Blechhhhh....

This morning I was still a bit groggy as the news reported that Miley Cyrus' parents are divorcing because her mom had an affair with Bret Michaels. Believe it or not - this kind of story actually does make the LA news, even on a day after an election. I brushed it off thinking it was just due to my foggy early-morning mind, until the next hour as they announced it again.

There are so many things wrong with this scenario, I can't even begin. I know that Billy Rae Cyrus isn't exactly Brad Pitt and his mullet and parachute pants back in the early 90's would make any woman cringe, but I can't imagine ever turning in Billy Ray Cyrus for Bret Michaels. (Actually I can't imagine ever falling for either - even with all their "Achy Breaky" and "Poison/Rock of Love" cash.) Needless to say, I think Billy's pretty pissed. Indeed his heart is both Achy and Breaky, but more importantly, imagine the shame Mrs. Cyrus has put on her family. Finding out your mom got it on with Bret Michaels cannot be a positive experience. I see even more pole dancing and risque clothing in Miley's future.  I guess Bret Michaels song was prophetic: Every Rose DOES have its thorn. Any by thorn, I mean a lifetime of humiliation and trying to conquer a plethora of Venereal Diseases. 

While I'm on the subject of crappy celebrity gossip, I also learned that ABC has picked up the show "Skating with Celebrities." I never been a fan of  "Dancing with the Stars," but put them on ice and I'm I'm hooked. While I didn't recognize many of the celebrities names (either I am getting really old, or they are very D-list), I am familiar with the following:

• Vince Neil. former lead singer of Motly Crue and soon to be known as "Trainwreck on Ice"
• Sean Young: She actually had a promising career in the late 1980's and early 1990's until she dressed up like catwoman and appeared on Jay Leno in hopes of getting the part in Tim Burton's Batman. Don't know much about her recent work, but did see her on a Soup clip in a CMT reality show where she was sitting by a campfire (I pretty sure Carnie Wilson and Bobby Brown were also present) drunk off her ass. I can't wait ! Her new name: "Meltdown on Ice"
• Betthany from Real Housewives of New Jersey and Betthany's Getting Married?  Betthany is such a flash in the pan that I don't even know what her last name is, but I am guessing she will skate while holding a "Skinny Girl" margarita in one hand and her god damned cookbook in the other. We'll name her "Attention Whore on Ice."

For those of you who are too young to know of Sean Young and her Leno meltdown - here's a clip. It really is crazy at its finest. Unfortunately I can't find a clip with sound, but just imagine her saying incoherent phrases in a cat voice. 

via The Insider

Because Charlie Sheen needs more money

If there is anything that says "Don't pay me more money" - it is the scenario of Charlie Sheen having a meltdown at the Plaza Hotel with a hooker after a 3-day coke binge. NOthing says "Stop paying me a million dollars an episode" like an overpaid drug addict with an open wallet and a city full of hookers and drugs. Even in my most wildest days - I never could never imagine verbally or physically assaulting a prostitute while staying at the Plaza. I actually stayed at the Plaza hotel in New York circa  1993 and ordered a Cesar Salad and a coke at the rock bottom cost of $35 plus tip - charged to my expense account. Imagine the guilt I would have felt if I had ordered a gram of coke and a hooker and then destroyed the room and chandelier. Clearly, as much as a rebel as I think I am - Charlie Sheen is about 10 times worse. Hey Charlie, have more coke and cash at your discretion. How old are you again? 42? Seriously grow the fuck up, smartie. Even I know when to stop after my 2nd margarita. BTW if I got arrested for a 4th time for cocaine possession, I'm pretty sure I would lose my menial 20 hour, $18 per hour job - meanwhile Charlie is still being paid in butt loads of cash - proving once again, that the world is so not fair! (don't even get me started on the 17 year old kid  that makes $150K per episode. Can you say future Willie Aames?)

Sweaty Buddies and Obnoxious Housewives

Today was the hottest day in Dallas in two years and it's been over one hundred degrees for almost an entire month. I have to wash my bras after one wear and haven't sweated so much since ziplining in Costa Rica during the summer or perhaps driving to High School with Val in Tucson in August in my brown 1980 K car with no A/C. We knicknamed ourselves "Sweaty Buddies," a term we still use and for some reason think is hysterical.

