Meshugeh

My Name is Awesome

2010-10-19T14:43:00.005-04:00

Days till Halloween: 12

"The movie My Name is Bruce is the heroic struggle of a small mining town (Gold Lick, Oregon) to rid itself of a vengeful monster. Guan-di, the Chinese god of war, protector of the dead and patron saint of bean curds, has been unleashed by cemetery-desecrating teenagers to protect the graves of Chinese miners lost in a deadly cave-in of yesteryear."

What, I don't even, oh my god- Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Since it's that team of year again - when I get the Plague and mid-October! - I am, of course, home sick, lounging in a nest on my bed with the dogs, watching the SyFy channel and shedding tears of admiration at the onslaught of terribly delightful horror movies that have been parading past my screen for the past 6 or so hours.

Given that I absolutely have to go back to work tomorrow, I'm forcing myself to lounge in bed, half napping half watching tv, saving my strength so I can get back on my feet. My usual MO is to either power through work to the point of keeling over, or to run around the house while I'm sick which results in then mostly dying and missing a week or so of work, and this time just won't cut it. So here I am, drinking tea, staying in bed, and behaving. Well I never.

It helps that I'm watching an hour and a half of this epic movie, in which I get to hear Bruce Campbell utter such iconic lines as "I don't know you but I love you", "Does this make my ass look fat?" and "Consider yourself officially exempt from my wrath sweetcakes, and if you're lucky a little later I'll let you play with my boomstick." It's Bruce Campbell playing Bruce Campbell, and life just doesn't get any better than that.

Except for BubbaHo-Tep.

Dear Barrister

2010-08-15T17:42:00.004-04:00

You know those chain emails you always get, from a lawyer in some random country, who declares that you are the long lost kin of a Baron or Lord who conveniently - and recently - died a messy death? And how they want to work with you to send you, roughly, seven or so million dollars, in exchange for just a few measly tidbits of personal information? Of course you do, because you get them all the time.

Well, I've received one too many lately, and I decided it was time to take a stand against them. Not because they're digging for my personal information, and not because they spam me relentlessly, but because they are written so poorly, so incorrectly, that it's time someone took a stand and did something about it.

And here we go:

NaNoWriMo: The Bastardized Version

2010-08-02T21:16:00.002-04:00

For those of you in the know, NaNoWriMo (also known as National Novel Writing Month) is an annual novel writing project, held in November, that "brings together professional and amateur writers from all over the world." The concept is simple - if difficult - enough: write a novel in a month.

I've supposed to have joined, what, seven times now? Eight? (Good god, has it been that long?) but, true to form, I always completely fail to even write a title on the ubiquitous, glaring white of the empty Microsoft Word doc. Whoops.

Course, also true to form, when I finally decide to do it, I decide to do it off season, when no one else is even contemplating such insanity, and I embrace it wholeheartedly, telling anyone who will listen just how amazing I am and how amazing my book is going to be, and so on and so forth. And it will be! Just take it from me. I know things.

Also, it's about zombies. Obviously.

So, long story short (har har), August is my NaNoWriMo. Weekends are free for alls, and my work schedule for the month is 12pm-9pm; I'll be going into the city with Tyler for his 9am-normal shift, and I'll spend those three hours banging away on my laptop in the Barnes & Noble in the Pru.

Bring it.

The Good Life

2010-07-18T13:04:00.003-04:00

I would just like you all to know that I have been drinking mojitos since 10am, eating cheese and cracker platters, gossiping, enjoying the sun, and am now going to take a nap to prepare myself for the remainder of my day.

You are very welcome for the chance to experience a momentary glimpse into my glamorous life.

Going to Sweden!

2010-07-01T21:13:00.005-04:00

Sweden, Maine, that is.

Want to get wild? Crazy? Live the high life? Where better to do so than in Sweden! With a population of 324 as of the 2000 census, and the only actual store in town A sort of ammunition trading post that resembles something from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Sweden is the place to be for the rich and famous this 4th of July Holiday!

All kidding and chainsaw-wielding mutant psychopaths aside (at least until we get up there), Kristyn's cabins up in Sweden are a godsend. The cabins aren't all that far from Bridgton (which doesn't count as an actual town in most of the real world, but is one of those charming little Maine hamlets that tourists can't get enough of), but they're definitely off the beaten path, and they seem like they're on another, leafier, greener planet. With the lake feet from the cabins, a shed full of firewood, and unbridled freedom, we're hours away from a heavenly escape.

Kristyn's right: you get the best sleep of your life up there. With the warm breeze, the lake smell, the fresh air... all you want to do is sleep between jaunts into town, trips to the beach, and drinking glutenous amounts of alcohol. We're going up en masse, with 8 people, 2 dogs, and - did I mention glutenous drinking? - enough alcohol to quench the thirst of a small country. Ah, the joys of vacation.

I'll be back next weekend. If I can be pried away, that is. Happy birthday, America, and happy vacation, us.

Mystery Science Theater 3000

2010-06-14T21:45:00.009-04:00

There comes a time in every young adult's life when they are first introduced to the wonder that is Mystery Science Theater 3000. I remember my MST3K de-virginization like it was yesterday: I was at my friend Kacey's house, and we were watching tv; Kacey remembered it was 8pm or what have you, and an awesome show as on that I would like; and then there it was - Prince of Space! Chicken aliens, lasers that don't do anything, and lots of shiny spandex. It was heaven on earth. Or heaven in space.

Cluck.

From that moment on, I obsessed over the show, catching every episode that I could, which eventually translated into buying way too many collections of the show on DVD - it cost nearly an arm and a leg, but for you, MST3K, I will bravely face amputation. It's everything that's wrong in the world, wrapped neatly in the beauty of everything that's right in the world. Take now, for instance - a movie about a zombie knock off of Rocky? With heaving man nipples and all? Made pure perfection.

9 out of 10 times I prefer Mike as the host, though Joel holds a stoned, sleepy, who-gives-a-shit place in my heart. And I can never quite decide if I like Pearl or Dr. Forrester better, though I do know that TV's Frank is the man I will someday marry. I love you, Frank.

Sophie's Hilarious Choice

Even today, some 12 years later (oh my god), the show remains a bastion of purity and amazingness, a comfort blanket for the wicked, a beautiful reminder of all that is pure in this world. And it's an amazing way to spend a night when all your friends and roommates are off being "adults" and "working" and all of that nonsense that Joel, Mike, Crow, and Tom Servo turn their noses up at. Then mock endlessly. Amen.

An Ode to Marco

2010-06-13T23:48:00.005-04:00

Just kidding. I'm really writing about the other smelly, hairy, un-bathed animal in my life.

Jazz!

Oh, Jazz.

