Little Rascal Alley

The community I live in has a website, where you can check out upcoming events, classes, etc. But mostly it is just a place for people to go on the community message board and gossip, whine or complain about their neighbors (it is Orange County after all). There was a lady on my street who used to constantly post rants about the little children who played outside her window, and I used to think "What a bitch. If this is your biggest problem then consider yourself lucky". 

That was until yesterday, when during a PMS-induced migraine, the mini Harlem Globetrotters showed up under my bedroom window. When I get headaches I am more dramatic then Joan Crawford. Yesterday was no exception. As soon as I crawled into bed the action started. There were at least 6 of them, armed with no less than four balls and two dueling basketball hoops. All that was missing was the irritating Harlem Globetrotter whistled theme song and a crowd of bell-bottomed fans cheering them on. I tossed and turned as random balls banged against my garage door approximately every 2.1 seconds. 

Never have I been more tempted to throw open the window, with raccoon eyes and hair askew and pull a crazed Saturday Night Live Cheri O'Teri pill lady rant on those little f-ers. I'm pretty sure every child on the block was outside my window (with the exception of my children who only go outside if it is absolutely necessary). I refrained, because lets get real, they are just children having a good time, right? 

This morning there were three of them playing street hockey at the diabolical hour of 7:30 am. If this continues I'm going to have to grab a few wire hangers, throw on a bathrobe and face cream and go all Mommy Dearest on their fit, activity-loving asses. Just kidding. I love kids.

The Cheeseburger Mantra (and some eyebrow advice)

Rock Of Love Bus: Ashley Wants A Cheeseburger
by TheDlisted

Every girl who's ever been drunk before has slurred out the "Cheeseburger Mantra"  at one time or another. In my case the mantra usually involves Waffles or Pie. 

Yesterday I got home early and turned on Rock of Love Whore Bus (I swear this was just a coincidence and I didn't know that they re-air Sunday Night's episode every Monday at 12 pm on VH1) and caught the last half hour (which is about all I can take - I'm convinced the crabs and genital warts are going to jump through the screen and land on me if I watch too long). 

The above scene (where the Ashley , the classy lady in pink, repeats over and over "I wanna cheeseburger") brought me back to a party that Parker and I attended a few years ago. It was an NBC Emmy party spackled with celebrity goodness. After her 3rd Apple Martini, Parker began the Cheeseburger mantra. Angelina Joile and Brad Pitt could have walked in holding hands with Jesus and Satan and Parker would have still been chanting "I wanna cheeseburger". Parker and the above Ashley could be drunk  twins (if Parker were a bleach blond with a size 34DDD, wearing a pink tank dress with metal ring exposing the belly button and Lucite heels). 

On a side note: a few weeks ago, Parker turned 40 and gave some advice to our readers in their 20's: Moisturize, Moisturize, Moisturize. I'd like to add my own little bit of wisdom: while you are still young, DON'T over pluck your eyebrows. My mom always warned me to tread lightly with the tweezers, but I didn't listen and in my 20's I plucked the living daylight out of my furry caterpillar brows. Today I'm paying the price. Last week I decided I was sick of looking like a Latina Gang member and put the tweezers under lock and key. I'd let my eyebrows grow back (and promised only to pluck if there was a hair growing out of my eyeball) Once they grew back, I'd vowed to have them professionally groomed. Unfortunately, my eyebrows have taken on a life of their own, some hairs are growing back faster than Robin Williams' back hair while others are gone for good. Today I woke up looking like an angry cave woman whose brows were attacked by some sort of pre-historic weed whacker. So listen up ladies. Put. Down. The. Tweezers. You'll thank me in 20 years. (But don't get rid of your tweezers altogether! You'll need them for the whiskers that will begin to pop out of your chin as you approach 40).

Making Fun of Others to Make Ourselves Feel Better

When I first saw this picture I thought it was Lance Bass during his N'Sync days. Sorry Mr. King but this look is so not working. Nothing says "not sexy" like a man in his 70's wearing stone washed denim and horror of all horrors (not shown), he is also sporting Ed Hardy high top sneakers. Ummm, I'm pushing 40 and I wouldn't dare attempt to do the Ed Hardy shoe look. Note to Larry: Remember how I made googly-flirty eyes with you at that Jewish Delicatessen a few months ago? (click here for the sordid details). Well, after seeing you in this atrocious outfit, we are so ovah!

Hey Miley - I sported this look before you were even a spermatozoa in you dad's Achy Breaky Heart. Of course it was 1991 and had just downed 18 beers at a frat party and ended up running around campus, climbing trees like a feral jungle child (ripping my black sheer pantyhose, which I wore with black linen shorts, sexy!). In my drunken state I still rocked that look better than you. But that orchid sure is purty.

