Sunday, March 28, 2010

I complain on Sundays...

And a writer's workshop to boot...


I'm all about killing two assholes with one bullet... or birds with stones... whichever's right...

That got weird... anyway...

A gaggle of gripes to satiate your craving for the bitter within me... Don't act like you're not excited...

AND... As an added bonus... I WANT TO BE MADE...


Jennifer Garner always bugged the shit out of me. I used to LOATHE Jennifer Garner. I didn't even know her real name. I called her "That home-wrecking slut Hannah".


That was her character's name on Felicity (One of the Top Ten Best Shows EVER). And while Felicity was actually the home-wrecking slut, I was on her team. Like we were homies. Like I had her back. Like stealing your dorm's RA from his long-time high school sweetheart was completely acceptable and forgivable, because it was meant to be... and who am I to fight fate, right? Turns out Felicity was destined to be with Ben Covington (my imaginary boyfriend) and "Hannah" and "Noel", the RA, got married in real life... go figure.



But that is neither here nor there... I COULDN'T STAND Jennifer Garner... She was whiny and obnoxious and manipulative and a stupid head.

Truth be told, I had no reason to hate her... I was just partially convinced that the characters on Felicity were real... and my friends... and I'm a loyal effing friend, yo!

Then a couple years passed and J.J. Abrams (if you're out there, HIRE ME!) the creative genius behind Felicity created a new show... it was called ALIAS... and it rocked my world.


I resisted at first. "That home-wrecking slut Hannah" hadn't earned my time. But after much cajoling from my BFF, I gave it a taste test. I was an INSTANT ADDICT. Like prime time crack, it was.

And that is when my entire world was turned on it's head. I didn't HATE Jennifer Garner. I WORSHIPED Jennifer Garner. I researched how to become a C.I.A. operative on the internet. I decided to join a gym to get all J. Garn Yoked Out (that never actually happened, but the seed was planted) I considered changing my name to Melbourne Bristow so that her character Sydney Bristow and I would be considered sisters (okay, again that never happened, but how amazingly crazy would it have been if it did?!?!?!)



Ever since that fateful night, my first screening of ALIAS, my life has never been the same. I have seen all her movies. I get excited when there's a celebrity spotting of her in my favorite gossip mags. I stop everything when a Noxzema commercial comes on because I'm sure she's talking directly to me. I own all the seasons of Felicity and ALIAS to get my fix while she's on hiatus. I am a J. Garn super fan.



Complaint: WHY AM I NOT JENNIFER GARNER?!?! Or at the very least, her best friend / I want to be made into JENNIFER GARNER or at the very least, her best friend...

For years now I have imagined what it would be like. J.J. Abrams in my back pocket. Kick ass body, kick ass roles, kick ass husband. She is the epitome of celebrity perfection. She's a no drama mama. And I could eat her in a pita pocket, she's so damn adorable.


I, on the other hand, am not Jennifer Garner. I am a medical receptionist. I am not married to Ben Affleck. I did not date Michael Vartan (if you're out there, MARRY ME!)


I do not have a six pack (on my stomach, I do in my fridge). I am as average as they come. But damn it, if I wouldn't consider punching an elderly in the teeth for just one day as J.Garn...

And I think I've earned it. I'm a good person (save the above comment about socking the elderly). I have my Bachelor's degree in Theatre. I have a contagious laugh. I've been told on several occasions that I "look just like Jennifer Garner"... (I've also been told that I "look just like Jeneane Garofalo and Alanis Morrisette and Demi Moore. People are idiots. They see long, dark hair and are blinded by the uncanny similarities to others with long, dark hair). But obviously the only comparison I really believe is the one about me and Jen. I DESERVE to be JENNIFER GARNER. And everyday that I wake up and I'm not, I'm pissed.


So, MTV and/or Jen, I think it's high time your lazy asses came and found me. I'll be at a doctor's office... dealing with other people's feces... and dry heaving whilst cutting myself in the back bathroom... screaming to the heavens "WHY ME? WHHHYYYYY MEEEEEE?!?!"... you can't miss me.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

ANTM Update: Just a little late... (I made it rhyme on purpose, that's just how I roll)

Have you had it up to here (puts right hand to forehead) with my shitty excuses yet?

Cuz I have...

I can't even come up with good one's anymore...

But seriously, I haven't posted anything about ANTM yet because my Grandma was on her way to my new place... and her bus got hijacked... by a flock of penguins... who forced her to smoke crack... and kill the other passengers with her bare hands... and then she whipped out her switchblade... and cut those penguin bitches... barely escaping with her life... and I was subpoenaed... and held in witness protection... until the trial... which wrapped just this morning...