About a month ago Jazz had some sneezing and appropriately semi-icky eye gook - pretty standard for dog allergies, and whatnot. Then two weeks ago, she started waking up with her eyes all stuck together, and I'd have to pry them apart with tissue paper, which would then just get stuck, and then it'd make her look like Lady Gaga:

...or Groucho Marx. Interesting, as I actually copied and pasted Lady Gaga's eyelashes onto Jazz's face. Hmm.

Anyway, one day she woke up and her eyes were completely glued shut, and she was bouncing off of everything and falling down more stairs than usual, so I decided to finally take the poor thing to the vet. Turns out minor allergies turned into a raging eye infection, turned into a raging skin infection, required a weed whacker to clear her poor face. Several hours of face clippings and a bottle of doggy tranquilizers later, and my poor, shaking, crying dog was deposited back into my loving arms.

She cried all the way home, and then some; it was heartbreaking. It's like having a crying, ancient, hairy, mute baby that can't defend itself or even hold its head up properly, poured into the passenger side seat, shaking for an hour long car ride.

Luckily today she's doing better, and other than the face... thing, the vet gave her a clean bill of health. July 22nd will be her fifteenth birthday, so appropriate festivities will ensure: adult diapers, non-solid foods, padding on sharp corners, and most important of all, a young caretaker to hold you and cuddle you, even when your face is dripping gook and you smell like you just rolled in mounds of trash. Which you probably did.

Oh That's Right...

2010-06-08T20:11:00.003-04:00

I do have a blog! I could chalk it up to the Post Concussive Syndrome (PCS if I want to stay edgy and relevant) but the truth of the matter is... well, there's a lot of tequila in this world, and someone's got to drink it.

Alcoholic antics aside (hello, assonance!) life has been a big bundle of busy (hello, consonance!) and I haven't had much time since January to sit down, bang away at my keyboard, and hope that something semi-inspired appears. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, etc. etc. My delightful boyfriend suggested that I start actually writing in this thing again, and who am I to argue with the man that actually encourages my neuroses? So, as I eat my Ramen with a side of Slim Jims (you think I'm kidding?), it's time to hunker down and get some solid writing done. And what better way to do that than with a pointless list??

Things That Have Happened Since January: A Compendium of Things That Have Happened Since January to Chelsea and the World at Large

1. I got a new job! Gone are the days of getting punched in the head, held hostage in transport vehicles, and having to restrain myself from murdering someone. Or several someones. And the students, too.

2. I have Post Concussive Syndrome! Oh yes, as I am always on top of the newest fads and crazes, I thought it pertinent to grab the reigns on the bandwagon before everyone else started jumping on all willy nilly. It's been manageable for the most part, in regards to my daily activities, but the migraines, anxiety and PTSD regarding everysinglethingthateveryhappenedatmyoldjob are kind of a bummer. It's cool not to cry every day before work though, so there's chinning up for you.

3. Rue McClanahan, Dennis Hopper, and Gary Coleman died. Somewhere, a punchline died too.

4. Red #1 has a boyfriend. Told you guys I was gonna broadcast it for everyone to see!

5. Jazz is still alive! It's a miracle! I've been trying to get her groomed for the past month or so, as she has allergies and her eyes are disgusting and matting the fur around them, so that she stumbles blindly into walls and such (okay, that's not any different than normal, but still) and all I want is for someone who's not me (i.e. someone that won't stab her in the eye with the scissors) to cut her damn hair and wash her damn face. But! All of the groomers say she's too old, and that they won't do anything if she struggles. So there goes that. Next step: weed whacker!

6. I'm once again having a crisis, and wanting to run all over the world madly, until something inspires me to chill the fuck out, sit the fuck down, and start my life. But we all know that won't happen, so here's to madcap adventures. Next stop: Maine...!...? Well, it's a start. We're hitting up Maine for the 4th of July, so that's something to look forward to. Then there's Vegas in August for a friend's birthday extravaganza, Florida in March for THE HARRY POTTER THEME PARK, and desperately fitting in an LA trip when everyone's schedules coordinates. If this doesn't help with my wanderlust, I'm screwed.

So that about sums up all of the massively important World and Chelsea Events. If that's not scintillating news, then I just don't know what else is. Tune in next week when I forget that I posted, and write up the exact same thing for your enjoyment.

Hi, I'm Alive

2010-01-20T22:06:00.004-05:00

OH MY GOD.

I haven't written anything in here since October.

Oops.

I still have nothing to write, other than to say that I have a concussion from work, and that I've been out of work since January 5th.

Dramatic Re-enactment. I actually got punched in the head, rather than beating my own head off the wall. Impressively intelligent, I know. I'm making big strides these days.

Needless to say, I'm going out of my mind with all the free time (and alone time, when my roommates and roommate honorees are gone.) I am so not talented at entertaining myself for longer than an hour at a time. I can't even write a blog entry at this point to keep things interesting.

So here's a list of things that are current in my life, since that's all I'm good for at the moment:

- Jazz is still alive
- I miss work, concussion and all
- I'm still insane, but working on it
- The Celtics just lost to frigging Detroit
- I've been writing a little bit!
- Jen got me ROSETTA STONE IN ALL THE LANGUAGES so I've been having way too much fun learning new languages, aka mixing them all up and bastardizing all of Europe. Go me!

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

2009-10-04T13:53:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-24T17:43:00.001-04:00

lololol

Damn You, Gaga

2009-09-17T19:21:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-17T15:55:00.001-04:00

Oh, Pop Culture

2009-09-15T11:48:00.001-04:00

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

2009-08-02T23:26:00.004-04:00

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

2009-07-09T01:02:00.002-04:00

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??

2009-06-30T17:34:00.001-04:00

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

Why Is Pop Culture Dying??

2009-06-28T14:30:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-25T12:52:00.001-04:00

Farrah Fawcett died :(

Eye See You

2009-06-24T17:06:00.004-04:00

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

2009-06-23T01:14:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-19T15:14:00.002-04:00

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

Score!

The Best Music Video in the History of Time

2009-06-01T11:38:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-31T16:27:00.000-04:00

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

2009-05-26T16:16:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-19T21:04:00.003-04:00

"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

2009-05-15T22:59:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-12T19:33:00.005-04:00

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)

2009-05-07T17:09:00.003-04:00

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?

2009-04-30T13:12:00.005-04:00

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

2009-04-29T23:18:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-26T14:35:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-26T02:48:00.006-04:00

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?

2009-04-24T11:43:00.004-04:00

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

2009-04-24T01:00:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-23T03:01:00.002-04:00

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Chuck Norris is 69 years old?!?!

How is that even humanly possible????