I'm not going to say anything bad about Jessica Simpson and her slight weight gain. I can totally relate with her yo-yo weight, and we are pretty much rocking the same body. So I say to you, Jessica - keep singing your crappy songs and enjoy those Reuben sandwiches with extra thousand island dressing and curly fries!

Obama Palooza

Like most people, I'm excited about Barack Obama's presidency.  I'm all about change and hope, yada yada yada. But note to America: he's just a man, not the second coming of Jesus. If I see Montel Williams hocking that ridiculous full-color Barack Obama Presidential Coin collection one more time, I'm going to lose it. And let's get real, Barack is a handsome dude but those coins are an atrocity. Check out the first coin where Barack is all happy and then he has a gold grumpy George Washington head attached to his shoulder. It's like that bad 70's movie "The Thing with Two Heads" where Rosie Greer plays an accused criminal (described as a "black soulbrother") who gets a "White biggot" head attached to him (see clip below - it is wonderful 70's greatness and way overdue for a remake staring Will Smith and Gene Hackman). But I digress.

 Then today I turned on the news to discover that you can now be the proud owner of the Sasha and Melia Beanie Babies dolls and the coup de gras: The Obama Chia Pet. Water it and Barack's green Afro gets bigger and bigger. I'm sorry but that is truly a heinous product - it looks like the love child of Shrek and Gary Coleman.

Lastly, is it me or did anyone else think it was odd that during the Sunday Night pre-inauguration concert, which included just about every musician under the sun, one of the key note speakers was Kal Penn, the guy from "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle"? Sheesh, at one point I expected Scott Baio and Willie Aames to come onstage and introduce Skid Row. WTF?

-val

The Thing With Two Heads (not unlike the Obama Coin with two heads)

Karma: It's a Bitch - and so is Vicki

It's always funny when someone trips. But when Vicki the greedy, materialistic, bi-polar maniac from the Real Housewives of the OC falls, it is nothing short of greatness. The only thing that would have made this clip better would be if she had taken out her front two teeth. (Skip to the end to see her fall - thank god her plastic trophy wasn't damaged in the fall!)

Suck it "Kitty Kitty"

There are two places that I consider "sacred": the Library and any Bookstore. So  you can imagine my horror yesterday when I trekked down to my neighborhood library and saw a sign that said "DO NOT DISTURB: STUDENT PERFORMANCE". Seriously? Ummm, it's a library, not Broadway. Much to my dismay the lobby was askew with about 10 6th graders dressed in their finest togas (i.e. white sheets with plastic leaves on their heads) reenacting ancient Greek history. Well, just like no one puts "Baby in the Corner", No one locks Val out of the library. So I got all Rosa Parks and quietly sauntered through the library foyer (while the little thespians' mothers threw me the evil eye) and stomped loudly upstairs to the library.

As I  made my way to the "New Books" section, I  encountered what could only be called a House Party of toddlers, led by a female version of Richard Simmons after smoking a bowl of crack and drinking a case of Red Bull. This lady was more than psyched to be there reading to the toddlers - and best of all they were all wearing homemade paper hats that looked like a cross between Samuel L. Jackson's Kangool beanie and the Pope's hat. Did I forget to mention she told the little monsters to sit "Criss Cross Applesauce" about 400 times?

I'm all for reading to kids, but this lady was diabolical. She had chosen the classic children's novel "Kitty Kitty" (?#*?) and before reading this amazingly complicated tour de force  she announced that "Kitty Kitty" was just "Chillin". Yo, is this the story of MC Skat Kat from the Paula Abdul video "Opposites Attract"? Regardless, what I really wanted to do was turn around and tell female Richard Simmons on Red Bull to take it down a notch, that this is a library not a Guns N Roses concert, and unless those children are legally deaf, I'm pretty sure she could use her "inside voice". How am I expected to decide between Anita Shrieve's latest novel and the Jules Asner smutty novel with "Kitty Kitty" roaring in my head? I finally grabbed a bunch of questionable new books, and got the hell out of there, all they while whispering to myself "Suck it Kitty Kitty".

-val

Bitches on A Plane

The fact that the plane didn't sink to the bottom of the filthy Hudson river  with the passengers trapped inside is truly a miracle. That being said, once everyone was safely rescued, Parker sent me a text message which read:   If I was on that plane, I would have grabbed my Louis Vuitton carry on, and shoved all the old people out of my way as I ran to the exit door.

