, but I miss my friends so much that I think I left a part of my heart there. I love Boston and I love being back in a real city, but I don't know if this is the place for me to grow. I miss New York but I have no money. Ah, life's quandaries. 

With my friends all over the world, so far apart from each other, I feel a bit alone and uncertain as to where to go from here. My mom has been my absolute rock since my return from LA, and I know that if I didn't have her, I'd be completely lost. She's been encouraging me to write, for a variety of reasons: it's what I love doing, it makes me think and grow, it's part of who I am. And, if successful, it's the kind of career that will not only enable me to do what I really love doing, but would be able to finance the kind of life where I can travel and see the people I love and take full advantage of life.

Ah, but I'm losing my loyal audience, I think. Too much whining, not enough funny. To lighten the mood, I'm watching 'Whose Wedding is it Anyway?' and this hot young blond chick is marrying a super old geezer and every time she so much as looks too directly at him it looks like she might break a rib or quite possibly kill him. The bliss of romance.

I've decided that I need someone to buy me a huge gaudy engagement ring, throw me a massive wedding, take me on an incredible honeymoon, then agree to a swift annullment. You don't even have to do me - I'm not too picky. I just want to wear a pretty dress, get married on a beach without wearing shows, flaunt my ring to jealous bitches, and the never have to worry about sharing my life, time, uterus and money with someone. I think that's a pretty good deal. 

The rich only need apply.

Also, for your little feel good takeaway of the day: Jazz has realized that if she limps I feel bad for her and give her treats, so she spent the better part of this evening limping around in circles on three paws, falling over herself and into the walls, before she gave up and started walking normally again. I suppose an old dog can learn new tricks. Kind of.

Locked Up Abroad

I love "Locked Up Abroad" so much because it really highlights just how stupid people are. Smuggling hundreds of thousands of dollars of cocaine out of Peru? Stowing seven pounds of heroin in your suitcase in Bangladesh? Sashaying past police drug sniffing dogs with your carry-on full of crack in a country that will never let you out of prison and back to your own country? What could possibly go wrong!

It's all these young, stupid girls who don't seem to comprehend the fact that drug smuggling in third world countries is highly, highly stupid. . And then they wonder why the drug dealers are so mean to them and hurt their poor little feelings, and really, all they wanted was a little vacation to South America during monsoon season. Oh wait, they didn't realize it was the off season? Oh wait, they didnt' realize they stuck out like sore thumbs? Oh wait, they didn't realize other countries had prison, too?

Also, anyone else love that The National Geographic Channel is now called NatGeo? It's amazing. 

Hug A Jew Day

February 2nd is the Official Hug a Jew Day. This means I expect lots of chutzpa and hugs, and, preferably, lots of inappropriate groping*. You could even through a L'Chiam! in there for good measure, I won't judge you. 

*preferably from straight males, but I'll take what I can't. Beggars can't be choosers. And me darf nit zein shain; me darf hoben chain. Just kidding, you have to be hot.

Things I Find on Wikipedia

Now, if I was a doctor, and I was - for some reason - coining syndrome names, I'm pretty sure that the word "floppy" would never be included in my list of possibilities. The term has a bit of a humorous conotation, and, for the majority of people, humorous terms aren't supposed to be used to describe any syndrome that an infant has. Unless it's Winston Churchill Syndrome, which my parents gleefully used to describe me, because I went through a several month period in which I could've hidden coins, shoes, or Switzerland in my jowls. But I digress.

I was playing on Wikipedia, looking up when to take my Ativan for tomorrow's flight (because if you don't know by now, I do not enjoy flying under any circumstance, even if I'm going somewhere awesome) and happened to find a link to the Floppy Infant Syndrome page. Whoa whoa whoa, what? I know, I had the same reaction.

Apparently Floppy Infant Syndrome is when infant's have the "condition of abnormally low muscle tone (the amount of tension or resistance to movement in a muscle), often involving reduced muscle str

ength." So, granted, not hilarious per se, but it's easily managed if you catch it early enough, so really it's not like I'm being a bad person for being overly joyful about this name. 