Each night after work I attempt to bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan for DW, however sometimes I just have to face plant on the couch and partake in my two new latest guilty pleasures: "Jersey Shore" and "Real Housewives of New Jersey"

Much like I ask myself how in the world did that doucebag Rod Blagovich not get convicted, I wonder how someone named "The Situation" becomes a household name, or a couple who has a family income of 12k a month gets 11 million in debt.  Hence my fascination with Teresa and her sausage-sized Guido husband. The size of her miniature forehead may be in relation to her ignorance of her family's severe financial hole. Her husband can't tell her "No" yet is clearly not happy with her spending sprees. Their super-tacky onyx and marble McMansion makes Liberace look like a a tee pee-dwelling hippie. Some of Teresa's highlights include a christening she has for her fourth daughter complete with a huge cross ice sculpture and waitresses dressed as Marie Antoinette. On a trip to Italy,  she dressed her 4 girls dress in matching outfits each day including fur coats and berets. After recently declaring bankruptcy she spent 60k on furniture from money made from her cook book. Hopefully the Carmella Soprano furniture store asked her for cash in advance.

Don't even get me started the skeletor-freakaziod-stage-mother-mafia-princess wannabe Danielle. When she met with Caroline at a private table to discuss that ridiculous never-ending hair pulling feud, she came complete with a pistol-carrying driver/bodyguard. Is it Al Pacino and Marlon Brando or Danielle and Caroline? Naturally,  like the famous godfather saying, "I tried to get out and they pulled me back in." Sadly I won't miss a minute of the reunion show on Monday. Bravo had me at the first hair pull.

Dios Mio!

The other day, Parker sent me a text asking me if I'd heard about the trapped miners in Chile. I'm usually up to date on current events, but I hadn't yet heard about the 30 or so miners who are trapped underground and probably will be for the next 4 months. Naturally (because of our horrible sense of humor) we joked about how if someone shouted down to us on a megaphone that we would be living in a dark cave, probably until Christmas, we would shout back the following demands:

• Pillow and sheets (preferably 600 thread count)
• And endless amount of Vueve Cliquot champagne and red wine (with Reidel glassware to drink it in).
• Pomme Frites (i.e french fries from a fancy French restaurant) and some red wine vinager to pour over them
• A television with cable (preferably one w/ VHI, Bravo and Fox. Maybe HBO or On Demand too).
• Parker's eyeliner and my under eye stick (along with a mirror and several flashlights). 
• Some Origins grapefruit skin cream.

You get the idea. Meanwhile, those poor guys are going to come out in 4 months looking like Tom Hanks in Castaway (they already kind of do), having probably had sex with each other at least once, smelling like Joaquin Phoenix during his "crazy phase" and dying for a Burger King Whopper with extra cheese and a side of onion rings.

What amazes me most however (now I'm actually being serious) is how humble and grateful they are just to be alive. The fact that they are down there thanking people for trying to save their asses (as opposed to most Americans who would have a labor lawyer on speed dial on their cell phones and screaming "get me the F*&K out of here"). For crying out loud, they even end the grainy video by singing the Chilean national anthem. Sure, they will probably not be as cheerful in a few weeks, but for now those guys are my heroes. 

What Happens in Vegas...Isn't always that exciting

I've never been a big fan of Las Vegas - but I just got back from a family vacation where I learned just how much Vegas I can actually take before I am headed down to the "Pawn Stars" store to trade in a flash of my boobies for a pistol so that I can threaten all those tourists to walk faster or die.  I used to go to Vegas in college, back when I had disposable income and Vegas only had about 11 hotels on the strip. Nowadays you can't get from point A to point B without getting stuck behind the slowest, fattest person wearing jean shorts, fanny-pack and a giant Vegas cocktail bong, wielding a Kodak disposable camera and walking at at the pace of a sloth on Valium.

Here are a few highlights from my family trip to Vegas:

• Day One:
•  Have spent $470 on 4 "Beatles Love" tickets. The show was AMAZING and well worth the price. However, before I saw the show I considered myself to be a pretty flexible, but after seeing a 90 lb girl spinning from a bungie cord with one leg behind her head, I realized that I am about as flexible as Buzz Aldrin during his stint on "Dancing with the Stars." Seriously I had my mouth wide open during most of it thinking "How the F*&;k can they do that and not land on their face? As soon as the show was over, my son and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, "Sorry about the lack of talent."
• Later that night, my 12 year old daughter dropped her new iPhone 4 in the toilet at the Bellagio hotel. She had been saving up for 2 years to get that new phone and naturally it took all of 4 days to completely destroy it in a commode. When she dropped it - she let out a mutated sound not unlike a coyote, dying a slow death in he desert. I'm pretty sure she would have been less upset if someone had hacked off her arm with a chain saw or if her family were all killed in an airline crash. We tried everything to fix it-but that phone is toast. 
• Day Two: 
• Take kids to traveling "Titanic Museum." For $90 - I was half expecting that I would at least be escorted through the exhibit by Leo DiCaprio himself. That didn't happen but I did see some amazing artifacts including articles of clothing, letters, jewelry and a giant chunk of the actual ship on display. I also got in trouble by the 80-year-old museum worker/Titanic Sheriff who busted me on the faux promenade deck while I was talking on my Blackberry (this shit doesn't go over well when you are at a past-timey exhibit). Also shelled out $4 for a family pic of me and the kids posing on the famous titanic staircase (again - not even a hologram of Leo Dicaprio's ghost floating in the background for posterity). Shelled out an additional $20 for a dime-sized chunk of coal recovered from the ship. My daughter was excited at the time, but I'm pretty sure it will end up in the bottom of a closet in about 3 days. You can expect to see that Titanic Coal for sale on EBay in early 2011 with a starting bid at $1.
• Head over to Hard Rock Hotel to check out some music memorabilia with my son. Saw a few cool things, like a broken Pete Townsend guitar and Sid Vicious' chain and lock necklace. Most odd were some of the costumes worn by Micheal Jackson, David Bowie and Prince. Michael and David Bowie had some amazingly bad 80's-ere costumes that looked like they had been made to fit Lara Flynn Boyle. Those men were a size "00" before there even was a "00". Don't even get me started on Prince's costume. Had I actually tried on Prince's outfit, I'm pretty sure that every ounce of muscle and fat would have shot thru that garment so fast it would have probably spontaneously combusted. I must admit though, that I could probably carry off Madonna's bustier and girdle that she wore the the 1996 Cannes Film Festival.
•  Head back to hotel to order room service. We enjoy a plethora of delicious treats from the Room Service menu. As a consciousness traveler I decided to help by rolling out the dirty room service out the door when we were done. Naturally the table hit a bump and slid at a 40 degree angle, while dish after dish slowly crashed below on the marble floor. I not only killed about 6 plates, 3 glasses, a soup bowl, 3 Ketchup bottles and pepper shaker  - I also made sure to spill the French onion soup so that it landed in every tight crevice along the wallpaper and cracks in the floor, insuring room 3207 will forever smell like really bad breath or one of Shrek's farts. 
• Day Three:
• I wasn't aware there was a place called "M&M World" until my daughter insisted that this was the hotspot we needed to be at. M&M World was clearly designed by some greedy mad bastard whose genius concept of a 4-story shop filled with every color of M&M known to man (for a good deal at $12.99 per pound) along with 4,0000 other M&M gadgets including dispensaries, hats, book, cards and the ever-popular "Nascar inspired"M&M floor. Because nothing says you are devoted to a race team like a vinyl Nascar jacket with the Red and Blue M&M guys holding wrenches. But what I really learned when you go to a place called "M&M World" is that you don't want to show up there unless you have an electric shocking device (a taser might work) to get the shufflers out of your way. Las Vegas is overgrown with "Shufflers": they have the whole day to kill, a $20 burning a whole in their pocket and are ready to shuffle thru M&M World like the floor was made of quicksand. Even my daughter looked over at me and said she was close to actually murdering one or 2 people in M&M world if they didn't get out of her freaking way. I concurred. 
• After M & M world. I felt I needed a little culture and headed back to the Bellagio hotel pool for some sunning (I mean searing). After being confronted with having to watch a 14 year old boy making out with a possibly 10 or 11 year old girl in the pool, I started to feel icky. Turns out they were Europeon, which I guess means making out at age 10 in a hotel pool is a rite of passage. My other concern was whether or not they were brother or sister....I guess I'll never know.

Sure, there was a time not that long ago where the Casinos would have wooed me in with the "Sex in the City" slot machines or the ever-hot 'John Wayne Video Poker Machine', but as I get older I tend to like to keep my money in my pockets and keep a good 3 feet distance from anyone with a fannypack smoking a Marlboro. I guess what I'm saying is What Happens in Vegas can just stay there....next time I'll be in Hawaii.

My Coolness is Waning (big time)

I've always thought as myself as the "cool mom" - and by simply saying that, it probably makes me the most uncool Mom on the planet. But I promised to take my son and his friend to the Van's Warped Tour in San Diego on Tuesday - where I learned just how completely uncool I am.