Don't worry... Grandma was acquitted... And I blog once again... You're welcome.

On to the show.

Due to the heart wrenching and emotionally scarring family emergency that pulled me away from this here topic, I am faced with offering my P.O.V. on 2 episodes... I'll attempt to be brief, but let's be honest, I've never been brief in my life... (that's what she said)



The second installment of Kooky Kooks Bat Shit Looney Modeling Competition, or "ANTM" for short, provided us with two eliminations. And let's face it, watching freakishly tall, malnourished, ridiculously attractive hooker-bots cry is really what it's all about. So goody goody gumdrops...


At the top of the episode we said goodbye to St. Louis' own, Gabrielle. Way to represent, bitch. I thought you was gangsta... I thought you'd shank a hooker to get ahead... I was mistaken. Model FAIL. And she was sent back to da 'hood via public transportation, no doubt. You know Tyra ain't springing for no "Fierce Bus" to schlepp the rejects back to where they came from.



The jelly filling of the episode was typical Next Top Model fare. Screaming, cursing, feeble attempts at becoming the Alpha Model of the house. Basically a house replete with amazon sorostitutes fighting over the same frat douche, which in this case is named Wilhelmina Modeling Agency.

In the challenge, the "ladies" (term used as loosely as humanly possible) were made to walk in a runway show... but not just any runway show... the most EFFED UP runway show the producers could possibly fathom in the most sadistic caverns of their minds. The decision was made to swing giant pendulums at the rail thin contestants whilst trudging down the catwalk in 7 inch stilettos. And can I just say... BRAVO!



Our token plus-size, Alexandra, didn't even make it down the stairs before succumbing to the MOST MORTIFYING 3 MINUTES IN TOP MODEL HISTORY...

I will not pretend that I'm funny enough to do a play-by-play justice, so please to enjoy the real thing...



Meanwhile, my Cult-tastic favorite, Naduah, proved to be a menace. Apparently being born into a religious cult with 98 brothers and sisters and not a shred of legitimate parenting really messes with your sense of reality... who knew? She spent the majority of on-camera time spinning tales of asinine proportions about ludicrous happenings bordering on laughable... In short, BITCH IS PATHOLOGICAL. Oh and PS, she also takes a shitty picture. So I lose... or rather, she does, because she was sent back to that imaginary town she lives in to frolic amongst the unicorns.



This week's episode was much less interesting... which is to say, no one fell on their ass in front of millions of viewers... TWICE...

There was a photo shoot (obvy) where the girls were told to be inspired by a genre of dance. It was perhaps the most lackluster display of "inspiration" I ever did see. The make-up, hair, and costuming departments should get a raise, the "talent" should get their skulls cracked together ala Three Stooges. The only thing they "inspired" me to do was flip the channel to Cheaters on Fox Reality Channel... (if you haven't partook of that brilliance, I urge you to do so). Each gal was given one on one time with some professional dancer fella who taught them some basic steps to their assigned area of dance...


This information was immediately purged and replaced with daydreams of shiny objects and rainbows. I have never seen such a display of incompetence... And I watch A LOT of reality TV...

So without our Cult-a-licious Liar, and one Ghetto Skank down, we were left to feed upon a harsh dose of boo hoo hoos in the style of Emo-Ren...


Poor, poor, Ren... she's such a unique individual... no one understands her... she didn't know what she was signing up for... her mother never loved her until she made it on the show... being hipster is super hard... screw the system... eff this ish... I'm going to go be a cutter now...


And apparently Ren, in all her edginess missed the chapter on what the hell Disco was...


She wasted countless moments of my life whining about wanting to go home, and then when confronted by Tyra, put her hard ass tail between her legs and told her she wanted to stay... Luckily, whoever actually makes the decisions on that show decided to offer up her walking papers...



And we are now left with 10 of the least interesting characters to grace the CW since One Tree Hill... and Smallville... oh, and Life Unexpected... and 90210... and, of course, Melrose Place...

How does this network even exist?!?!

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

I finally got a piece of the pie...

I don't deal well with change...

Never have...

I like consistency and familiarity and comfort...

I like knowing where I'm going and where I've been...

 
And then the last month happened. And everything I thought I knew was turned on it's head. And every molecule of certainty was drowned in piss. And every answer metamorphosed back into a question.