I mean seriously, the possibilities of what you can do with a Floppy Baby are endless:

- Fold them up for easy travel

- Decorative coverlet

- ShamWow substitute 

- Stretch Armstrong-esque amusement for your other children

- You know how putty can be used to take impressions of newspaper? Yeah, that

- For some reason I'm assuming they bounce

I also think they'd fit nicely in your sock drawer - and I say this because my parents put me in a sock drawer for the first few months of my life, and while I was admittedly a preemie, I certainly wasn't able to be folded up for convenient storage, so I'm really not sure how that worked. Thanks, mom, dad. So if you've ever wondered why I'm the way I am, blame my parents and their dresser. 

It's Time for a Temporary Change

Today's Boston Forecast:

Snowed like a motherfucker this morning, then began pouring freezing rain. Temperature as of 4:35pm:

Today's West Palm Beach* Forecast:

Warm and Fair. Temperature as of 4:35pm:

*And yes I'm actually going to West Palm Beach, which I just found out. But hey, that still means a fabulous boutique hotel, access to a car, gorgeous beaches, and plenty of high end shops that I can't afford to shop at but will blow my first paycheck on anyway. I also plan on getting myself a sweet spa deal, with some combination of a massage, a facial, and/or a mani/pedi. Sometimes I really love life. 

Yay for Good News

Here are my Good News Nuggets of the Week:

1. I no longer have The Plague!

2. I'm going to Miami this Thursday!

3. I lost 5 pounds!

4. I had a margarita last night!

It really is the little things in life. I have like 40000 things to do this week before I go to Florida, but everything seems to be on the up 'n up. Especially because I'm healthy again so I can drink again. Having a frozen strawberry margarita last night was like the highlight of the month. That was also right before we went to see the premiere of my brother's skate video, which was ridiculously good. I can't even stand on a skateboard, let alone attempt coasting down the driveway, so when I see him and his friends flipping all over the place, jumping huge staircases, and soaring over dangerously pointy fences, I'm pretty much in awe.

This post is kind of pointless, but I wanted to let everyone know I'm alive and kicking. Really, it's the little things.

The Plague

So it would appear I have The Plague (and yes, that deserves to be capitalized.) Everyone at work has it, so of course two days after I start, I end up looking - and feeling - like the walking dead. Here's a picture of us at lunch time, so you can get a better idea of how we look:

Don't I look cute in my blue button down?

I've been living off of turkey soup, water, and tea for the past three days, and I'm actually surprised that at this point, I'm not rolling everywhere. I didn't think it was possible for someone to consume this much liquid, but I guess you learn something new every day. 

I've been sucking down DayQuil and NightQuil as needed, but seeing as I actually have Bronchitis, it's really not doing all that much. Sure, I'm a little more alert for an hour or so, but the whole time I'm still grossing everyone out by attempting to hack up both of my lungs. I can't breathe anyway, so I may as well get rid of them. 

And, of course, I was just bragging two weeks ago about how I haven't been sick in soooo long. Yeah, that'll teach me. Mouth, meet foot. 

I Love You Jerry!

OMG I love the old guy on Biggest Loser, and his sad little puppy face when he learned he only lost one pound this week just about tore my heart out of my chest :( 

I love you, Jerry. And fuck Joelle! They should've kicked her sorry ass out on principle, she doesn't want to be there and doesn't want to put the effort in. They should've kept the old man - especially because he's like 100, and can do things that would leave me winded.

Operation Bikini

So I need to lose 10 pounds by the end of the month because I'm going to South Beach for a weekend! My fancy new job is sending my increasingly large ass to Miami for work, and while I'll technically only have one day to frolic around on the beach, I'll still be in South Beach and therefore must look absolutely amazing.

Usually it's not a problem for me to lose weight; I think about being skinny, and I lose the pounds. Right now, though, thanks to the pill (well actually some thanks to the pill, I can still fill out my bras) I can't seem to lose one freaking pound. The past week I've been diligently working out, eating salads, drinking water, and not snacking (at all!) and I've lost... nothing. I'm the same weight I was before. It's terrible.