Had Parker and I been on that plane (not likely since I can't imagine a scenario where we'd ever be flying together to North Carolina) I imagine us standing on the wing while having the following conversation:

Parker:  I  just hope the airline plans on getting some divers down there to get my checked baggage. My jewelry isn't going to swim itself to the surface.

Val:   Jesus Christ I'm cold. Does anyone have a god-damned blanket?

Parker: Crap, my Gucci slides are getting wet. Could this river water be any dirtier?

Val:   I could really go for some Hot Chocolate. Do you think the flight attendant brought her beverage cart out on the wing? Actually, a martini would be great right about now.

Parker: Here comes the boats. Oh great, I do NOT want to be rescued by that dumpy tug boat. Because I do want to get tetanus from a rusty fishing hook.

Val: Oh my god, there will probably be cameras when we get to shore. Do you have any lipstick? Does this life vest make me look fat?

Michael Goodwonder will haunt my dreams

No other show is able to exploit the losers of the world quite like American Idol. Naturally the producers saw gold when the discovered this guy during the Kansas City tryouts. I love the fact that even though he is 20 years old (and a sandwich maker by trade - a total catch) he wore a tarnished medal with a music note that he received in elementary school for "best vocalizing".

Hey, I got a 4th place ribbon in Vault back in 1979 during  a summer gymnastics class. Damn! I should have pinned that ribbon to a leotard and showed up for the Beijing Olympic tryouts. 

But there's something about young Mr. Goodwonder that gets to me. Is it his torn Fruit of the Loom tee shirt, autographed by all his high school friends? Maybe his butter-colored locks styled like Jim Carrey's  character Lloyd in "Dumb and Dumber"? His pearly whites? His wicked "vocalizing" skills? And who could help but shed a tear when he belted out that amazing original song he wrote for his mom. I guess I'm just a sucker for a Momma's boy. 

-Val

Slap me some skin my blind brother

Naturally I got sucked into the full two hours of American Idol (and naturally I loved every last minute). While I loved the crying rocker, high pitched high school geek (there's one every year) and the guy with the giant Afro who sported all the latest dance moves, perhaps the highlight of the night was when Ryan Seacrest tried to high five a blind dude. 

I think Ryan was probably just testing to see if he was really blind: like that Brady Bunch episode where this old grumpy guy sues Mrs. Brady because he "says" he hurt his neck when she rear-ended him, but then Mr. Brady throws his briefcase down on the courtroom floor really loudly and the guy in the neck brace turns around all of the sudden, proving that his injury was a fake. Now we know why Ryan makes the big bucks.

Thanks Dad! (or should I say "Gracias Papa"!)

I love my dad. He's always there for me to shoot the shit, listen to my problems or share an Absolut and tonic. Plus, added bonus, he's never once tried to sell me to a neighbor for $16,000, 160 cases of beer and some meat (although I'm sure he's been tempted).

The classy dude pictured above (Marcelino de Jesus Martinez) is accused of selling his 14-year old daughter to be married to their 18-year old neighbor for the cash, cerveza and meat. Sadly they haven't disclosed just what kind of meat we're talking about. I mean was it frozen hamburger patties from Costco or some prime rib eye from Bristol Farms? Because that really makes all the difference.  In Jesus's defense, he says the money was intended as a dowry and the beer and meat were for the wedding. That is so old school!

In retrospect, I guess I should thank my dad for not selling me to a creepy neighbor. I would have made a horrible wife at age 14 (I didn't learn how to iron or do laundry until college). In the meantime as for Mr. de Jesus Martinez: You stay classy  hombre. 

-val

Random Thoughts on The Golden Globes

Drew Barrymore is gonna get bashed for her hair and makeup. But I have to admit I kind of like it. It brought me back to my 1987 senior high school portrait: Hot rollered hair (bigger than big), dark roots and baby-blue eyeshadow. Slap on some Wet N Wild Candy Cane Red lipstick and we are almost f-ing twins. 

I am so not loving this look by Renee Zelwegger. Aside from the fact that she always looks like she just took a bite of the most sour lemon on the planet, her hairstyle and Caroline Hererra ensemble make her look like a honky tonk country singer circa 1979. 

Holy shit lady, eat a frickin sandwich. I swear I thought her arms were going to snap when she picked up that Golden Globe, which probably weighs as much as she does.  

In my opinion, Eva Mendes (in Chanel) was the best dressed of the night. Flawless.

Big Jim and Big Josh's Big Gay Adventure (tent and barbells sold separately)

Parker recently found this 1972 ad for "Big Jim" and "Big Josh" Campin' Tent and Safari set from Mattel. In retrospect, it should have been called "Big Jim and Big Josh Gay Adventure Pack". Check out the guns on those dudes.  Added bonus: Parker's brother is the cute red-headed kid holding "Big Josh."    