We arrived at 1:00 pm. The Vans Warped Tour is a compilation of about 40 bands playing on like 7 different stages and they are all screaming their freaking heads off. When I arrived I felt older than Carol Channing. And, for some strange reason I just assumed that a musical festival this big would have a special tent for parents, with a flat screen and ample seating. Instead I found a lone canopy with scattered folding chairs near the entrance. This will have to do, I thought. But first I bought myself a $7.00 hot dog with a $6.00 bottle of water. I was tempted to visit the margarita booth - but since I was with children, I thought it best to stay sober. Besides the beer was $12, so I figured they'd probably charge upward of $20 for a cold margarita (and and additional $3 for salt on the rim?).

As much as I enjoyed sitting on a folding chair alone for 4 hours, my favorite part of the day had to have been listening to a nearby band sing one of the most beautiful songs ever written. I didn't get the name of the band or the song, but I did manage to remember a few of the lyrics:

"You're a fu*&ing asshole
Suck my dick
You're a fu*%king whore
Cha ch cha"

Hmmm, romantic. Wasn't that originally a Lou Rawls' song? Although the festival lasted until 9 pm, by 5:00 I was miserable (and broke). My son and his friend were crushed and begged me to stay until one of their favorite bands played at 7:15, but I simply could not do it. I would rather spend a day lost in the circles of Hell than continue to sit there. Let's face it - I practically was in the circle of Hell. Proof once again that I am getting old and loosing my "coolness".

It was 25 years ago today.....

Parker just emailed me that today marks the 25th anniversary of the original "Live Aid." Our first thought, naturally was "Holy crap, are we that old?" But, then we remembered the excitement that came with being a 15-year old and getting to watch a 10-hour marathon (with commercials of course) of live 80's icons rocking out in front of moving images of naked, African starving children with distended stomachs and flies circling their faces.

I don't mean to sound like an old fart, reminiscing about days of yore, but Live Aid was really a revolutionary idea back then. Somehow they were able to film live music happening both in London and in Philadelphia (oh the technology). And Phil Collins actually got on the Concord and flew across the planet so that he could perform at both concerts within an 8-hour span (making the Moon Landing practically obsolete).  Speaking of technology, Parker still has a VHS copy of "Live Aid" lying somewhere in her garage (most likely covered in anti freeze). While she was taping it, she hit the "STOP" button when commercials started and then start recording again when the show came back on. This was almost technologically impossible at the time (practically an art form) proving she had the editing skills of a young Steven Spielberg. 

I also taped Live Aid (actually I think it took 8 separate VHS tapes, because my mom would only buy the cheap generic 2-hour long tapes). What I haven't ever told anybody is that when everyone was out of the house I would play back the video of Madonna singing "Get Into the Groove" about 400 times, memorizing her every move and her later copying her amazing wardrobe of floral jeans, long brocade jacket, bejeweled broach an ginormous hoop earrings (which I purchased at Contempo Casuals for about a ninth of the cost that Madonna probably paid!). For those of you who were still in diapers in 1985 (or god forbid still a sperm floating around in your daddy's scrotum), here are some pictures proving just how amazing the 1980's were:

Here's Madonna, working it out in above said amazing outfit. I also colored my hair the same ratty-auburn/brown-crazy homeless lady color. Also check out the hot guitar player in the Ray Bans behind her. Who could resist a musician in a three-color-tone oxford and an a-symmetrical pompadour?

I love this picture because I think Bob Geldolf and Bono are both amazing. And who would have ever guessed that George Michael was gay?

Freddy Mercury: a musical genius. But can someone tell me why his band mates didn't get together and form an Orthodontic Intervention?

Lionel Richie: proving that Yes, he always has been that annoying.

Princess Diana, David Bowie and that guitarist from Queen, all in the same photo? Priceless. But not as priceless as that elderly lady in the background wearing the heavy metal striped wife-beater tee shirt with a pair of pearls.

UPDATE:
Parker found her "Live Aid VHS" - which although not tainted with anti-freeze, looks about as old as the Shroud of Turin. It's a good thing she kept that Thompson Twins concert on tape as well- you never know when you might get a honkering for the "classics."

Kendra can Write?