Burn After DCing

2009-04-13T20:39:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-09T01:13:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-08T20:57:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-05T20:27:00.004-04:00

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

2009-04-03T19:29:00.003-04:00

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

2009-03-31T21:51:00.002-04:00

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

2009-03-27T20:48:00.004-04:00

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

2009-03-26T23:48:00.003-04:00

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"

2009-03-26T21:00:00.004-04:00

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

2009-03-25T23:28:00.004-04:00

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

In Vino Mood Swing

2009-03-24T23:24:00.003-04:00

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

2009-03-22T23:33:00.003-04:00

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?)

2009-03-20T21:10:00.005-04:00

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

2009-03-20T00:37:00.004-04:00

"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.

2009-03-18T19:06:00.002-04:00

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

2009-03-13T19:54:00.002-04:00

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!

2009-03-04T20:01:00.003-05:00

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

2009-02-18T23:02:00.002-05:00

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

2009-02-17T21:23:00.002-05:00

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

2009-02-08T13:18:00.003-05:00

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

2009-02-01T21:32:00.005-05:00

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

2009-01-28T19:32:00.006-05:00

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

2009-01-28T16:27:00.004-05:00

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

2009-01-25T13:23:00.002-05:00

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

2009-01-16T19:48:00.004-05:00

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!

2009-01-13T21:43:00.003-05:00

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

2009-01-13T21:28:00.005-05:00

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

2009-01-12T21:00:00.004-05:00

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

2009-01-10T21:07:00.011-05:00

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

2009-01-09T20:18:00.002-05:00

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!

2009-01-05T13:25:00.003-05:00

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.

You Bring Out The Breast In Me

2008-12-29T12:03:00.005-05:00

I've never had any of the side effects - good or bad - that a lot of women get while on birth control. No psychotic mood swings (at least any more than usual), no obvious weight gain, no weird sensitivity issues, and, perhaps saddest of all, no boob growth. Until now.

I've been on the same pill since June now, and initially had no side effects; but when they slightly changed the chemical makeup of the pill in October, I put on an un-losable 5 pounds, and then - by the grace of the God I don't particularly believe in - I got boobs. In a stunning miracle, I went from having the chest of an 11 year-old boy, to having the chest of an 11 year-old girl. The middle school boys are going to love me.

Dramatic Reenactment

For the first time in my sad, waifish life, I can fill out my A cups. Gone are the days of a guy reaching for a grab only to realize that my bra cup sinks inward! Gone are the days of having to use chicken cutlets for even a hint of cleavage! Gone are the days of padded bras! And while they really hurt, and feel like someone's been driving an 18-wheeler over them constantly, I'm so proud of my girls. Now that I can actually see them.

You Know You Love Me

2008-12-28T15:15:00.010-05:00

I have a lot of embarrassing guilty pleasures, but at the moment I'm harboring one that I swore I would never, ever take part in. Kind of like Ugg boots, Supernatural and wearing leggings, but as we all know, now I practically live in Ugg boots and leggings (and often at the same time!) and now I watch Supernatural religiously, so maybe this shouldn't be as big of a surprise as it's going to be.

Anyway, it all began back in... I have no idea exactly when, but it was sometime in 2008 I believe. That was when I was living in DC, and spending every day at Kristyn and Becca's because I'm incapable of spending long periods of time on my own. We had a Wednesday night ritual of ANTM and Project Runway, and since they were on at 8 and 10 respectively, we had a gap at 9pm that needed to be filled. Enter, Gossip Girl.

This was not what my group of friends in high school looked like

It seemed like a good idea at the time; it was a show with a lot of pretty people, lots of dramatic plots and insanity, lots of fashion and new trends, and, best of all, lots and lots and lots of money. A recipe for success! But then we watched the first episode, and I zoned out after 10 minutes, and afterwards we all discussed just how awful the acting was, and the fact that none of us could remember what had happened, and maybe we'd just stick to stuffing our faces from 9-10pm and not watch anything on tv.

But then, like most bad habits, GG began slowly clawing it's way back into my life. First it was the fashion, the undeniably amazing fashion. Pictures were popping up in every tabloid, and even in some newspapers, and my god the clothes! The clothes! The accessories! The shoes! It was mayhem. I've come a long way with my own sense of fashion, and GG appeals to me in two main ways now:

1) They have some gorgeous, timeless outfits, and

2) They have some of the best ugly-chic ensembles I've ever seen

My god, the ugliness is beautiful

For those of you that aren't aware, I love ugly-chic. The more questionable, the better. There's something amazing about it, especially if it's overly garish or faux fur lined. Delicious! (But not Bedazzled - I have my limits.) So GG started growing on me. And then there were the boys, because Chace Crawford, gay or not (have we ever figured this out?) is delicious looking, and I want all of them. Even Chuck Bass and his rapist voice. "I'm Chuck Bass." Yes you are, now take me to bed.

So I started watching an episode here and there, and wondering what was going on, and if there was anyway to go back in time, leave Hull High, and go off to a posh private school in the Upper West Side. Totally plausible. Anyway, I got the first season on DVD for Christmas, and I've been in a fashion/drama/boy coma ever since. And it's embarrassing because I'm old now, but oh well. I accept myself.

Although my friend Becca doesn't, per a conversation we're currently in the middle of:

Becca: you are very talented

Chelsea: i do have some mad skills

Chelsea: although right now im wasting them writing a blog entry about gossip girl

Chelsea: which i can't stop watching

Becca: i thought you had more taste than that

Now, all of that aside, I have a real point to make here, and it all centers around the Serena-Blair Drama. Or, shall I say, the issue of Frenemies.

I know, I know, it's such a retarded word, but there's a reason it's become a part of our everyday vocabulary (like MILF, which I had to explain to my father the other day.) There's something about girls that just fosters the entire concept of frenemies; we're jealous, we're insane, we're prone to syncing cycles and menstruating at the same damn time, and so on. And we love love love competition and drama and the spotlight, no matter how much we might claim otherwise. Therefore it makes sense that a lot of girls will bounce back and forth between being friends and enemies, and often have no idea where they stand with one another at any given time. Or where they even want to stand with each other.

A larger portion of my past than I'd care to admit has been full of the drama of frenemies, and being back home - really being back home for the first time in over 5 years - tends to bring that mindset back. I find myself being more skittish and hesistant than normal, never really knowing where I stand with people. I think I've discovered a lot about myself since I was in high school, and while I know how I feel about the past, I'm never sure how other people feel, and where I stand with them.

Anyway, Serena and Blair's friendship reminds me a lot of one that took up most of my time and effort through high school and most of college, so watching it sometimes seems a little surreal. Well, sure, we didn't have thousands upon thousands upon thousands of dollars to waste on our wardrobe, and mommy and daddy never had drivers in limos taking us to school, and I don't think I ever wandered down to The Plaza Hotel on my lunch break to swill a few martinis, but the basic points are still the same. It's the same struggles, the same issues, the same jealousy and uncertainty and confusion and all of that good stuff.

