Here is the amazing George Carlin waxing poetically about Michael Jackson. F - you Elvis.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Today is a sad day for anyone who came of age during the 70's and 80's. I literally have a command center on my couch keeping track of the Farrah/Michael Jackson deaths. Not since Anna Nicole passed away have I been so glued to my television and computer.
This morning I was confronted with the sad news that Farrah finally passed away after a long battle with anal cancer (yikes could anything be worse?) Farrah will always be known as one of Charlie's Angels and for her perky nipple poster (which hung on by brother's floor to ceiling corkboard wall - so very 70's). However my fondest memory of Farrah was her amazing role as Holly in the cult classic "Logan's Run" - seriously she should have gotten a fricking Oscar. I think I've seen "Logan's Run" at least 6 times over the years, because really, who can get tired of a movie who's plot revolves around a society that executes everyone once they reach the age of 30? I remember Farrah in her futuristic sparkly outfit with her soft airhead voice and thought she was "the bomb".
As I left work I heard that Michael Jackson had passed away of a heart attack. Like most people, I agree that Michael was a freak, but god love him he was a talented freak. Unlike my children, I remember Michael as a black man, amazing dancer and great talent. I also remember doing the "mime in a box" dance to his "Off The Wall" album outside the school pod in 4th grade. The sparkly glove, and red leather jacket were a way hip in a lame but cool sort of way. I'd have to say that my favorite memory of Michael was his shy but lovable portrayal as the junkyard Scarecrow (with a Reeses Peanut Butter cup wrapper on his nose) in The Wiz (R&B's answer to The Wizard of Oz). His rendition of "Ease on Down the Road" with Diana Ross and Nipsy Russell kicked ass.
So, to Farrah and Michael, I saw Rest In Peace. May the two of you do the Moonwalk, followed by a round of Battle of the Network Stars, and share your hair secrets up in Heaven. And may Ed McMahon greet you with a "Heeeere's Michael and Farrah".
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Yesterday I woke up with a raging case of Pink Eye. No big deal, however I couldn't help but be reminded of the scene from "Knocked Up" where Seth Rogan and Paul Rudd go to pick up their stoner friends for a Vegas road trip and they can't go because they are all infected with Pink Eye caused by farting on each other's pillow. Apparently (according to the writer's of "Knocked Up" who are clearly opthamologists on the side) Pink Eye is/can be caused by getting fecal matter in your eye. Needless to say, yesterday as I showed up at work looking like I'd just left a hotel room after hanging out with Snoop Dog and Willie Nelson, I couldn't stop wondering if I somehow got poop in my eye, and if so, how could it have happened? Did someone fart on my favorite pillow when I wasn't looking? Did my dog do one of those butt-scratching slides on my pillow while I was at work? Did I accidentally pick up a pair of someone's skid marked undies while doing the laundry and then touch my eye? Maybe a floating fecal particle flew into my eye the other day when it was particularly gusty. Regardless, I can't get the whole poop eye scenario out of my head.
This morning I woke up and not only is my eye the color of Cherry Kool Aid but now it is completely puffy. Perfect timing, since I am having lunch with a friend who I haven't seen in 20 years who will undoubtedly mistake me for Farrah Fawcett's character in The Burning Bed when I arrive.
While we are on the subject of Poop, I wanted to just throw in my two cents about a little sensation known as "The Jonas Brother's" (or, as I like to call them, simply "Jonai", which I think is probably the plural of Jonas??)
First of all, can someone tell me what the appeal is? Even my 11 year old daughter thinks they are dorks (unless she's just playing it cool and really has a secret Jonai collectible stash hidden somewhere in her room). If you ask me, the "teen heartthrob bands of the 1980's were so much better.
Jonai actually have a song called "Pizza Girl". I can't be certain, but I am guessing this might be about a girl who works at a Pizza Parlor. I wonder if this was co-written by Elton John and his writing partner Bernie Taupin, because there is just no way a group of teenagers could come up with something as beautiful and poetic as "Pizza Girl" on their own. My favorite Jonai song, however is probably "Everyone's Allergic to Poison Ivy". Well no shit Sherlock. Again, some pretty heavy stuff coming from such young novices.
At least Duran Duran took it to the next step and actually used some Metaphors in their songwriting. "Hungry Like the Wolf" and "Reflex" are some examples that come to mind. While we are comparing the two bands, I have to say that style wise, Duran Duran ran circles around the Jonas Bros. Jonai, with their mini fros (except Joey, who has clearly discovered the magic of the flat iron), and their sports coat and ascots can't hold a candle to Duran Duran's stylish Panama hats, white linen jackets and magenta colored blush.
I could go on for days, but NY Prep is burning a whole in my Tivo (just dying to be watched). And I have to put on my battered wife best for my lunch today. So until next time, remember that Everyone (that means YOU) is Allergic to Poison Ivy. Thanks for the head's up Jonai.