I logged into Amazon.com today and it had a list of recommended books for me based on my past purchases, one of which was Kendra Wilkinson's new biography "Sliding Into Home." Really Amazon? Has it come to that? Sure, I love memoirs and funny books, but Kendra Wilkinson's bio? First of all, I didn't know she had a book out (can she even read or write?) and secondly, why is it called "Sliding into Home"? Does she play baseball? Does she have a large pool slide at home?  The day I read a memoir of a 23-year old former Playboy Bunny whose claim to fame is doing it with Hugh Hefner and an E! reality show called "Girls Next Door", is the day I stop reading books for good. Rumor has it they've given her a spin-off reality show, simply named "Kendra", proving once and for all that life is totally unfair.

Why Amazon.com thinks I would be interested in this book is beyond reason. I think it all stems from that ridiculous Tori Spelling book I bought a few years back (called, not ironically "NoTorius"). Perhaps my most shameful purchase of all time. My only excuse is that I must have been buzzed on wine, or so bored that I hastily ordered any book, just for something to read. Seriously the next book I buy from Amazon is going to be by Ayn Rand or Ernest Hemingway. Not really, but at least it will be a memoir of a real celebrity, like Burt Reynolds or Cloris Leachman.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Closet Full of Designer Clothes That No Longer Fit

The other day, while attempting to find something to wear in my very large closet I managed to “hulk” a huge metal bar of clothing onto the ground. Already late for work I left it there in a pile for DW to fix when he got home.

As I started putting my clothes back up on the bar that evening I became intimately aware and disgusted that none of the items fit and hadn’t in some time. Even if I could button certain items I would look like a stuffed sausage in a Nanette Lapore casing with obscene camel toe. Thousands of dollars worth of Theory and Versace suits and endless pairs of True Religions have become relics. The Smithsonian of trendy working girl couture is collecting dust in my closet.

What the hell? Maybe a combination of turning 40, quitting the personal trainer in last year’s shitting economy, and those f..ing French fries DW makes in Duck Fat (literally crack cocaine when dipped in full sugar ketchup). I don’t drink soda and never eat dessert so clearly I am doing something wrong. I am sure my love of all things with booze has not helped.

When I used tell someone that I needed to lose weight they would always look at me like I was crazy, now I get a “me too” or a oh “you will”.

My mom aka Nancy (for her frail resemblance to Nancy Reagan) asked me if I wanted her to order a sweater she had seen, before I could answer she said, “They run small so I wonder if the size Large would be loose enough around your stomach”. When I said “That’s nice mom” she of course said "What?" as “sweet” as Snow White. Uggh further reason why I have not been in a dressing room with her in a good 10 years.

I have been working out furiously, watching what I eat, and trying not to drink an entire keg on Friday and Saturday nights (everything in moderation) so hopefully something will give.
Wish me luck and send any tips if you have any.

Parker-

Swimsuit Shopping + Ambien = No Good!

About a week before I went into the crazy farm, I jumped on a plane and headed off to see Parker and DW. They are always great  for taking in friends on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Staying with Parker and DW is similar to staying at a great resort: you've got a beautiful guest room with plenty of amenities, wake up to a warm delicious fresh breakfast and find  yourself lounging poolside reading gossip magazines and wathcing their flat screen tv under the veranda until 3:00pm, when they begin pouring expensive wine down your throat and cook you a four-course meal. You go to bed happy (an sometimes very drunk) only to be woken with a bottle of Pelligreno and a trip to the mall.

Although I was depressed, I still agreed to head on down to the mall and do some "zombie" depressive walking. Parker pulled me aside 10 minutes before we left to tell me she accidentally took an Ambien instead of her new medicine but that she's "sure she'll be fine" to go to the mall (I drove). Our first stop - and greatest mistake - heading into the bathing-suit only called, "Everything But Water". If you send two 40 year old women to the mall, one going through the most depressed time of her life and the other 15-minutes into a dreamy Ambien pill, well, let's just say nothing good will come of it.

I found two one-pieces I liked, which both had the Herve Ledger "mummy wrap" style around the stomach.  I really liked the first one, which was strapless and hot pink - but when I asked  Parker to come give me her opinion, she stumbled, bouncing from one wall the the other, slowly making her way to my dressing room to tell me "I don thinnkss thisssss is good on youuuu." (I'm pretty sure she actually saw 2 of me in the mirror, morphed into one giant Mindy Cohn body). The next one, a low cut one piece with more Herve Ledger tummy wrapping in chocolate brown Parker seemed to really like. (This is when I should have come to my senses and chosen the one she didn't like - At this point is was basically like taking advice from Courntey Love.)