I have no idea where I'm going with this post, other than to point out some similarities between my life and Gossip Girl. Minus all the money. I really can't stress that enough. Can I have some please? I guess it's just that watching the show, and watching it from the point of view of all parties involved, it just makes me think of some of the events that have happened in my life, and some of the things I've done (and, in turn, had done to me.) A lot of it never made sense at the time, and some of it still doesn't - and probably never will - but it's interesting. Makes you think of the What Ifs or the If I Knew or the I Should've and so on. Sure, we can't change the past, but as I'm often reminded, we also can't stop dwelling on it.

xoxo

Gimme, Gimme More

2008-12-27T15:54:00.006-05:00

I'm not sure if it's because we're Jewish (although I'd assume that's the stem of it - you can take the Jew out of the Promised Land, but you can't take the cheapskate out of the Jew) but my family has this overwhelming urge to buy everything - especially in bulk - that we assume we'll need at some point in our lives. My mother isn't as bad, but my grandfather and I could've outfitted a thousand fall-out shelters, just in case of some kind of nuclear war or zombie uprising or what-have-you.

My grandfather's house had a massive closet (which probably could've fit a twin size bed and a dresser, considering there were like 4 armoires in it to begin with) on the second floor, and we used to call it the Toilet Paper Room; which, of course, it was dubbed due to the fact that he had enough toilet paper stored in there to last through the end of times, and probably them some after that. Whenever toilet paper went so much as one cent on sale, my grandfather bought every available package and whisked it home, arranging it lovingly in piles and gloating to himself about how he'd never run out of toilet paper, unlike that nosy sonofa Morty down on K Street. He did the same thing with tissue paper. And towels. And sweaters. And shoes. And furniture. And so on, and so forth. After he passed away, my mother found four tuxedoes in his closet. Four. I don't even know anyone that owns one tuxedo, let alone four. I guess he wanted extras in hand, just in case he ruined one at the Oscars and needed another in a quick fix for a marriage.

Unsurprisingly, I've inherited the Thrifty Gene (to put it nicely) and while I luckily don't have the money to spend it at whim, I still find myself pressed against the tv screen, nose touching the glass, nearly salivating over the money-saving, space-saving, sanity-saving wonder products that are constantly splashed over us. Just today I almost buckled and bought some WonderHangers, because let's face it, don't we all need more room in our closets? I know I do.

And just look at the deals! All of those Wonder Hangers, plus four Bend A Hangers, and two... Ultra Bright Lights. Whatever those are. But all of that, for the price of just the Wonder Hangers! (Never mind the fact that the entire deal costs only that $9, not anywhere near $50, and they just word it so you think you're getting a deal, but man is it tempting, even when you know you're being suckered.) I imagined all of the amazing things I could do with more space in my closet. Like hanging more clothes!

But what I've really been hankering over lately has been the amazing ShamWow, which is just too incredible to pass up on. Seriously, who doesn't want a.... towel? that can wash your car, your body, your dog, your sidewalk, your trash, your lawn, your Old Ironsides, and then some? And can do it all without being rinsed off once! I want to stock up on them just in case of any industrial sized spills. Just to be at the ready.

And, that ridiculous actor aside ("...it's German, and you always know the Germans make good products!" Well, I guess I'll give them Volkswagens and genocide) the demonstrations and pictures are just too tempting. I mean, they show the ShamWow picking up wine! Red wine, for god's sake! And they're drying off a dog, and everyone knows you can't resist a cute dog in an ad - it's a guaranteed hook, line, and sinker.

And, seriously, as I write this, I've watched an ad for Snuggies, and an ad for the Point 'n Paint, and I want them both. I could totally paint my ceiling with this, and I could do it all bundled up in my Snuggie, because it's a blanket. With arms. Brilliant.

Merry Christmukwanzakah!

2008-12-25T22:27:00.003-05:00

I found it fascinating that this year, all three of the major "holiday season" holidays managed to fall in the same week: Hanukkah began on Sunday night/Monday, Christmas is today, and Kwanzaa begins tomorrow. There's also Boxing Day tomorrow, which, contrary to what I'd always assumed, isn't a day in which everyone in the UK puts on boxing gloves and beats the shit out of each other, but rather a holiday stemming from an old tradition, where the wealthy families would eat their Christmas dinner, and then the next day, box up all the left overs and give it to their house staff. I guess it's a nice idea, sharing and all, but I'd be kind of pissed off if I worked my ass off for my wealthy employers, and the only thing they did for the holidays was to give me their half-eaten left overs. The day after the holiday. But, as my mother always says, beggars can't be choosers.

Learning that Boxing Day wasn't an exciting Europe-wide sporting day, in which one could take out all of their aggressions from the stress of the holiday season, was kind of like finding out there was no Santa or no Easter Bunny (although, to be perfectly honest, the idea of a giant rabbit breaking into the house scared me far more than the idea of a jolly fat man wedging himself down a chimney - or, through my stove, as I assumed he did, given that we didn't have a chimney.) It's sort of disheartening.

But what's more disheartening (and embarrassing) is that it was just last year that I learned that Kwanzaa was not a magical, mystical holiday that was centuries old and deeply rooted in African culture. I assumed it was the yin to our yang, the African equivalent of Christmas or Hanukkah. Whenever stores actually carried Kwanzaa regalia and decorations, they always seemed so colorful and so fascinating, and I assumed it was something poignant and deeply interesting.

And then, of course, I find out that it was created by some guy in the 60's, pretty much on a whim. I mean sure, the whim was an honestly genuine and sincere one, but it kind of takes the fun away when someone just up and announces that they're starting a new holiday. It takes a lot of the magic out of it, especially for those of us in our twenties who still get embarrassingly excited about the holidays, and who still allow their parents to trail chocolates from the christmas tree to their beds and nod and smile when said parents get that sad look of hope in their eyes, claiming that the elves left them there. It's okay, dad. I know.

But creating holidays aside (which is an interesting idea, and one that I would quite like to investigate in the future) there's still that magic in the air when it comes to this time of the year, and I do enjoy embracing it whole heartedly. Especially with spiced rum and a splash of hot cider. Merry Christmukwanzakah, everyone!

Snapshots of Snow Days

2008-12-21T00:10:00.003-05:00

I'm totally snowed in right now, and it's amazing. And since there are some people that have only lived in obscenely warm, snow-free places (I'm talking to you, Andrea) here are some pictures!

From outside the kitchen window

From the side window in my mum's room

And from my side bedroom window

Jazz approves of the weather by mimicking rigor mortis and napping on the couch

28 Days (of Christmas) Later

2008-12-18T14:16:00.003-05:00

So my friend Kristyn was bit (yes, bit) at work the other day, by a particularly overzealous student at the school she works at, and I'm rather concerned that she's going to turn into a zombie. I'm pretty much an expert on the subject (in the event of an uprising, I've seen all of the relevant zombie movies and have read The Zombie Survival Guide front-to-back on several occassions) but I think maybe all of you should take a look at this bite and bruise and let me know what you think. Just in case.