I need to look like this: 

Minus the buttaface

Though right now I'm afraid this will end up being my Miami vacation:

BRB running 5 miles.

Spring is in the Purse

So I've decided what bag I'd like for my spring wardrobe. It's delightfully ugly pretty, and even though I'd only use it for one season and then forget about it (in my closet, with the rest of the bags I just had to have) I want it so badly I can taste it. I would sell my brother on the black market for it. I would kill in cold blood for it.

It's the Fendi Ombre Jacquard Chef Bag, which is currently only on pre-order:

Whoever buys this for me at the low, low price of $1,100, I will perform unspeakably dirty sex acts on. You know you want to.

The Unborn Should Stay Unborn

You know a horror movie's bad when, during the first "scary scene", the entire audience bursts out laughing rather than screaming out in horror. And you know you're really doomed when the entire audience commences gleefully tearing the movie apart, rather than bickering over who's talking during what scene, and the usual onslaught of "shhh's!" 

The opening scene of The Unborn was, apparently, supposed to be a scary, ominous scene that set the tone for the rest of the movie. Instead, there was some mess of a small, ugly boy (enough with the spooky children, Hollywood!), an aqua glove, a bulldog wearing a mask (?) and a buried fetus in a jar. I guess now we all know where babies come from, at any rate. 

So we have our 'heroine' (who I find debatable at best), the supposed-to-be-attractive Odette Yustman (of Cloverfield 'fame') who somehow manages to look sickly thin and awkwardly acne-scar-marked in just about every frame. She spends most of the movie changing eye colors, jogging in the frigid cold of a Chicago fall/winter (it would seem that the seasons regularly rocket back and forth, with no sign of a spring or summer to be found), and running from some combination of the creepy young boy she babysits for, and some kind of Jewish demon which Gary Oldman (someone owed someone a favor!), as Rabbi Sendack, describes as a dybbuk. Whatever floats your boat, I guess. 

Yustman's acting is deplorable, and we never once feel anything even close to pity or worry for her. In fact, within the first ten minutes, we were all hoping she'd just hurry up and die already. I think at this point, I'd rather watch a movie based solely on Jumby.

Oh, wait, a Jumby? you ask? Let me explain. Apparently Yustman's character - Casey - was born a twin, but managed to strangle her fetus brother to death with her own umbilical cord. Considering they were little more than a clump of cells at the time, and there's no way in hell Casey had the brain power, muscle power, or, you know, body, to really plot and carry out a murder, she decides that she's to blame, and runs around screaming about her brother this, and her brother that, and in the end, it's no surprise that that her father (James Remar, the first of two Dexter actors that unwisely agreed to appear in this film) conveniently goes on a business trip and disappears after the first 15 minutes of the movie. I wouldn't be able to deal with that much unncessary whining either. Anyway, "Jumby" is the nickname her parents gave the boy fetus in the womb. Because there's nothing more frightening than a Jumby, especially during the laughable lecture hall scene, in which Casey sees Jumby wants to be born written on the whiteboard, and then realizes she's filled her page of notes with the same words. It's Jumby time! If only it didn't sound so much like a combination of Gumby and Jumbo shrimp. Kind of makes me hungry. 

So poor Casey's mother went insane and ended up hanging herself (so that's why her father skipped town!) and it was all very tragic, and apparently her insane asylum was in a castle or something, and her mother had wonky eye issues with her brown eyes changing to a blue color only found in a Special Edition box of Crayolas, and oh, did I mention that this is all because of the Holocaust?

Casey fleetingly mentions something about her mother having been adopted but never having known her birth parents, and then conveniently Casey finds some clippings from her mother's collection that talk about a Holocaust survivor named Sofi. So, of course, Sofi ends up being her biological grandmother, and a mini reunion ensues. But wait! Our Sofi was, of course, a twin! But then that wacky Josef Mengele got his hands on the twins, and in a lovely, souless exploitation of the horrors of the Holocaust, had the pleasure of injecting that Crayola blue into Sofi's twin's eyes, and then oops killed him, and then oops opened a door to another universe that let in the demon and so on and so forth.