And for once in my 30 years I am embracing change... because it has bitch slapped me in the grill...

 
I just finished moving and unpacking and breaking down boxes. And by "just finished", I mean it's been 15 minutes. The process started 2 weeks ago. Moving is a bitch. And it has become very clear that I am NOT a minimalist... I have a SHIT TON of stuff.

But this move is good. I'm back living with my bestie. I'm out of the exes rental house. I'm obsessed with my fabulous apartment. I have a pool (which is enough in itself)... And I can't help but relish in the freedom. Like I can finally breathe again. Like the shackles have disappeared.


I was fully expecting a nervous break-down. I had already made some calls to Spears and Lohan's peeps to get the deets on thier looney bins of choice. And yet, here I sit, in my new room, full of content and possibility.

Growing up is a trip...

(I am posting this picture because when I typed "moving up" into Google Image Search I was greeted by Jack Nicholson in a shot that was clearly taken moments before he registered as a Sexual Predator per court order... You're welcome.)

Monday, March 22, 2010

Moving is a sucubus of time...

I've been moving for the past 4 days...



I will post tomorrow, I promise...

I know... excuses, excuses, excuses...

But I'll also try to be funny, so there's that.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

I complain on Sundays...

A gaggle of gripes to satiate your craving for the bitter within me... Don't act like you're not excited...

Today it's ASSHOLES IN BARS...

And boy, oh, boy, am I heated...

Alright, listen, I understand that bars are not the place to go to find:

a) Lasting relationships
b) Girls that are nice to each other
c) A dude without syphillis
d) A quiet evening with your friends

HOWEVER, I do subscribe to the school of thought that I should be allowed to go to a bar with my girlfriends to dance, and laugh, and drink, and not be forced to punch some ASSHOLE in the teeth.



There are so many instances that I could delve into, but my current level of ire is about this ASSHOLE that took it upon himself to confront a friend and I last night with his ROYAL ASSHOLINESS...

The night started off with a bang, and not the good kind, so it would be fair to say that I wasn't in the best spirits right out of the gate. And I'm not a huge fan of the fellas right now, either. I'm in that jaded, bitter, bitch phase of a break up where there is elevated potential for castration if I'm even looked at sideways. But this guy... THIS GUY... grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

It is important for you to know that my dear friend Lola (wifey) recently chopped about 13 inches off her hair. Lola is stunning. Lola could sport a burlap onesie, moon boots, and not a stitch of make-up and STILL BE STUNNING. So when Lola chopped her hair into the most adorable pixie cut you ever did see, it was not a bad move on her part... She ROCKS it!



There we were, Lola and I, in line at the bar, minding our business, and this fella in front of us turns around to try out his game... this fella that could easily be the drunkest, ugliest, least clever fool in all of Washington state. It spiraled quickly and turbulently...

ASSHOLE: He better call you soon. Texting is stupid.

LOLA: Ummmm... what?

ASSHOLE: You were looking at your phone. He better call you.

LOLA: I was checking the time, but thanks.

ASSHOLE: Oooooo you're spunky... and eccentric.

LOLA: Thanks... it's the hair...

(ASSHOLE senses Lola's disinterest and turns to harass another group of girls equally disinterested)

ASSHOLE: (To Lola) Did you just cut in line? How are you gonna just cut in line?

LOLA: Nope. Not cutting. Please go ahead.

ASSHOLE: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST CUT IN FRONT OF ME!!!!!

LOLA: Seriously, not cutting. You were talking to the ladies. Please go ahead.

ASSHOLE: NO! It's fine. I'll be a gentleman this time. Go ahead and cut.

LOLA: Okay. Thanks. But again, not cutting. I just offered for you to go ahead twice.

ASSHOLE: No really, you go. Cuz you can "kind of" pull this look off, so I'll be a gentleman. (as he is looking her up and down)

ASSHOLE: (To me) Aren't you glad that I'm such a gentleman to let you go ahead of me?

ME: I'm sorry? Did you just say that you were a gentleman?

ASSHOLE: Yeah.

ME: Hmmmm... All evidence to the contrary. You seem a bit ASSHOLE.

ASSHOLE: Oh, well you seem like a bitch.

ME: WE'RE DONE TALKING NOW! PLEASE TURN AROUND AND WALK AWAY!

ASSHOLE: (To Lola) Sorry I pissed off your boyfriend. Maybe you should tell her that you need to get spanked more.

(Deep breath, summon patience, open fist, grab drink, walk away, say nothing)

I mean, who the hell was that guy? Offering completely unsolicited insults of my friend's appearance and my demeanor...

