Tsunami Warning & How Your Toothpaste Might be Killing You

Last night I'm in the bathroom (plucking another whisker from my chin - my new nickname: "Billy Goat") when I hear the following: "Tsunami warning for Southern California. Details at 11:00"


Call me crazy but if the KABC anchor Michelle Tuzee is going to throw Tsunami threats my way in a cheery sing-song voice during the commercial break of Dancing With The Stars, she might want to get more specific. Of course the second I heard the word Tsunami I had a vision of me floating in a sea of angry waves clutching our turtle and dog, while my husband and children clung to life on a makeshift raft of couch pillows and styrofoam. 


Obviously the Tsunami warning was no big deal, but when will the scare tactics to gain more viewers stop? Every other night it's something different: "Is your toothpaste killing you? Tune in at 11:00" or "TV Star Arrested for selling crack cocaine!! Tune in at 11:00" (inevitably it is never anyone good like Charlie Sheen, but rather the lady who plays his housekeeper that no one has heard of. (Actually I do know her name and it's Concheta Farrell, proof once more that I watch way too much tv). My point however, is that  it's just not cool to throw the word "Tsunami" around when the chances are 1 billion to one. Shame on you Michelle Tuzee.... 
-val

Dexter's Garage

After a long and rather uneventful weekend one thing became very clear to me. I'm almost certain that one of my neigbors is "Dexter" (or at least Dexter like). Truly there is no other explanation.

On Saturday I decided to finally take the 4 black Hefty garbage bags of old clothing to the Good Will, thus cleaning out a small portion of my very cluttered garage. In my defense my garage is really the only cluttered part of my house, but that's what garages are for, right?  As I stuffed the giant bags into my Prius I looked across the alley at my neighbors' open garage door and there is was: The most sparkly-could-eat-off-the-floor-clean garage I've ever seen. Seriously it was diabolical. Over the years I've seen the wife actually vacuuming said garage on almost a weekly basis. For Christ's sake they've lived there for like 8 years. Aside from a small television mounted in the corner and a wall where they hang tools (i.e. scapals for cutting up their victims?) the garage is completely empty.

I don't really know these people well, except for the stink eye they give me when they happen to get a glimpse of my open garage, but there most certainly is something wrong with these people.  The most likely conclusion is that they kill people and surgically cut them to pieces in their pristine germ free garage. Dexter would be proud.
-Val

TMI Mackenzie...TMI

Mackenzie Phillips is on the "I Had Sex with my Dad" publicity tour - hitting Oprah today to hype her new book. While I love seedy Hollywood gossip, even this goes beyond the limits of my taste and decorum. I therefore am compelled to write an open letter to Mackenzie:

Dear Mackenzie:
Is it not enough that we all know you've been a heroin addict since like the age of 6? You've also proudly admitted to having a one-nighter with Mick Jagger as a teen (Mick must have had some major 'beer goggles' on that night because I'm pretty sure he could have gotten someone who didn't have  the body of a 12 year old boy and acne scars). Then last year you brilliantly went through LAX security with a dozen syringes up your pant leg (Kudos!). At least that stunt got you a gig on Celebrity Rehab.

But that's not enough is it? It's obvious to me that your Bank of America Interest Maximizer Account with the residuals of "One Day At a Time" has dried up, and what better way to make a buck than to spill the beans about shooting up and doing the nasty with your creepy, jaundice-skinned, junkie dad? What's even worse is that it continued for 10 years (10 years?) and he even impregnated you (Holy vomit-in-my-mouth). Listen up Pizza Face: This is TMI (too much information)! Schneider would be so disappointed in you.

-Val

Is it That Time of Year Again? A Play by Play of Dancing with the (so called) Stars

Every year I try to watch "Dancing with the Stars" and usually make it through the first three weeks and ultimately give up. This year will probably be no different. Tonight is the Season Premiere and I'm determined to stick it out to the very end (or at least until a better show premieres on Monday nights). Anyhoo, here's my play-by-play of episode one: (Note: a cocktail -or two- may have been involved, so if you disagree with anything, blame it on the vodka:

• Aaron Carter: His Meth Face is looking much better. My High School Graduation dress was made of the exact same lace fabric as his shirt (no - seriously).
• Chuck Liddell: I only know who he is because he once guest starred on "Entourage".  He dances like Frankenstein (if Frankenstein were to be in a dance competition. Likely)
• Iron Chef Guy: Naturally he danced to Kung Fu Fighting, no racial profiling here. He's actually good, although I kept expecting him to pull out a Samarui sword - or at the very least stop, open a chest and scream some random food product like, "SQUID".
• Ashley Hamilton: Self-claimed "actor/comedian". I will shell out $100 if anyone can tell me a comedic acting roll this guy has ever been in. Sadly I do remember that he was briefly married to Shannen Doherty. All I have to say about him is, sorry cutie you won't go far on your looks alone. By the way, his score was "15" ~ coincidentally the same number as his IQ. 
• Donny Osmond: Words cannot describe the hate I feel for Donny Osmond (second only to the "Hoff"). I'm not sure why I despise him so much, but the second he comes on the air my brain tells me is the time for my "third cocktail."

Yikers! they just did an audience shot of Marie Osmond and Jermaine Jackson. Hard to tell who has had more plastic surgery.

• Snow Boarder Dude: Good Hair, not so good dancing. See ya later dude. Actually I kind of like this guy - he reminds me of my ultra-shy musician son with the shag hair. I might have to vote for him (if only I knew what his name was)
• Michael Irving: Didn't know who he was (athletic me) but Parker filled me in. She has met him a few times and says he is ultra conceited. Therefore he must be eliminated. 
• Tom Delay: Looks like the creepy uncle who wants all the little-girl cousins to sit on his lap at the family reunion. Ca-reeeeppy. 

-Val

I'm Not Afraid to Get Sand On My Tuxedo

This is why the 80's were so great. I was a little depressed this morning (40 is only a day away) but then I saw this video and almost wet my pants. I think I might have dated the guy holding the rose who's "Looking for THE Goddess." And I'm quite sure I had the same blue and black sweater of the "Fashion Photographer."

Picture Day

Today is "picture day" at my kids Junior High. When I was a teen, picture day was a big deal. I spent days planning my outfit and prayed to God that I didn't get an overnight case of terminal acne. Meanwhile my kids couldn't care less about picture day.

The reality is, you have to order pictures of your kids every year. If you don't you are considered a shitty parent. So last night I spent a good 20 minutes filling out the forms for the kids school pics - by the way, could you guys make the small print any smaller? Great, I'm practically legally blind seeing at a distance and now I when I look at small print I literally get sea sick. Nevermind that they had umpteen different package options (look cuties, I don't need $75 worth of pics of my kid standing in front of a faux brick wall) but nowadays you can also pay extra to have the blemishes removed or dish out even more cash to "Whiten teeth, smooth skin tone, remove scars and fly away hair." That is an actual quote from the school picture pamphlet. Is it the cover of Vogue or Jr High pictures? Listen up, If I had to get my 8th grade pic with a giant zit and fu**ed up hair then so do my kids god damnit. Inevitably, everyone has their "horrible school picture moment." Mine occurred in 8th grade when I decided to cut off all my hair in favor of the Olivia Newton "Let's Get Physical" look. FYI: this look doesn't work if your hair is naturally the texture of a Brillo pad.

Parker doesn't have kids, but I'm sure if she did she would go balls to the wall dishing out the extra "air brushing" money to make little Daddy Warbucks Junior look like Zac Efron. Below, her account of her Jr. High school picture nightmare:

I was 12 when my brother and I got into basically the Olympics of all pillow fights. I ducked down to get more ammo and ate it literally into our 1970s pool table that roughly weighed 3 tons of solid metal and wood. I looked up at my brother said "You missed me" with half my two front teeth missing. My mom Nancy took me to a doc in the box who basically put two yellow Chicklets on my front teeth and sent me on my way. As a 5'8 12-year-old I was now no longer "Mt. Everest" but instead "yellow teeth" to my classmates. My school pics came back and literally my two front teeth were in the shape of an upside V in the shade of "sunshine yellow." Months later my brother threw my friend from the shallow end to deep end of our pool and as I plunged to the surface of the from the deep -end her head met my Chicklet teeth that instantly popped out and disintegrated instantly in the chlorine. This time Nancy took me to a real dentist and thankfully I was "Mount Everest" again. Every time I see that school picture I think "thannnnnnks Nancy."

I couldn't find my Lemon-flavored Chicklet Teeth school photo, but the photo above is me at probably the age of 8. At least my hair was healthy.