Now, as a Jew myself, I'm not prone to being overly touchy. But once in awhile, someone pulls something like this, and I find myself becoming very offended, and my hands itch to throttle someone. You do not pull the Holocaust into a shitty horror movie because you think it'll add some weight to the film and make it more plausible. The entire thing was so groan inducing that even the pre-teens around us were uncomfortable and asking whether or not writer/director David S. Goyer had lost his freaking mind. Although I'm still more offended that they thought something called Jumby was going to frighten us, and that something like this picture would actually strike fear into the hearts of the moviegoers. Word to the wise, Goyer, we've seen this done a million times.

Know what else we've also seen a million times? Someone all contorted and spider-like crawling up or down stairs (The Grudge), someone making that weird comb/gurgling noise (The Grudge), head spinning (The Exorcist), old people (Grumpy Old Men), creepy children (The Ring, Hide and Seek, The Sixth Sense, The Shining, The Omen, The Others, Village of the Damned, The Exorcist, Silent Hill, etc etc etc.) , too-skinny heroines (Cloverfield, The Eye, anything with any Hollywood starlet in it), exorcisms (The Exorcist, The Exorcism of Emily Rose) a nonsensical plot (most recent horror movies) and so on and so forth. In fact, everything's been done so many times that the entire movie is one, big, stinking cliche. There's no level of imagination, no creativity, no thought put into this whatsoever. They figured a few cheap scares, some faces popping out of darkened rooms, and the whole Holocaust debacle would be enough to carry the movie. Sorry, kids, but you failed. Miserably.

Oh, and Jumby's born after all, because of course Casey is pregnant, and of course she's having twins. Oops, did I ruin the end for you? Good.

Afterwards, Jen and I decided that Jumby was going to be our new catch phrase, because we thought we had to take something away from the movie (other than a bad taste in our mouths, and the annoyance that we'd actually shelled out $10 each to see it.) I guess you could say this movie was one hell of a Jumby.

I Looked Into the Face of Evil

And lived to tell the tale.

Today, I was a substitute teacher for a class of first and second graders. First and second graders. Not only do I still have all my limbs, and my full supply of blood, but I actually kind of enjoyed it. It probably would've been an easier day if I hadn't taken a drunken fall on icy stairs the other night, and effectively destroyed my once lucious legs, but you know me - never one to take it easy.

More later, once I sleep for 24 hours straight and recover. 

Happy 2009!

I used to be able to party nonstop for days at a time, with only a few hours of sleep here and there to keep me running, but it seems like that peaked somewhere around the age of 21. Now, at the ripe old age of 23, it takes quite a few days to recover from a week of drinking, smoking, and eating far too much. Hence the reason I've been in bed for two days now, drinking copious amounts of water to rehydrate myself and wondering when the spinning sensation will finally stop.

It's hard to believe that it's already 2009. This means I graduated from college two years ago, graduated from high school six years ago, and graduated from the preschool in which we found out my teacher was actually a dominatrix with ads in the Phoenix twenty years ago. TWENTY YEARS AGO. I wonder where Miss Jenna is now, and whether she still has a taste for leather.

Leather-wielding preschool teachers aside, I think 2009 is going to be a good year. I've already made up a list of Resolutions, and I intend to at least stick with them for a month. Preferably several, but I don't want to set myself up for disappointment.

- Move

- Cut out 99% of the junk food I still try to sneak

- Work out every day, regardless of ovarian issues

- Thoroughly enjoy the decriminalization of weed in Mass

So far, so good. I wanted to add in "Be a better person" and "Don't judge others (quite so much)" but one step at a time here, people. I am only human.

In addition, there are several things coming up in 2009 that I'm positively gleeful about:

- My Bloody Valentine in 3-D

- Officially hitting my mid-twenties and not having a complete breakdown

- The Lost season 5 premiere 

- Thoroughly enjoying the decriminalization of weed in Mass

See? I'm already making strides.