 
I am NOT a fan of the ASSHOLE...

Thursday, March 11, 2010

And so it begins... America's Next Never-To-Be-Heard-From-Again...

I'd like to start by saying that it makes me sad when I lose followers... I don't have very many, and when they go away, a little piece of me dies. I realize this bloggy world is a fickle business, and that I'm just not for everyone, but don't you give up on me! I'll do better!

And to those who've clicked "Unfollow"... I don't NEED you anyway. I'm a strong, confident woman. You were holding me back from realizing my true potential. And don't you ever for a second get to thinkin' your irreplaceable.

I put your stuff in the yard, you best come get it.

xoxo

For the 63 of you still out there... this one's dedicated to you...

And it's all about Cycle 14 of ANTM... The world is right once again.



For those of you who do not partake in the sheer brilliance of the Next Top Model franchise, I urge you to reconsider. If this reality catastrophe teaches us only one thing, it is this... It don't matter how hot you are, "crazy" is non-discriminatory... And moderately attractive, circus freak tall, ghetto bitches are the key demographic for Bonker Sauce sales...


Last night marked the maiden voyage of the new batch of 13 genetically blessed contestants. At the helm, our fearless wacko, Tyra Banks... who is bat shit bananas, by the by... and her fabulously gay duo, Mr. and Miss Jay.


I've been watching the show since it's conception 13 seasons ago. Riveted as the former supermodel mentally deteriorates and horizontally expands with each new installment. And just when you think she couldn't possibly find another marble to lose, along comes a new season of ludicrous antics and absurdity.

Each new cycle finds itself neck deep in a theme, beating said theme within an inch of it's life, one more ridonkulous than the next. Cycle 14 decided to exploit the popularity of social networking sites with an introduction to a Tyra-inspired website called "myfiercepage.com"... yes, that's correct... "myfiercepage.com".

The "site" was capable of accepting only 13 Fierce Requests... clever, right? So of the 32 semi-finalists, 19 had to pack up their stilettos and head back to the harsh reality of Middle America Mall Modeling. The next 45 minutes were a blur of bad puns and Perez Hilton (Why Perez? You ask. If there were an answer, I would surely provide it. However, I too, am in a quandary...) Nonsensical words were tossed around like a hacky-sack in a Community College quad... Terms like "Ty-overs", instead of make-overs, and "Net-walking skills", presumably a play on "networking" and "cat walking"...(cue slow head shake and simultaneous eye roll)

In the end, we were left with 3 or 4 attractive model-types, 4 ghetto ass hoes who are sure to bring the sass, and about 5 or 6 SOMEONE-LIED-TO-YOUs. Ty-overs be damned, a few of these leggy hoes require more than a celebrity-sized re-vamp... Might I suggest some Spackle and an industrial strength power sander?


And as a preemptive strike against the defenses' interrogation that is sure follow this post : No, I am not a model. No, I am not tall enough, beautiful enough, skinny enough, or photogenic enough. Yes, I do know models that are stunning and smart and humble. Yes, I am most likely jealous. And yes, it's pretty good from the cheap seats. However, if you sign up for insta-fame via reality TV, you've earned my opinion.

The 13 ANTM Finalists: (in order from "I'd Consider Killing Puppies To Look Like You" to "One Way Ticket Back To Shutter Island, If You Please)

1) Naduah: Raised in a religious cult... Ambiguous dialect... Rocks that shaved head



2)  Simone: Sorority girl like whoa... But when she shuts her mouth, stunning...


3) Ren: Edgy, bizarre, hard ass... That girl I've always longed to be... sans hairy pits...


4) Tatianna: Boring as all hell... but models don't have to be interesting, right?... they're just pretty to look at...


5) Jessica: Pregnant at 16... married at 17... Corn fed and innocent... Can't wait to watch her squirm...

6) Brenda: Saucy little minx... Tyra was sure to de-sexify her by lopping off all her fiery locks...

7) Alexandra: Our token "Plus-Size" contestant... and by that, of course they mean, "The Size of a Normal Human Being, save the 6 extra inches vertically"... Still waiting to see if she can pull it out in the clutch...


8) Krista: EAT A PIZZA!... this bitch needs some nourishment... and an attitude adjustment...


9) Raina: Eyes to kill for... Eyebrows to scrub clean every greasy pan in the Tri-State area...