Posted by Val and Parker at 9:40 AM
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
My dad actually reads this blog on occasion (sorry about the constant vulgarity, Dad), so maybe he'll watch this video, which is an tribute to Dad's everywhere! Pass it on to your dad (if you dare) - a great way to say "Thanks for being irresponsible, Dad!"
I love the grumpy dad and his facial expressions - it reminds me of my youth!
The other day, in a rush to get ready for work, I found myself squeezing into a size "0" pants (from 9 years ago) when I am now a size 4 (keep in mind I am very short), and covering it with a long maternity-like tunic - praying that a gust of wind would not blow the tunic up, exposing my Pop-N-Fresh Dough stomach. Imagine if you well, taking 10 lbs of sausage and stuffing it into a casing made for one Farmer's John breakfast sausage link and you'll get a visual of me getting dressed that day. Those pants were about 75 times tighter then the black number Olivia Newton John was wearing during the final scene in Grease. I'm pretty sure there might now be some internal bleeding, or at least some damage to my inner organs.
I now find myself getting up at least once in the middle of every night with an uncontrollable urge to urinate. As I shuffle to the bathroom like an 87 year-old man with prostrate issues, I have to wonder how it is possible for my entire body to get bigger by the minute, while my bladder miraculously seems to shrink day by day?
How is it possible that I can have a raging case of PMS (one which makes Janice Dickinson look like a tame kitten) and simultaneously have pre-menopausal hot flashes that wake me up in the night and render me looking like I am halfway through the Boston marathon? That is so not fair.
I have three sharp whiskers that are playing "whack a mole" on my chin. The moment I pluck one out, another appears the next day. That one immediately gets plucked and the third (and darkest whisker of the bunch) rears its ugly head. By the time #3 is plucked, number #1 is back in action. I can't win.
Also this week, a stranger called me "Ma'am", and my daughter asked me why my hands were so "veiny". I've also noticed that my interest in watching MTV and VH1 reality shows has waned considerably over the past year, while my desire to watch a new Dateline murder mystery has never been stronger - a true sign of aging. Son of a bitch.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Sometimes instead of making dinner I tell my kids to "Make themselves a bowl of cereal." And on occasion I will scream at them because their room looks like it's been hit by Hurricane Katrina, but in retrospect I could be a worse parent. Here's proof:
I've been tempted, but have never duct taped my baby (and a a stuffed chick) to the
wall in lieu of hiring a baby sitter.
Never once (not even during the toughest of times) did I cart my children
around in heavy traffic in a collapsable rolling cart
I've never taken my kids to a Swap Meet wearing a "Certified Muff Diver Instructor" tee shirt. (And, to the best of my knowledge, neither has my hubby, Tom)
To date, I've never dressed up either of my kids as a topless mermaid.
When my daughter turns 12 later this year, I will NOT have a Playboy themed birthday cake. (We are, however having her party at Hustler Casino and passing out lingerie for party-gifts)
Ok, this shirt is great and I would totally let my daughter wear it. Does anyone know where I can get one?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
With not much happening in my life (aside from an expanding waistband) here are some random "Deep Thoughts" (but not by "Jack Handy")
- Does anyone really care about Jon and Kate? How do they even find the time to cheat? They have 8 freakin' kids. I have 2 children and they follow me around like I'm the god damned Pied Piper. Also, Star magazine just revealed that Jon was discovered smoking Pot at a bar and his boozing is "out of control." Well, duh? The guy has 8 kids!!!!
- Instead of "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Outta Here," NBC should change the name to one of the following: "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me a G-Damned Can of Off!" (Could Sanjaya possibly have more bug bites?) "I'm Sort of A Celebrity, and I am Boring as Shit." (I'm talking to you, Lou Diamond Phillips); or "I'm No Longer A Celebrity.... Anyone Got a Job for Me?"
- Why do doctor's offices love to leave messages at 4:50 on a Friday night saying "The doctor needs to meet with you to discuss your blood test." This immediately prompts one to Google every blood disorder (and combine it with any random symptoms you've had over the last 18 years) so that the result "CANCER" comes up over and over, only to show up to the appointment and have the doctor tell you that your are completely healthy? On Saturday, I texted Parker and asked her if she'd be my "Bette Midler" (I get to be Barbara Hershey) and sit in Adirondack chairs on the beach with me during my final weeks. By Sunday night I practically had my funeral planned.
- This week one of the EMT students at the college I work at called me "Ma'am". He was probably just a sweet kid who was raised right - but it crushed me. Next week I'm going to show up to work in a floral Muumuu wearing Blu-Blockers and carrying a a jar of Metamucal.
- Last night my son had his 7th grade band concert (good times all around). He's grown so much over the past 3 months that he actually had to lay on the floor to button his black trousers. As he lie there, humiliated at having to have his mom tell him to "Suck it in" while I buttoned his pants, I looked him in the eye and said "Welcome to my world, kiddo."