And the bite mark at the center of it is conveniently pointed out by the lovely arrow I drew in Paint. God, I'm a genius.

Brilliant Quote

2008-12-18T02:26:00.003-05:00

"If 7 million men suffered unbearable pain with sex and exercise and were offered pregnancy, castration or hormones as treatment, Endo[metriosis] would be a national emergency to which we would transfer the defense budget to find a cure." - Nancy Petersen, RN, ERC Advisor

In related news, the past two days I've felt a bit better, even with my period returning for something like the 8th consecutive week. (Guys who read this blog, aren't you just so excited to hear me go into lovely detail like that?) I was even able to attempt a few sit ups without feeling the urge to carve all of my reproductive organs out. I'm not getting optimistic with the diet yet, as it's only been, I believe, 16 days, but it's nice to feel a bit of hope.

We're planning wheat/soy/dairy-free meals for the holidays, and so far it's not going too badly. We're having turkey (no more brisket, which is terribly disappointing, but at least I can eat poultry) with potatoes, yams, lots of green sides, rice-flour based gravy, and a gluten/soy-free cake, which I'm very excited to attempt to bake. I really need to learn to cook, seeing as a lot of my food now needs to be personally prepared, and since I've always wanted to cook (and get over my irrational fear of ovens) I'm looking forward to it.

In-FUN-mmation!

2008-12-14T23:10:00.003-05:00

The best thing about having endometriosis (besides cysts bursting, extreme dieting, and psychotic mood swings on medically-induced menopause) is the inflammation. Some days, it doesn't matter if I only eat 100 calories and do 1000 sit ups (not that I can do sit ups right now, thanks to the pain factor), my stomach will be puffy as a motherfucker. And not only does it make me look fat, it also really hurts.

The whole idea of this diet I'm on is to eventually get rid of the inflammation, and a lot of the pain. If I lower my estrogen levels, and cut out ingredients that promote inflammation and mesh poorly with estrogen, then I should find a better degree of pain relief. Now, I know this will take awhile to work, which is why I'm not going to make any decisions about varying from the strict diet until my sixth month mark, but I really didn't think I'd be in worse pain right after beginning it. Since I'm no longer putting my own personal toxins into my body, one would think there might be a marginal show of relief. Apparently not.

Over the past few years, I've played around with online support groups, because I don't know anyone (besides a cousin in Philadelphia) that has endo, and it's nice to connect with people my own age that are going through the same thing. Unfortunately, the online support group message boards might actually just be the most depressing things ever. The people are very nice and very helpful, but the overwhelming tone on the boards is one of confusion and frustration. It seems everyone's tackling the same problems, and yet only a very, very small number of people actually find relief or are able to live a completely normal life.

It's rare that I think of myself as someone with a chronic condition, or someone dealing with chronic pain, but when it does hit, it's a very unpleasant sensation. And, given that I'm prone to dwelling and throwing pity parties when I finally let myself get into one of those moods, it's not pretty. And, since I'm in a mood at the moment, I should probably get off the internet before I further shove my foot in my mouth.

THE HAIRCUT

2008-12-13T22:37:00.004-05:00

This is a terrible picture of me because not only am I wasted, but I've been walking around in the blustery wind and my formerly-cute new haircut has become frizzy and puffy as all hell... BUT it shows how damn short the new 'do is! And this is us "sticking it up a notch." Just so you know.

Banged in High Heels

2008-12-13T22:26:00.002-05:00

Last night, my friends and I went on an adventure to Boston, in which the following events occurred:

1) We almost ran over an 8 year old brandishing a gun

2) Our fabulously gay, asian waiter was in love with our friend Rob

3) We missed out on all the packies being open, so we had to take $7.88 nips from the fridge in the hotel room we rented

4) We went to The Liquor Store (a club, not a packie) and danced on stripper poles

5) Habeeb and friends tried to Divide and Conquer

6) Josh was mistaken for a pimp

7) We watched something called Banged in High Heels - which is exactly what it sounds like

I've seen some hilarious porn in my day (Xena, Porn Warrior Princess, anyone?) but nothing could compare to the disaster that was "BHH". When it comes down to it, this is what we discerned from the movie:

A) Sex sounds like horses trotting briskly on cobblestones

B) Women always wear drag queen heels to bed

C) Landing Strips, when left unattended, become Autobahns

D) Seabiscuit wears what I wore to prom (i.e. a fishnet dress)

E) Women, while copulating, resemble massive arachnids

All-in-all, it was a very wholesome, wondrous evening. Now if only I could sober up (and stop drinking, because I've had 3 caramel apple martinis tonight, and considering I'm running on 3 hours sleep and had wayyyy too much to drink last night, I should probably attempt to control myself.)

Wisful for the Weather

2008-12-09T14:58:00.007-05:00

Let's take a quick look at the current temperatures for my hometown, shall we?

Brisk and freezing! Although better than yesterday's midday average of 27 degrees, wherein it felt like 11 degrees. Nothing says "Holidays!" better than freezing to death when attempt to take the dog for a walk.

Now let's take a look at the temperature of West Hollywood, where I just left:

Not only is it significantly warmer, it actually feels like the actual temperature, rather than feeling 20 degrees colder because of the bone-chilling winds and arctic freezing.

And now here's San Diego, where my bitches are off for a few days of fun, relaxation, and quality time at the zoo:

That's just fucking cruel.

But I have to admit, I kind of am enjoying the weather today, mostly because it means I can wear lots of cute layers and look very homeless-chic, a la Lindsay Lohan. I always knew she'd be good for something.

Hi, I'm Alive

2008-12-08T10:56:00.002-05:00

Hooray! It's always a pleasure to wake up to another day. I was wondering if that was even going to be possible, seeing as I had to (somewhat) willingly give up every delicious treat and indulgence and form of sustenance that I've spent the last 23 years cramming down my gullet, but so far, so good.

It doesn't really help that wheat is in about 90% of products, though, and that soy is in about 99% of products, so finding that 1% without either ingredient has become somewhat of a challenge. I've turned it into a game that's called Find The Edible Food! although it could also be called We're Gonna Spent $200 for 5 Items at Trader Joe's Because The Healthy Fancy Food Costs an Arm and a Leg. I think it's rather catchy, at the least.

At the moment I've been eating mostly salmon on an array of things: salads, spinach, rice, etc. and a lot of turkey, seeing as my family goes turkey crazy around Thanksgiving and cooks them for weeks afterwards. And I realized that there's an amazing invention called Rice Milk, which means I can eat my (gluten and soy free) cereal in the morning! That was really bumming me out, seeing as both regular milk and soy milk are out of the question, so hooray for minor victories. And, really, the gluten free rice puffs taste (and crackle!) just like Rice Crispies, so at least I can enjoy being 5 years old again in the mornings.