I did some side turns with my arm at the hip (you know, like Paris is always doing right before evnents to make her pencil-thick arms look even thinner) thinking to myself, "Maybe Parker is right, maybe this is flattering on me." The next thing you know we are BOTH in line with the exact same low-cut brown $127 bathing suit. Parker slowly began to come out of her coma and within a few hours we were in the pool in our new purchases. 5'9 Parker standing next to 5'2 me like we were the freaking Bobbsie twins. Nevermind that although we don't have the worst bodies in the world, we are both at our heaviest in a while. Worse, we thought it would be a great idea for DW to take a picture of us standing side by side in our new "Flattering" suits. Once again, one of of the less intelligent things we've ever done. The resulting photo made Parker look like that Green Bean Giant standing next to me, while I looked like a can of Pop-n-Fresh croissant dough had exploded out of the arm socket of my bathing suit. Not to mention the suit is so low that every time I bend down to pick up a towel, one of my breasts (which is basically just a large nipple) pops right out of that low-cut suspender-like upper part of the suit.

A week later I was perusing through US magazine and low and behold I come across the following picture. Are you freaking kidding me? Bethenny from the Real Housewives is wearing OUR suit -just weeks after she had a baby. Where are the Pop-n-Fresh Arms, or the blue veins running down her legs? Seriously, she is only a few years younger than us and a baby just came out of her stomach. Adobe Photshop is my new best friend. And by the way, those photos that DW took will NEVER see the light of day

Parker does the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy....

I haven’t written a blog entry in forever partly because my job has sucked all of the funny out of me (seriously sometimes I feel like I work in a morgue), but also because I have been forcing myself to do extracurricular activities. I never did anything extracurricular in High School - but at 41 I figure its never to late to start.

One of my good and few friends talked me into taking and adult tap class. When she brought this idea up to me I immediately had a flashback to my mom dragging me to beauty contests as a kid and repeatedly telling me “What are we going to do? You are pretty enough but you have “no” talent to speak of”. What? Roller skating, climbing trees, dismembering Barbie dolls and sneaking smokes and my dads' Heinekens in the backyard aren’t talents?, I thought at the ripe age of 8.

Nancy quickly enrolled me in tap class and my routine was Yankee Doodle Dandy. I wore a satin American flag jumpsuit that did nothing for my serious toothpick legs. My brother later in life told me that I would stare blankly into the spot light and flail my arms like a wild chicken and tap in some insane manner until the song ended. Luckily I remember none of this clearly horrible childhood episode.

I hadn’t put on tap shoes since I was 8, but I thought what the hell, something different - I'll go for it. Unfortunately my friend suggested intermediate tap. Although I fought for beginners, she thought it would be too basic. The first class were all students that had already taken the beginning class and they showed up with canes and hats. I literally gave my friend the "Look of Death." The class of "experts" then proceeded to show us the "Puttin on the Ritz" routine they had learned the previous season. Once more, I flashed "the Look of Death."

I somehow managed to tap my way through 8 embarrassing weeks and on Monday night we had our "Come See" show.  Although I invited my family, Nancy told me her TiVo was not working and she couldn't miss "24". Thanks mom.  DW however, was very proud and my teacher said it was my best performance and that I worked really well under pressure. That probably couldn't be more true given my job.

Below is the fruits of my labor. Enjoy...

Chef Boy-R-You A Jackass

I'm A BIG JACKASS!!!!!

So you may or may not have heard this story about chef Juan Carlos-Cruz (aka The Calorie Commando) who was recently arrested after plotting to kill his wife. Personally, because my cooking capacity goes no further than Taco Night and a mean Kraft Macaroni and Cheese - I had never heard of the "Calorie Commando" (also, counting calories has never been my thing). Apparently this dude has (or had) a show on the food network (I really need to defer to Parker on this one as she is the real "foodie" in this friendship). However, when you live in Southern California, the news revolves around 1) live car chases 2) celebrity gossip and 3) wife-killing plots. So naturally I can't escape this story.

According to several Los Angeles news sources, Calorie Commando (who I have aptly nicknamed "Chef Boy-R-You a Jackass") approached a few local homeless dudes, and offered them a whopping $1000 to slash his wife's throat with a box cutter. I guess he didn't want to part with his prized chef's cleaver. The kicker is that he gave the homeless guy $500 up front and showed him a photo of the remaining $500 he'd get after the job was done. Everyone knows that if you show someone a photo of money it means you are good for it. He also provided the homeless man with a pre-paid cellphone  - did he at least cook up some low-calorie Carne Asada burritos for the dude?