Parker & Val

He's Like the Wind: Goodbye Patrick Swayze...and Goodbye Tavern on the Green

A sad day indeed. Sadder even that once the news broke, Parker and I each simultaneously raced to our cell phones in order to see who could text each other first. As Parker put it, it's a clear sign of immaturity when you go into panic mode because your phone has froze up and you are in a desperate race against time to tell your best friend that Patrick Swayze has kicked the bucket, not because you are sad, but only because you don't want to lose the latest round of "Death Watch 2009". Frozen phone or not, Parker beat me to the punch by approx 10 minutes. Kudos Parker.

Back to Patrick. It's never funny when someone so young (57) dies such a horrible death. Patrick deserved better - despite his endless chain of cheesy movies throughout the years. In the 80's when many girls thought he was worthy to grace the covers of "Teen Beat" and "Bop" magazine - I sternly disagreed (being a die-hard Rob Lowe fan). Nevermind, that Patrick was in his late 30's when he made that horrible (sorry) movie "Dirty Dancing". Wasn't he breaking all sorts of laws by seducing a 16 year old in the Peekskills? And her name was "Baby" - total yucko. By the way...don't even get me started on the movie "Ghost". I think I vomited in my mouth during that scene at the pottery wheel with Demi Moore. Then of course there was his stellar acting in such classics as Roadhouse, Point Break and Red Dawn. Bad acting aside, Patrick was a true 80's icon. Rest in Peace Swayze.

On the heels of hearing of Patrick Swazye's demise, Parker got the horrifying news that NY fine dining staple, Tavern on the Green is closing it's doors for good. While Parker and I love to frequent fine dining establishments, she has been there, I have not. So here is Parker's email regarding her one-and-only experience at "Tavern on the Green":

The one and only time I went to Tavern on the Green, I was with my dad in NY for an NBC affiliate convention. I was 19 and the people at the Four Seasons hotel thought I was my dad's hooker-girlfriend - not too gross. I had huge hair and wore an orange silk dress with a giant gold leather belt (does that sound hooker like?) when we went to the restaurant an my dad totally let me drink whatever I wanted. Later, I told Tom Brokaw that he was my "Hero" - not too embarrassing. Also this was the year they introduced "Seinfeld"and Jason Alexander totally tried to pick me up and I was completely disgusted. I remember thinking, "Get lost short bald man: my heart belongs to Tom Brokaw."

Val & Parker

Now I've Seen It All

As a teenager I loved watching the VMA's - and about the most crazy thing I ever saw was a very young Madonna dry-humping the stage in a tacky wedding dress singing "Like A Virgin." But now, I've seen it all.

I quit watching the VMA's about 5 or 6 years ago, when I got tired of staring at the television and saying "Who?" However, last night I watched the first 20 minutes, just to see Janet do her Michael tribute and to see how badly they Spanxed her (the answer: a lot of Spanx was harmed in the making of the Janet tribute to Michael). But first Madonna came out and spoke in her ridiculous English accent for 15 minutes about Michael (but mostly about herself). God that ego of hers - I think she just loves to hear the sound of her own voice. Kudos to her plastic surgeon however, for 51, she looks amaayyyyzing.


This morning I awoke to all the Kayne West hoopla (how he ruined poor little Taylor Swift's speech). All I can say is "Have some more Couvissier, Kayne" (which he was drinking all up and down the red carpet: Class!) You and your crop circle haircut really know how to "mix it up". Because nothing says "smooth talking gentleman" like pulling the mic out of the hands of a 17-year-old neophyte while accepting one of her first awards ever and going off on a rant. News flash, Kayne: "It's the Freaking MTV Video awards" not the Nobel Peace Prize. In the scheme of things its not a big deal, so chillax idiot.

I thought the Kayne debacle was the major highpoint of the show, UNTIL I caught a glimpse of Lada GaGa's amazing wardrobe changes. Had I known that "bloody tampon" was in this season, I would have saved that money I spent on Boyfriend jeans and Maxi dresses and headed on down to Neiman's for the latest collection by Tampax. Luckily for me, I have a fundraiser in a few weeks which I think would be the perfect occasion for that feathery-tumbleweed face hat. Look, I get it - she's an artist and needs to express her creativity (in the form of blood-soaked lace) but I think maybe there's more to this. Attention whore much?
Me thinks Lady GaGa was never hugged as a child.
-Val

Reality Roundup

by Parker & Val

Haven't blogged in a while - too busy immersed in the new Reality television season. Here are some thoughts:

Rachel Zoe Project: Her real "project" should involve eating a hoagie sandwich now and then and washing it down with a Supersized McDonald's Snickers McFlurry. Still the show is 60 minutes of eye candy. Her assistant Taylor (who they all call "Tay Tay", perhaps the most annoying nickname ever created) is such an ungrateful Clorox-haired bitch. She has repeatedly whined about having had to work for Rachel for 3 years (3 YEARS - oh the humanity) and still hasn't been promoted. Welcome to the real world "TAY TAY". Try selling radio for 15 years. If you are so damn miserable, I'm sure Forever 21 is hiring.