10) Anslee: She got a little ghetto in her... Already making waves... And doesn't exactly have the goods to back her words...
11) Alasia: 90 minutes of her and I'm ready to crawl right out of my skin... Irritates the shit out of me... Too much of everything... Too loud... Too obnoxious... Too dramatic... Too hood rat...Too shrill... Too fake... TOO MUCH!

12) Gabrielle: Straight outta Compton... or St. Louis, whatev... She live the thug life and she ain't ashamed... This is the girl you become friends with in high school so a) she won't kick yo ass and b) she will cut a bitch on your behalf...

13) Angelea: And I'm terrified... TERR.I.FIED... This is the girl you just pray NEVER notices you in high school, 'cause you so much as smile crooked and you're swallowing teeth... Also, Thank You, Tyra, this one is sure to bring hours of viewing giddiness...

Monday, March 8, 2010

I complain on... Mondays?

A gaggle of gripes to satiate your craving for the bitter within me... Don't act like your not excited...

So I'm a smidge late with this week's sardonic rampage...


I'm sorry. Sick as a dog, I was yesterday. And the post would surely have been about my inability to function as a normal human being and/or breathe from the nose...

But never fear, complaining is here...

And this week I bitch about The Death of the Jingle (I will not lump The Death of the Sitcom Theme Song in with it, as I feel they are equally deserving of their own posts... But I assure you, next week, it's on)

That said, what the hell happened to The Jingle?!?!


When I was growing up there was a catchy little ditty attached to nearly every product out there, from tampons to Big Wheels... a no nonsense way to cement the necessity of useless objects into the minds of easily influenced and greedy crumb-snatchers... I miss that shit. I miss humming along. I miss the camaraderie of a spontaneous Jingle Sing-Along. I miss "Honey Combs big, yeah, yeah, yeah, It's not small, no, no, no"...



Who are these elitist bastards that deemed The Jingle unnecessary? Because they are morons. I hardly know what's for sale anymore. And perhaps this is why our economy has been in the shitter for the past... well, a while... (I won't even pretend to know when the recession actually began, I can't even remember what I wore yesterday)

The Jingle was the cornerstone of my shopping experience. I knew what "it" was, where "it" was, how cleverly "it" rhymed with other words, and how much I couldn't live without "it". Now I'm just some asshole roaming the aisles of the local Target, frazzled by the abundance of product that I've never heard of... It blows, and it's not very effective.

I have an impressive ability to recall the most worthless of information... always have. Useless trivia is my forte. And therefore, a large portion of my brain capacity is filled with Jingles throughout the ages. Nostalgic reminders of a simpler time.



Here are some of my faves:

  • You'll love the first bite, outrageously right, new Kudos granola snacks. Nutty or fudge. Chocolate chip or peanut butter. Kudos I love you over any other. Electrifyin'. Granolafyin'. Simply nutritious. Outrageously delicious! Kudos, I'm yours! I'm yours! Kudos, I'm yours!
  • 'Tato Skins got baked potato appeal, cuz they're made with potatoes and skins that are real. Cheddar Cheese and Bacon, Sour Cream and Chives, blend it all together, you won't believe your eyes, they're made with potatoes and skins that are real, new Keebler 'Tato Skins, baked potato appeal.

  • Lite Brite, Lite Brite, turn on the magic of colored light, Lite Brite, Lite Brite, make a face to light the night.
  • O.B., it's the way you should be, keep it simple, and set yourself free, from the extras, that you really don't need, just try O.B. and you'll see.
  • Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun... and/or Big Mac, Filet o' Fish, Quarter Pounder, French Fry, Icy Coke, Cold Shake, Sundaes, and Apple Pies, you deserve a break today, so go to the one and only place, McDonald's...

    And those are just the first five that elbowed their way to the front of my noggin'... there are thousands more where that came from... and all I'm sayin' is that my step has a little less skip in it then it did in the days of The Jingle... It is possible this is because I've aged 20 years, but I'm pinning on the asstards that put the kibosh on the only redeemable part of the commercial break...

    Furthermore, what fate did The Jingle writer's of America face? They were already hacks. Failed musician types, hardly able to hold their heads up as they walked down the street, with the knowledge of their own spineless inclination to sell-out for a quick buck. Where did they go? Back to Mom's musty basement? Drafting kitschy, poetic personal ads, cutting themselves, and chugging Mountain Dew in the dark? Where lie the long forgotten Jingle Artists of our time? And did they ever receive the respect that was their due?



    R.I.P. Jingle Geniuses... R.I.P.

    I'm pissed on your behalf.