Not So Fast Bravo....

Yesterday I sat on my lazy ass for 3 hours watching the Top Chef marathon on Bravo. I love Top Chef because it always inspires me to get creative in the kitchen and then when push comes to shove I end up making Cheese Crisps for dinner. I finally had to change the channel because the damned Bravo network must have played the preview-ad of next weeks OC Housewives at least 200 times. The promo basically revolves around Tamra's "formal dinner" where she attempts to get Gretchen drunk by pounding her with tequila shots, which backfires when Gretchen practically sticks her tongue down Tamra's son's throat and then (cue dramatic music) "Gretchen and Ryan" (Tamra's scary looking Christian Slater/troll son) 'disappear.'

Needless to say they want us to believe that Gretchen and troll boy have salacious sex in the hot tub during the dinner party, but they can't pull another bait-and-switch promo on me! I'm sure when the show airs next Tuesday, the cameras will find "missing" Gretchen passed out in the bathroom while troll boy is upstairs playing World of Warcraft and spanking off to a fair maiden. 

And while I'm on the subject of the Real Housewives, why are they always wearing bejeweled silk blouses in the light of day? Why does Tamra don chandelier diamond earrings at noon? And lastly, do they have to have alcohol at every lunch. I love a good glass of wine or a martini now and then, but if I drank as much during the day as these ladies, I'd be scrubbing toilets alongside Tara Reid at Promises right now.

Lastly, speaking of running the same commercial over and over again. I swear to god if I see another ad for "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" I'm going to have an aneurysm. What's worse, is every time it comes on my kids laugh and say "That looks funny." I don't know if I can afford to take them to see that flick. It will be at least $100: $30 for tickets, $20 for snacks and $50 for the street heroin I'll need to ingest to make it through two hours of Kevin James on a Segway.  

-Val

Reality Roundup: Rock of Sickos

I started to watch "Rock of Love Tour Bus" on Sunday night but after one of the girls started pretend performing fellatio on another girl while onstage with Brett, I had to turn it off. A glutton for punishment, yesterday I turned on my DVR and attempted to watch the rest of it. Holy Shit, what happened the night before was nothing compared to the rest of it. Long story short, Brett and all his skanks were in a bar and one girl lies on the bar (SPOILER ALERT: She is panty-free) and another lovely lady announces she is "horny" and proceeds to do a slippery-nipple shot from panty-free girl's va-jay-jay. Obviously, VH1 couldn't even show the logistics and I'm not even sure myself how that might work, but needless to say it might be the most disgusting thing in reality television  history (yes, even more disgusting than when that big fat girl took a dump on Flavor Flave's classy purple carpeted staircase.) I still have the episode on TIVO, but seriously if my husband Tom catches me watching it, he might just file for divorce (and I don't know if I'd blame him). After watching that "whore show" (misspelling intended), I think back to everything I ever did in college and realize that I was a god damned saint. 

On a lighter note, Sanjaya's album drops in 2 weeks! The cover art is to die for. But, if I'm being perfectly honest, I can't wait for American Idol, because I cannot watch another episode of "Rock of Love Bus: Chlamydia on Wheels."

My Future without Prozac

Take away my frequent naps and daily meds for two weeks and this is me:

Sadly, it's come down to this for Courtney Love.  Put her and Amy Winehouse in a one-bedroom condo on Skid Row, turn on the cameras and you've got reality-ratings gold!

You've got to admit, the shoes are wicked-cool.

F*&K, I'm 40!

Staring down the barrel of 40 during my 39th year always made me throw up in my mouth a little. I imagined waking up on my 40th in a soccer mom twin set,
khakis, and my hair styled like Sally Field's. I tried to remain positive
and because of the miracle of Botox I don't think I look quite 40. Besides, women are supposed to reach their sexual peak at 40, I don't have any kids but at least I don't have 6, and maybe I will not get as worried about all the little things
because after all I'm 40 and I know some hard lessons about life at this point.

One thing is for sure on my 40th I wouldn't be at work or anywhere near the white trash city where my company is located. Having gone to college at "Bobby Bouche" University in Lafayette, Louisiana, I loved new Orleans and Daddy Warbucks and I would visit all the time when we first started dating. New Orleans would also be a easy destination for our friends and family from Dallas and new York to join us, so New Orleans it was.

I told D.W that I would leave all the planning to him. I'm a control freak and this one time I would do my best not too get involved. Before we left I did however remind D.w. there were two W Hotels in the French quarter and to make sure we were at the same one as our friends.