More to Love: We've pretty much given up on this show (especially when he sent home the real fatties) but Parker caught the most recent episode where Luke (a.k.a. the Playa with the Mayo) went on a date with one of the Low-Self-Esteem girls and asked her if she could see herself marrying him in the future. Of course the needy chick beamed, "Yes!", because who could resist that hunk of a man? Less than 48 hours later, he sent her packing. Way to pump up her confidence Luke. Maybe next week he'll choke on an eclair.

Flipping Out: This show has totally lost it's focus this year. We don't care that your assistant didn't get enough "brown salsa" at Baja Fresh. Show me some god-damned throw pillows. And what's with Zoila (the Hispanic maid) all of the sudden yukking it up for the cameras? Did the producers throw in an extra $200 per episode if she acts like a cougar and tries to proposition every gardener that crosses her path?

Hoarders: Does anyone remember back in the 1980's and 90's when NBC would air a show with a serious plot and the promo would announce: "On a VERY special episode of...." (like the time that Michael J. Fox took pep pills to study for a test on 'Family Ties' or George Clooney got trapped in a storm drain on "ER"?) Well this week, A&E should have aired a promo that said, "On a VERY Fu*cked-up episode of 'Hoarders'", because those folks on Monday night's episode were all sorts of batshit crazy. One lady had a total of 75 cats in her house (of course 41 of them were skeletons hidden under all her crap). They also featured a 21 year old gay basketcase who refused to pick up the massive chunks of dog hair embedded in his carpet because he was afraid it might kill his dog. Can you say "television gold"? Parker refuses to watch this show because she's afraid the sight of moldy food in a corner might make her throw up in her mouth.

Top Chef: This year takes place in Las Vegas and for some inexplicable reason, Bravo has decided to put the chef's up in a mansion which was clearly built and decorated in 1986 (pink Formica with matching sheer green drapes). Geez, because they couldn't find a better more aesthetically pleasing locale, what with all the amazing hotels in the area? I'm pretty sure in this economy they could have gotten a bargain price on a block of rooms at the Bellagio. Secondly, if you are going to be on Top Chef, we feel that it might be wise to remove all facial piercings before going on camera. Just a thought.

Going all "Kate Gosselin" on His Ass

The other day my husband was online looking at boats. He found a lovely cabin cruiser for $40k and looked at me and said, "What do you think about getting a boat?" I went all Kate Gosselin on his ass and replied (while rolling my eyes) "Your new Space Car (i.e. his new Audi with more controls than the Space Shuttle Columbia) is your boat!" I later yelled at him for sticking his hands down my sweat pants and copping a feel of my flabby ass while we were in line at Albertson's. With this attitude, I can only count the days until he begins donning Ed Hardy sparkle tee's and dating a 21 year old party girl. (But c'mon, it should be against the law for anyone in public to even catch a glimpse of my ass cheek).

So it's only fitting that I post this hysterical video of Kathy Griffin mocking Kate Gosselin. On a side-note, how did Kathy Griffin (who is like 48) get that body? There is not one dent, dimple, vein or stretch mark to be had. I used to love Kathy, but with a bod like that I am really starting to despise her. -Val

Goodbye 30's. The Final Push

I have a little more than a week left before I turn 40. I should be trying to enjoy the fleeting days of my 30's, and although they say "40 is the new 30", I can't help but contemplate what a difference turning 40 vs. turning 30 really is:

Over the past year or so, I wake up looking less like the girl I was in college and more and more like Benecio del Toro. Yesterday, I was so puffy that you 'd a thunk I'd spend the night before at Joe Francis's house doing shots with Lindsay Lohan and Mischa Barton til 4 am. As I result, last night I smeared approximately 2 tablespoons of Preparation H under my eyes and this morning I looked less Benecio del Toro like and more like his younger brother, Paco. That stuff works!

I'm convinced that if I was on the show "Survivor" I'd be the only contestant who actually gained weight. After years of yo-yo dieting, I'd like the thank my metabolism for being slower than a one-legged, blind turtle.

I forget words all the time. Yesterday it took me over 30 seconds to remember the word "Clip Board."