We'll see how it goes after the initial intrigue wears off.

You Can't Spell "Diet" Without "Die"

2008-12-02T10:49:00.003-05:00

So I've tried many a bizarre diet in my day, but never because I needed to diet; sure there were points where I thought I could stand to lose a few pounds, so I cut back on all the crap I usually eat and tried to focus on a healthier regime, but I always fell off the wagon and went back to stuffing my face full of candy bars and fast food dinners. It'd be horrifying if it wasn't so delicious.

But in my quest to get my ovaries to stop being little bitches and let me get on with my life, my doctor and mother and I discussed starting a real diet - nay, a complete lifestyle change - cutting out certain foods that apparently are comparable to poison for me. And since it's EVERYTHING I eat, I've been poisoning myself for some time now. Take a look at my list of What Not to Eat:

- Wheat (or What Chelsea Survives Off Of) : this includes breads, cakes and pasta products, all based on wheat

- Red Meat (bye, steak)

- Refined and Concentrated Carbohydrates: bread, flour, cakes made from refined flour

- Alcohol (sorry, if I have to cut out everything I eat, you better believe I'm keeping my alcohol)

- Caffeine (this will be the death of me)

- Chocolate (this just keeps getting worse and worse, doesn't it?)

- Dairy: including all milk and cheese

- Fried Foods: including margarine and hydronated fats

- Soy and Soy Protein Products (although I can have tamari, whatever that is, in small amounts)

- Tinned and Frozen Packaged Goods

- Additives and Preservatives

Okay so... every day I would drink 2-3 caffeinated coffees with soy milk, and then I usually drank 4-7 Coke Zeros (which is disgusting, I know), I started my mornings off with wheat cereal and milk (or a wheat bagel if I was working in the morning), I ate wheat all throughout the day, I ate chocolate like it was going out of style, and so on and so forth. So pretty much EVERYTHING I ate was everything I SHOULDN'T be eating.

Most of the foods promote inflammation and boost estrogen levels, and even though I happen to be female, with the endometriosis, I'm supposed to have as little estrogen in my body as humanly possible. (Sometimes I really wonder how I wasn't born a male.) So as of yesterday, I embarked on my brand new Lifestyle, and... it's going to take some time getting used to. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but EVERYTHING in the goddamn grocery store has wheat and/or soy (in copious quantities) and unless I want to live solely off chicken, fish, beans and vegetables, I'm going to have to either get better at finding endo-friendly foods, or do all of my shopping at Trader Joe's. Thank god they finally have one on the South Shore.

I'm Thankful for You, Vitas

2008-11-28T15:36:00.003-05:00

There are many things that I'm thankful for, this holiday season. There's being home with my family, there's the multitude of Thanksgiving feasts, there's the drinking binges with old friends, there's the sight of my now-toothless (but no longer purple) dog, and there's the wonder and awe of Vitas: the Soprano with the heart of gold from Russia. Unless you're a 19 year-old male who enjoys getting really baked and watching ridiculous videos on YouTube (like my brother) you're probably not aware of the wonder that is Vitas - and far be it from me to hold you in suspense any longer:

They claim he's just a Soprano and not a Castrato, but I'll let you be the judge. Personally, I don't think it's possible for any man with a full set of manly bits to hit notes that high, but I suppose stranger things have happened. Like Russia actually embracing this guy and loving his music.

Last Day in LA :(

2008-11-23T15:38:00.005-05:00

Oh my god, I can't believe this is my last day in LA for months :( I can't even think about it, so I'm going to post some pictures from this last crazy ass, amazing week instead:

YOU GIRLS ARE AMAZING <3

Tomorrow's Weather Outlook

2008-11-23T00:26:00.000-05:00

Los Angeles:

Boston:

Oh Shit.

Nothing Like Warm Milk to Relax

2008-11-21T19:49:00.000-05:00

After stressing so badly about my move out, I can officially say it's over and done! Somehow, every last piece of crap that was taking over my apartment has been packed and shipped (or given away to my friends, in a Very Jewish Christmas style) and I can finally breathe again. Seriously, I was so insane I thought I was going to have a heart attack. And so did my friends, apparently, because they surprised me with a spa treatment at Burke Williams!

For those of you not in LA, Burke Williams is a ridiculously amazing spa in Hollywood, where celebrities and rich people (so: not me) frequent. But the girls surprised me with a milk bath treatment and a calming detox wrap, and holy shit, I haven't been that relaxed since I was in elementary school. At first I didn't believe them when they told me to sign in, and then I started getting all teary eyed like I've been prone to doing lately, and then I finally got my shit together and went and enjoyed an hour of ridiculously luxurious pampering; I nearly spilled off the table afterwards, I was so boneless.

I don't know how the hell I'm possibly going to survive leaving my friends, even though I know I'll see them in January, and at the latest again in March (fingers fucking crossed.) It's surreal to think that I'm going back to Boston on Monday (Monday!) and that they'll be 3,000 miles away. And of course that makes me teary eyed yet again, because apparently 23 years of surpressing my emotions mean they hit me all at once like a freaking tsunami. But they'll visit in January, hopefully, and they won't die of hypothermia, hopefully, so it gives me something to look forward to. And of course there's New Year and I get to see all of my amazing college friends, so things really could be a hell of a lot worse.

Packing Sucks

2008-11-18T14:51:00.000-05:00

For some strange reason, I used to very much enjoy packing. I was terrible at it, mind you, fretting about things getting wrinkled or broken or somehow shifting unappealing during travel (why, you ask? because I'm insane) but I liked it - it signaled change and adventure and excitement. So I assumed that when I started packing for my move back east, it'd be yet another OCD-riddled excursion in fleeting glee.

I was wrong.

I've been shuffling around the apartment, irritably folding clothes, shoving DVDs into boxes, and putting every home accessory I have on my kitchen counters, so I can see what crap of mine my friends might want for their own apartments. And it's exhausting. Granted, I'm still in Crippled Mode, so it makes packing somewhat more difficult, but I'm far more mobile than I usually am after an explosion - this time, I just don't want to pack. I want to pull a Barbara Eden, cross my arms and nod my head, and instantly have all of my belongings arrive in Boston. I don't mind if they're strewn about in messy heaps, as long as they get there without me having to put any effort into packing and shipping them. Is it really too much to ask?

So we'll see. I'm taking a break, but I know I need to actually get my shit together and get the majority of my apartment packed up today. If all goes according to plan, I'm moving out Thursday night, so I need the apartment empty and ready to go, and I need all my shit either already shipped out via UPS, or neatly packed and waiting to go on the plane. And seeing as we're going out for a going away dinner tonight, and I think I'm going to attempt working tomorrow night, I'm a little short on time. So I'll get to it soon. Very soon. Just after this stand up special on Comedy Central is over.