Needless to say I was just a tad angry when D.W. had indeed made the reservations at the wrong W and for various reasons we couldn't transfer to the other W hotel. Our limo driver who drove us  the "wrong" hotel asked how are day was? To which I replied, "Fine except my husband is a fucking idiot." D.W. turned from the front (since I wouldn't let him sit in the back) and told me to "shut the fuck up". Needless to say the limo driver decided to no longer make small talk with Ikeand Tina and my 40 th was off to a rough start.

After a few more choice words for each other and some angry texts to Val (who was unable to attend my 40 th due to a previous engagement, and who of course took D.W.'s side) we headed off on a bar crawl drinking and eating like Mario Batali at a really great All-U-Can-Eat Italian buffet. Mid-afternoon in true D.W. style he bought me gorgeous painting by one of our favorite artists (and all was forgiven, sort of).

Our friends all arrived early the next day and the celebrations were in full force. There are now Absinthe bars in new Orleans much to our delight. We didn't meet a Po Boy we didn't like, even the sub-par one at Acme Oyster Bar. I am pretty sure they put crack cocaine in the cafe au laits at Cafe du Monde, they are that good. The amount of powdered sugar on the beignets is so wrong yet so right.

The morning of my 40 th I walked into the bad lighting (or at least I hoped) of our bathroom and took a good look at my 40 year old face somewhat expecting to see the crypt keeper staring back at me. I was so dehydrated from all the previous nights' cocktails that I instead was a dead ringer for Benecio del Toro left for dead in the desert in the movie "Traffic". I'm pretty sure I used half a container of moisturizer on my face that morning and drank a gallon of water with my Eggs Benedict and cheese grits at breakfast.

That day I would tell people "today is my 40 th" hoping I would get a response like "No shit? You look 26!" Instead each person just said, "Well happy birthday." Even the drunkest, not-quite all there barflys I experimented on didn't respond as I had hoped.

All in all turning 40 wasn't as painful as I thought it would be, although I have noticed I don't get out of bed or into a car without grunting like a 80 year old.

Here's my advice for all of our young readers: Put 75 SPF on your face when in the sun, start a
fund to save for future Botox treatments (you may say you won't do it, but you will) drink lots of water, go ahead and have fries but eat a salad with them, and exercise - if even just a little each week. Doing these things will allow you to party like Tommy Lee circa 1996 and still recover.

Next up Val turns 40 in September '09. Should be a doozy, I predict it will be a less graceful turning of 40 for Val based on her current level of 39 and holding denial.

(yeah, yeah Val and I were in the same grade although I'm almost a year older, I was held back in the first grade, but that's another story) cheers!

-Parker

2009: Just as Appalling As 2008. (Tools Beware!)

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I saw an ad for the following show: 

VH1 has proved that there really is something lower than the "bottom of the barrel" and thy name is "Tool Academy". The worst part is I know that I will not be able to resist watching at least one episode of this debacle - because let's face it, we've all gone out with someone who belonged at the "Tool Academy". Crap - there goes my New Year's Resolution to stop watching detestable reality shows.

VH1 TV Shows | Music Videos | Celebrity Photos | News & Gossip

The only way to top this would be a spinoff called "Celebrity Tool Academy" (I may have to pitch this to VH1). Top contenders would be the following "celebrities"

•  Spencer Pratt: no explanation needed
•  Brody Jenner: dude from "The Hills" and "Bromance", which I'm  proud to say I haven't seen! Does this guy even have a real job or does his resume read:  Work Experience: January, 1999 - Present: Professional DOUCHEBAG.
• Chris Angel: Sure he has a well paying job, and can even make himself disappear (added bonus) but any man who wears that amount of bling must automatically be put into the "tool" category.
•  Brett Micheals:  Although, lets be honest, can he fit another reality show into his busy schedule filming back to back episodes of "Rock of Herpes", not to mention all those County Fairs he performs at. 
  
• Donald Trump: I know he's already married, but in my book, he's still a Grade A egotistical male chauvinist pig.
• Kanye West: Just to mix it up a bit.

Why We Love Kathy Griffin

Last night, I made it to a whopping 10 p.m. before finally putting down my book and calling it a night. Not a drop of alcohol passed my lips, not even a flipping Red Bull! (I'm a regular Tara Reid these days). The good news is I woke up feeling great and hangover free, and if I'm being honest had there been a Guinness Book World Record for "Worst New Year's Day Hangover," I'd have won hands down every year between 1987-1993). 

Anyhoo, I watched most of the CNN New Year's coverage, but somehow missed this great bit between Kathy and Anderson - the last line says it all.  Happy New Years cuties!