Needless to say, Chef Dum Dum got caught and he is now claiming that his wife had been despondent for years over her infertility and he was only fulfilling her suicidal wishes and was going to kill himself after her murder. Because that always-convincing "Romeo and Juliet" defense works every time! Personally, I get a little depressed now and then, but that doesn't mean I want my husband to hire a toothless smelly dude to slice my neck with a box cutter. Wouldn't the whopping $1000 be better put to use on a therapist for your sad wife, or maybe a cheap divorce lawyer?

Needless to say the "Calorie Commando" is going to have a lot of time contemplating his stupidity while his jailhouse roommate, the "Butthole Commando" goes to town on his low-calorie ass.

Senility...it's just a matter of time!

Yesterday, I accidentally brushed my teeth with my daughter's tube of Clearasil. 'nuff said!

Elegance is Luhnnned.....(and my ear drums are burned)

I haven't had time to blog much lately, which begs the question: When did I get so busy? I used to have nothing but time on my hands but lately it seems like I am always on the go (I sound like I should be in a maxi-pad commercial when I say that). Another reason however, might be attributed to the fact that as Parker and I get older, we've both noticed that we have less time and patience for celebrity gossip, pop culture and reality television. Try as I might, American Idol, America's Next Top Model, Amazing Race, Project Runway and the Real Housewives of anywhere just don't give me the thrill that they once used to. (Similar to a junkie who is always looking for that first-time-high).


This changed for a brief 50 minutes today when I caught up on last night's "Real Housewives of New York." We both agree that last night's episode was the BEST episode of any Housewives episode in all of Housewives history. Even Parker's hubby, Daddy Warbucks put down his Kindle to follow the action.


With each passing moment, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse (i.e BETTER), another scene would blow me away. Hard to pin down just what my favorite laughable moment was, but I've narrowed it down to these:


#1 - The Countess singing "Money Can't Buy you Class (Elegance is Learned)". First of all, the song should be called "Money Can't Buy you a Voice". One thing money can buy? An hour in the studio with a coked-out producer kissing your ass and telling you that you are a superstar and comparing you to Madonna and Fergie. Hell, even when they dubbed her voice with a Casio keyboard on the "Robot Disco" setting, she still sounded like someone was pulling out her toenails.


#2 - The entire yacht party was also golden. First of all, news flash Ramona: stop acting like you are footing the bill for your pack of cougars to sail the Virgin Islands with a constant Pinot Grigio drip, when we all know that BRAVO footed the bill. And it was worth every penny Bravo, cause those bitches are entertaining! Kelly really impressed me with her witty comebacks like trying to cut the gossiping by declaring that they are all "Making lemons into lemonade" and then storming off only to get  stumped by that trick electronic sliding yacht door. She makes the other housewives look like female Stephen Hawkings.


#3 -Ramona guzzling a gallon of Pinot Grigio and hopping over to the Hooter's yacht. Watching this makes me realize that there is nothing more pathetic than a wined-up 50 year old. Note to self- next time I'm out on the town, keep my wine consumption down to to a minimum. I also loved watching wasted Ramona dance at that Turtle bar in a sea of laser beams. God I hope when she watched that back she drowned in a sea of humiliation.


#4 -The coup de gras, however might be the Countess' new uber-creepy boyfriend. Seriously, if I saw him across the room at a party, my inner-voice would tell me to run (not walk) to the nearest exit and then continue to run for at least 6 miles. He is a cross between Dudley Moore (in the 70's) and a director of Porn Films. I'm pretty sure he had just taken a boatload of ecstasy too.


You gotta give credit to Bethenny who had some pretty good one-liners. And I can't neglect to mention Alex's amazing jean shorts, with matching jean vest - the perfect attire for boarding a yacht in the Carribean. It says "Sure I'm elegant, but I also like to party. Where's the beer bong?" Who says Elegance Is Learned? 