Posted by Val and Parker at 9:38 AM
Not since I had too much champagne at Parker's 35th birthday party and, couldn't find my swim suit and wisely decided it would be fine to come downstairs and Wow the partygoers in my black thong underwear and black strapless bra (I had enough sense to wear on open hoodie over the elegant makeshift bikini) has a bathing suit scenario ever gone so wrong.
This dude was arrested for harassing people (i.e burning their corneas) while wearing this ugly bathing suit. I'm guessing he got his suit from the Ross clearance aisle (because that's where I get a lot of my suits and I'm pretty sure I've seen this green number on sale for $7.99). The scary thing is, this guy has a better figure than me.
And in regards to me frolicking poolside at midnight and surrounded by partygoers in my thong and bra. Yes there are pictures and they will never see the light of day again.
Monday, June 8, 2009
I didn't watch the Tony Awards last night, so I'm wondering why on earth Bret Michaels and his hairy band was even performing? (If you ask me, when I think of the Broadway greats, the band "Poison" and the song "Unskinny Bob" just doesn't come to mind). Perhaps that's why sweet Karma made an appearance in the form of a giant billboard with the words "BROADWAY" that came crashing down on Brett and his ridiculous Ed Hardy too-tight rhinestone tee shirt, bandana and straw cowboy hat (always appropriate attire for a formal awards show).
Note to the stage crew: You might want to disenfect (or burn) the curtain that almost sawed Brett in half. And if any blood was shed, Haz Mat suits are in order.
To see Brett bite the big one click on the video below. (You may have to replay it several times to savor the sweet revenge that comes from being a world class douchebag).
Thursday, June 4, 2009
I recently started working a part time job in one of the division offices at a Community College. Having worked at a Community College before I know that there are a "wide" variety of students (old, young, sane insane, rich, poor, you name it!) enrolled at any given time. Below, please find my "open letter" to the drunk student who sat next to me outside on the concrete bench as I ate my lunch of coffee and mini cinnamon rolls:
Dear Drunken Middle-Aged Community College Student:
I can't help buy overhear your phone conversation with your significant other (who is most likely manning the Winnebago/Meth Lab that you live in). He sounds like a real treat - I know this because you've slurred "I lurvvvve you" about 500 times so far.
Just a bit of advice for you: I was once a college student who liked to party too. But then again I was in my late teens (you look like you are pushing a hard 43) and no mater how many Everclear and Kool Aid shooters I put back on any given night, I was always sure to sober up before class the next day. Not once, during my six years at a 4-year university did I start pounding the booze before noon, nor did I ever show up for class intoxicated (an amazing feat for me at that time). You on the other hand, are clearly gearing up for your next class (as you've mentioned many times over the phone that you'll be home "after class"). Which brings me to another point, oh classy, drunken student with dragon tattoo on your upper arm: Just exactly how are you going to get home? Is the mobile Meth Lab going to swing by and pick you up? Will you be charming the other transit riders with your tequila breath and funny anecdotes on the city bus (one can only hope). Or are you planning on hopping into your 1984 Subaru GL rusty station wagon and hitting the highways during rush hour?
Sure, I might be tempted to put back a few cocktails if I was in my mid forties and working my way towards a Medical Assistant Certificate (not that there's anything wrong with that!) but I try to save my cocktail hour for my nightly marathon of crappy reality TV watching).
Maybe you just regret all those animals-of-the-jungle tattoos, and drinking is the only way to mask your regret? Whatever the reason, I am sorry for you. Party on, Drunken, Middle-Aged, Community College Student.
The Lady eating mini cinnamon rolls next to you at lunch
Posted by Val and Parker at 4:20 PM
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Anyone who was alive in the 1980's most certainly sat through Bonnie Tyler's ridiculous video for "Total Eclipse of the Heart" (which should have been called "Total Eclipse of a Felony"). But I digress - whoever put this video together is genius. It's hysterical:
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
I feel so ashamed and dirty - kind of like I danced in my bra on a bartop at a biker bar after too many shots of tequila.
Why? I did the unthinkable (ok, it was actually quite thinkable): I sat through the entire 2 HOURS of "I'm A Celebrity...Get Me Outta Here" last night. In my defense my husband was totally enabling me the entire time. While he usually shames me into changing the station during the worst of the worst reality shows (i.e. Real Housewives of Anywhere or Celebrities on Ice) he actually sat next to me throughout the entire show and at one point (during Spencer Pratt's tantrum over Heidi's self-labeled dry shampoo) said, "Geez, I might even start watching this show."
I don't want to spend too much time on this crapfest, because if we pay too much attention, Heidi and Spencer "win" (in the world of shameless PR) and we can't have that. Today it was revealed that the two (clearly the most obnoxious people on the planet) couldn't handle being so far away from the Chateau Marmont's patio bar and their selection of hair products and are on a plane back to LA. Way to stick it out for charity a**holes. All I can say is when they return I hope Spencer gets a "five star" ass-kicking.
Thank god for Janice Dickinson and the two crazy Baldwin brothers (as Daniel Baldwin will be replacing Spencer) because unless someone has a jungle meltdown real quick I am totally tuning out.