En-d'oh-metriosis

2008-11-17T13:23:00.000-05:00

So it's no secret that I have a particularly petulant uterus and ovaries; when I was 20, they decided it might be fun to start forming cysts, you know, just for the hell of it, and then decided it'd be even cooler if said cysts started rupturing, because I've always had a secret hankering for bed rest and copious amounts of narcotics.

For those of you that aren't entirely sure just what the hell endometriosis is, let me preface this by saying that whenever I explain it to someone for the first time, I start off by saying, "it's really gross." Because it kind of is, and if you're a chick you'll wince and hold your pelvic region in sympathy, but if you're a guy, you'll probably run away screaming. Which is probably for the best, seeing as you're facing off with a chick who's uterus is currently using her insides for a punching bag, and anything you say or do can and will be used against you once the pain meds wear off and the claws come out.

Anyway.

Here's the basic gist:

For normal ladies, when we charmingly go "on the rag", the lining of our uterus adorably sloughs off and comes out of our vaginas, along with all the other blood and goop and good stuff. It's awesome, I promise. So yeah, for normal chicks, this is a normal occurrence, and everyone's happy. Sort of.

For abnormal, endometrios-riddled chicks (and, in actuality, we're more common than most people realize) that awesome endometrial tissue still attractively sloughs off; but instead of being flushed out with the rest of the awesomeness, it decides it's quite comfortable where it is, and wants to set up camp. In other words, the tissue runs amok throughout the pelvic and abdominal regions, and sticks to things like ovaries, uteri (not that we have more than one uterus, but you get the point) and, in my case, nerve endings. It can cause infertility if it causes scar tissue to firm on your reproductive organs, and in fact, is the number one cause of infertility among women. Charming, no?

So I've been very lucky in the sense that it hasn't attacked my organs, and instead likes to stick to nerve endings and cause excruciating pain. But I can still spawn, if I so choose, and I'd much rather say "I chose not to unleash miniature Chelseas on the world" than "My organs are as hideously twisted and destroyed as Joan Rivers face, and thus I have no say in whether my hellish offspring will walk the earth." You know?

Continuing on in our supremely educational voyage, another side effect of endometriosis are ovarian cysts. They're called chocolate cysts, and not because they're full of delicious sugary goodness, but because they're full of old blood so they look brown. Sexy! And sometimes these cysts love to piss you the fuck off and derail all your immediate plans and rupture spectacularly, kind of like the volcanoes in the Discovery Channel documentaries I've been watching recently.

Mount Vulvasuvius

That's... kind of too fitting, and it's making me a little uncomfortable, so I'm just going to keep forging on so I don't have to look at the picture anymore. It's making my uterus sore. So anyway, yes, cysts sometimes burst, and it's spectacularly painful (as would any eruption in your pelvic area be, I would imagine, what with all the internal bleeding and all that fun stuff) and you go from up and mobile to hunched and crippled in under a minute flat. So best case scenario, you're mysteriously lounging about on a comfortable chaise lounge in the ER of a local hospital, so when it bursts you're able to be ushered right into a hospital bed. Worst case scenario, you're in 3 inch heels and a tight skirt, and you're on the clock at the restaurant you work in, and you pull a table out and it causes a cyst to rupture and then you're kind of fucked. Which is exactly what happened to me on Saturday night!

So yeah, long story short(ish) the cyst burst, I started hobbling, and I went back to Danee's apartment with her. I didn't want to go to the hospital because the pain wasn't as cripplingly intense as it's been the past couple of times this has happened, but by Sunday morning I was feeling worse, so I knew I had to go. I was afraid I had a massive cyst just waiting to burst, and I knew that with my luck, it'd burst on Monday when I got to the airport, or something equally as frustrating, so I decided to suck it up and go to the hospital. Specifically, to Cedars-Sinai.

Now, I've grown to be skeptical of hospitals, mainly because I've found that they're lying bitches that are out to destroy any last shreds of sanity and patience that you might be desperately clinging to. When my last two cysts burst, I had the extreme misfortune of having to go to the GW University Hospital. Keep in mind that this hospital is touted as the place to go in DC - presidents and senior officials are rushed there in their time of need, and anyone even remotely related to the GW community will happily cram down your throat just how amazing and attentive and top-notch the hospital is. Only problem? They're full of shit.

I've had THE most horrific experiences at the GW Hospital, including the time when they said the cyst was actually my appendix and it was rupturing and I had to have surgery immediately or I could die and then... they stuck me in a STORAGE CLOSET FOR 2 HOURS AND FORGOT ABOUT ME. So, you know, had it actually been my appendix, I would no longer be of this world, and wouldn't be able to regale you with tales of my fucked up womanly bits. And that, my friends, would be a travesty of the worst sorts.

In addition to being shoved in dark crevices, the doctors were fucking assholes, talked down to me like I was retarded (one male doctor told me obviously I was full of shit and had to be admitted, because women are 100% mobile and can walk with ease minutes after cysts rupture and since I was still hobbling, I was clearly hiding something - um, not sure where you got your degree, buddy, but I'm pretty sure your misogynistic ass failed Female Anatomy 101) or oggled my fruitbasket during a pelvic exam to the point where I had to scream at the intern to get the fuck out of the room and to stop staring at my vagina like it held all the answers to the universe. Good god, man, I just had an eruption down there, it's not like I'm propping my legs up on the stirrups to invite you to come and take a dip in the pool. Oh, and all of my trips? 12+ hours. And that was made up of 1 hour of doctor-interaction, and 11 hours of being ignored.

Seriously, I'd rather just grab a rusty saw, bite down on a belt, and carve out

my reproductive organs than have to go back to the GW Hospital

But at Cedars? Oh god, it was like hospital heaven! Rather than being shoved in a wheelchair and left for 45 minutes while I screamed and sobbed in pain and the other ER visitors begged them to take me back because they thought I was dying (thanks again, GW!), I waited all of 10 minutes before being ushered into an actual bed - an actual bed! In a room! Not in a hallway or a storage closet! Or next to a guy tripping his ass off on HGB who then commenced projectile vomiting! (More thanks, GW!) The doctor saw me within the first minute of being brought back, and rather than telling me I was stupid or lying, actually, you know, listened to me and promptly ordered appropriate tests. And, for anyone that's ever had a CT scan and had to drink the disgusting contrast that goes along with it, you'll appreciate this - they put lemonade crystal lite into the contrast to make it taste better. Crystal Lite! Now if that's not that extra caring touch, I seriously don't know what is. I know it sounds retarded, but I got a little teary eyed when they told me that. I've had so many bad fucking experiences, that a little touch of kindness like that almost made me lose it. Course I was a hormonal mess, but I'm trying to not ruin the authenticity and Hallmark Cardness of the moment.