Some mornings I wake up and am so stiff that I have to do a jelly roll off the bed. I'd like to thank my dad for the hereditary arthritis and weak discs.

I've always been moody - but the older I get the meaner I become. Yesterday I went to return a pair of jeans at Macy's and the lady in front of me had a Santa Claus-sized bag of children's clothes that she needed to return (as well as about 30 new replacement outfits for her precocious daughter who chatted and danced aimlessly about during the 20-minute transaction). I honestly thought I was going to have an aneurysm or go into a turrets-filled tirade over having to wait. Lately, when someone cuts me off in traffic I practically grit my teeth into whittled stubs. I may have to take up quaaludes.

But in all honesty, turning 40 isn't all bad. There are a few upsides to getting old(er):

For example, at 30 I was changing diapers, buying formula and carting two toddlers off to day care every day - while working full time. Today I work part time (by choice) and make the same amount of money I was making full time at 30.

I live in a much nicer house (of course with a much larger mortgage.) I also have more discretionary income - and a teenager who spends it all vicariously on candy, video games and music.

I don't have to go through the grueling process of dating, puberty or shyness. I also haven't had a zit in almost a year.

Steve Can Suck It

While the rest of America was partaking in swim parties and roasting weenies, my kids and I were home alone twiddling our thumbs (the pool was not an option as our community pool key has gotten sucked into the invisible black hole in my house which has also managed to suck up my Costco card, all of my socks and every portable electronic charger we've ever purchased). 

Someone (me?) had the genius idea to go see the new Sandra Bullock "All About Steve" just to get us out of the house. I knew it was going to be a disappointment, and decidedly my colon agreed. Midway through the movie (I'll spare you the plot) I was overcome with a pain that I haven't felt since my doctor induced labor for my first born back in 1995.  As I clutched my stomach  I had a vision of telling my harrowing story of giving birth in a dark theater on TLC's show "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant" (yes this is a real show and although I've never seen it, I'm guessing that the women interviewed are toothless hillbillies or really, really fat.) The contraction passed but came back during the climax of the movie, right when Sandra Bullock's character falls into an abandoned mine and Bradly Cooper realizes that she is not a crazy stalker but an amazing woman (because undeniably anyone who falls into a mine instantly goes from crazy nut job to becoming the most amazing person on the planet). Despite being knee-deep in the intricate movie plot, I knew I had to act. I limped to the bathroom, hunched over like an 80-year old woman with a wicked case of osteoporosis, only to discover that the god damn movie theater put the bathrooms upstairs. What kind of institution makes you pay $4.50 for a large coke and puts their bathrooms upstairs?  The diabolical kind, that's who. 

I may be wrong but in retrospect I think my colon was protesting against the sucky Sandra Bullock movie. As soon as I got home I was fine and my colon didn't even quiver during the hour long emasculating Fox Reality show "Hollywood Househusbands" (and yes this is also a real show).

-V  

A Slow News Day-but a crazy upcoming weekend?

Slow News Week - but a few tidbits:

I'm sure the upcoming Labor Day weekend will create a buttload of Shennigans to write about (mostly from Parker who's Labor Day weekends seem to always result in an alcohol-fueled clusterf**k of family and friends dropping ketchup covered Brautwurst on her Barcelona chairs or a slice of Pineapple upside down cake in her pool). 

Meanwhile over in the raging inferno known as California I will be starting "Physical Therapy" after work on Friday (because nothing says "let's get this labor day weekend party started" like Physical Therapy.) Why physical therapy? Because after 6 weeks of rolling out of bed like I was Jessica Tandy after a gang-banger and not being able to bend for the first 3 hours of the day I finally got my hypochondriac ass to an orthopedic who confirmed that I have "degenerative disc disease" AND arthritis in my back. THannkkkkkkkkkssss. Will  junk mail from The Scooter Store be far behind? Anyhoo, not only am I not exactly thrilled at the idea of having a complete stranger treat me like Stretch Armstrong, but I have a horrible fear that I might let one rip during a deep leg stretch. Oh the humanity.

And finally, when there isn't anything to write about there's always a ridiculous product to make fun of. I'd love to know who the genius behind this toy was. He clearly did his research because I know for a fact that child pole dancers fancy green satin dresses and a pole with disco ball on top. Has the economy gotten so bad that toddlers are now encouraged to emulate pole dancers in the hopes of gainful employment when they turn 18? Clearly so.

Happy Labor Day Weekend