So, I was in and out in 6 HOURS! 6! Half the time (at least!) of my other visits! And I was lucky enough that Andrea, Danee, and Breanna spent shifts watching over my crippled ass, and then all came over later for a night of - prepare yourself - McDonalds, Pizza Hut chocolate dunkers, BLT's popovers, petite fours, and Pinkberry. Oh god, the madness. And right now, I don't care if I'm fat, because I'm puffy as a motherfucker, so screw it. Bring on the carbs!

Another Day...

2008-11-17T05:04:00.000-05:00

...another ruptured cyst. More to follow when I'm not in pain/fat/drunk.

(Although I must note that Cedars-Sinai is the nicest hospital in the world. Seriously.)

A Haunting

2008-11-14T18:41:00.000-05:00

Good idea: Having a complete day off and deciding to recharge and veg out on the couch all day, catching up on tv.

Bad idea: Watching a Discovery Channel marathon of 'A Haunting' alone in your apartment, knowing you're going to be alone in the dark until daylight mercifully comes back the following morning.

(Equally Bad Idea: Hiring the lame actors from who've been out of work since Rescue 911 went off the air, and assuming your audience will believe that these people can actually act.)

Monster!

2008-11-13T18:11:00.001-05:00

There's something that I'm not allowed to have, so I like to sneak it when no one's looking, or I'm alone, or I'm 3,000 miles across the country. And that something is an energy drink. Particularly Monster Lo-Carb Energy Drinks.

I went through this... phase, where I was drinking 2-3 of them a day, and it wasn't pretty. I ended up being so jittery that people thought I was on speed, and I lost about 10 pounds (which, for me, means I ended up looking like a starving third world adolescent) and I'm pretty sure my heart started skipping beats, but I was so out of my mind with energy at the time that I can't be 100% certain.

Also, I was really, really annoying.

So my friends stepped in and told me that, under no circumstance, was I ever allowed anywhere near Monster Lo-Carb energy drinks again - on risk of imminent death. But I love them so much because they do give me a whallop of energy, and for someone that has as high of a caffeine tolerance as I do, it's sort of like Christmas morning every time I hear the crisp sound of the tab opening the can. I suppose I'm like an alcoholic, only with heart palpitations, rather than liver damage. Hmm.

I've been trying to cut down on my caffeine intake, as I was back up to 2-3 coffees a day, as well as 4-7 Coke Zeros a day (yay, Aspartame poisoning) but today it was like I went into a trance; I was coming out of the Subway with dinner, and the next thing I knew, I had a Monster in one hand, and a receipt in the other, because I'm that asshole that pays for a $2 purchase with a debit card. Or I assume I am, seeing as I had some sort of energy drink blackout.

Sometimes I wonder why I do the things I do, especially knowing that my friends would be pointing out that I promised I wouldn't do said activity anymore, and don't I remember what happened the last time I had 3 energy drinks within an hour of each other, and why do I persist in being such a pain in the ass? But now that no one's here to lecture me or point out that I'm breaking a rule, it's like I'm 5 years old again, greedily sucking down my sugary prize and gloating about how no one can stop me. It's probably a good thing I didn't buy more, because I'd probably binge on them, just because I could, and then end up dying, surrounded by a pile of empty Monster cans, officially becoming the saddest person on the planet. Or the former saddest person on the planet.

(More) New Beginnings

2008-11-12T15:38:00.001-05:00

Okay, so, here's the deal. Once upon a time I had a charming little blog called The Snark DC, which was my first forray into the wonderful world of blogspot.com. Then I moved to LA, and a blog with the term "DC" in it was no longer applicable, so I created LA Celebutard, which I thought was particularly amusing, seeing as it was sort of like the celebutard (never mind that it should be a masculine "le" not a feminine "la") as well as Los Angeles Celebutard. But then I made yet another major move, and realized that maybe I should drop the kitschy location-based names, and just pick something kitschy and versatile. Something I could update and stay on-top of, regardless of where the hell I was at any given moment. And thus Meshugeh was born.

And while technically I haven't headed back to Boston yet, god only knows which direction my life will go in again, so I thought it was smartest to go with something that I wouldn't have to potentially change every 6-12 months. And, somewhere, my Jewish grandparents are smiling down at my choice of a blog name. Or perhaps rolling fits in their graves, but that's a risk I'm willing to take. Sorry, papa.

So in twelve days - November 24th, to be exact - I move from LA, where the temperature is projected to be 80 degrees:

To Boston, where the projected temperate is somewhere around -100 degrees:
Alright, maybe I'm lying; it's only supposed to be -70 degrees. And as anyone knows, after living in LA from June-November and experiencing something like 150 days of 80+ degree weather, with literally only 2 actual rainfalls (one of which lasted all of 5 minutes), it might take some adjusting, going back to a place with actual seasons. Because a drop from 80 to 79 is not, despite what some out west might say, a seasonal change.

But I have to admit I've been craving a change of seasons. I love summer as much as the next person - in fact, I've spent the past 21 years (basically since I was capable of speaking) bitching about how much I hated the winter and how strong my desire was to flee to Southern California in order to rid myself of it entirely - but this whole endless summer thing is trying the very last of my patience. I need seasons, I need a change, I need some kind of signal that one chapter of my life has ended, and the next is beginning. That's my fancy BA in English talking, right there.

But it's going to be harder to leave LA than I thought. Not particularly because it's a nice place - because it's not. And not particularly because I see myself here longterm - because I don't. But because I've carved out a happy little niche for myself here, and because I've made a few incredible, amazing friends, and the thought of leaving them even short-term makes me show more emotion than perhaps I have in years. Those of you that know me know that I'm not a crier, but I've spent the better part of the last week in a perpetual state of 'sniffly-and-teary-eyed' and it's throwing me off all the more. But then look at these hot bitches - can you blame me?

I've always had a lot of acquaintances, but oftentimes I find it hard to find real friends, people that I really connect with and really trust and really feel comfortable with. Despite my amazing college and high school experiences, there's only a handful of people I'd really consider true friends, and, frankly, I didn't think I'd gain anymore coming to LA; god only knows how fake most of the people are out here. But I shocked myself by making a couple of great ones, and even though we've only known each other for 6 months, it feels like a lifetime. Saying goodbye to them, no matter how temporary, is the hardest thing I've had to do in a long time. And that's saying something, considering the insanity that has been my entire time out west.

So the next 12 days are going to be one big mashup of sadness, mayhem, excitement, and insanity. And the very real possibility of me gaining 20+ pounds, as we embark on the comfort eating binge to end all comfort eating binges.