For those of you who missed it, here's an incredible clip which shows "Highlights" (i.e. Lowlights) of the show:

Why is it?......(i.e. my gripes of the week)

• Why is it that I finally get a chance to take a nap at the exact same moment that every 10 year old boy in my neighborhood decides to play basketball outside my window for an hour straight,  screaming louder then if they were at an actual Lakers game and repeatedly yelling "Nothing But The Net!"?
• Why is it that despite having a garage sale two weeks ago, my garage has miraculously turned into an exact replica of Fred Sanford's scrapyard? (Sorry Dad! Yes, my 70-year old father reads the blog and when in town he always cleans my filthy garage!)
• Why is it that I've NEVER seen "Toddler's & Tiaras" until tonight? Holy smokes that is one frightening show. I'm both intrigued and disgusted at the same time.
• Why is it that when I finally go to get a pedicure (3 months after the last one) I have to listen to a precocious 5-year old running around "Happy Nails" like a Banshee for an entire hour while her mom complains that Nordstrom no longer carries Ed Hardy handbags and her dad loudly makes Rodney Dangerifeld-like one liners as he walks up and down the aisle of the salon. Hey, Jack Ass - you are no David Spade and your daughter needs a muzzle! Why can't I enjoy my 15 minute foot and leg massage in Peace and read the latest People magazine without little Miss Congeniality dancing like a stripper with her newly painted green toes?

-Val

OK, I'm just gonna say it: Bret Michaels is an Attention Whore

A few weeks back I heard that Bret Michaels had an emergency appendectomy. Luckily, for strippers in small towns across the country, he survived the surgery. Two days later, he "Twittered" something along the lines of "I almost didn't make it." Call me pessimistic, but rather than feeling pity for Bret - I thought to myself "Gawd, he's totally going to milk this for all its worth."

And he probably would have, but then a week later he had a brain hemorrhage and was rushed to the hospital. While I would never mock someone who had a brain hemorrhage (I'm not the Devil after all), two things immediately came to mind: 1) If Bret Michaels passes away, I'm totally going to scoop Parker (we have a celebrity death game where the first person to get the scoop is the winner) and 2) If Bret makes it through this ordeal he is going to play it up Big Time.

A few days after he was hospitalized, his dad came forward to say "Bret is talking and doing well." Within minutes, Brett's "camp" (i.e that big Ogre bodyguard from Rock of Love) was quick to let the press know that Brett isn't out of the woods yet, and could die at any minute. 40-year old hard-living, female bartenders wept at the news.

Cut to today. I'm watching "Access Hollywood's exclusive story about Bret's "People" magazine cover (Bret is on the cover of People? Shocking, I know). They flashed one of "People's" exclusive photos of Bret unconscious in the hospital and holy shit he's wearing his Freaking Bandana.(Note: I looked high and low on the net to find this photo, but it looks like you need to purchase People to actually see it).

Now I'm no Marcus Welby M.D., but wouldn't the doctors immediately remove the bandana upon the realization that his brain was bleeding? Is that bandana welded to his head (like when fat people sit in a couch for so long that they become attached to the fabric)? My theory, of course is that the bandana caused the hemorrhage in the first place and should be removed by any means necessary. Of course we all know that will never happen. And now that Bret has had a brush with death, don't be surprised if VH1 debuts a new fall show: "Bret Michael's Bucket List." (spoiler alert, every thing on his Bucket List will involve drunken strippers). And by the way, if he wins Celebrity Apprentice, I'm going to be really pissed.

Val Makes it Back on Idol.... (sort of)

American Idol Here I Come (Again)

This afternoon I got word that I had three tickets to tomorrow's American Idol Dress Rehearsal and am on standby for the taping (they say the odds are good that I will be able to stay for the taping). While I am not all that excited about this year's contestants, I jumped at the opportunity. My daughter and I went to a taping last year and I had a blast (despite wearing 4 inch stilettos and standing in the pit with a bunch of 16 year old girls screaming at Kris Allen and Adam Lambert). This year I'm bringing my daughter (12) and son (14) who is about as excited as if he were attending a Helen Reddy concert. Seriously, do all boys lose the ability to show any emotion once they turn 14?

Did I mention it is "country week"? Not to complain, but country music is right up there with Polka and Death Metal as my least favorite genre of music. God grant me the strength to sit through entire show without rolling my eyes or making the "slashing my throat" pantomime while Big Mike belts out a Garth Brooks ballad or Crystal Bowers plays an acoustic guitar rendition of Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" (this might be the only country song I know the words to).

If you watch the show and see a bleach blond 40-year old with a furrowed brow sitting with a mildly entertained adolescent girl and a 14 year old boy, slouching and listening to his iPod (because he hates country music slightly more than I do) you'll know its us.

Hopefully I'll have a great story to tell on Wednesday.

Because I Often Get Stephen Baldwin Confused with the Biblical Figure "Job"

I have insomnia tonight and came across this video that is circling the net. At first I couldn't believe that this was serious, but then again it involves Stephen Baldwin, who recently starred in "Sharks in Venice" and was peddling some sort of "Skateboarding for Jesus" series of videos - so this is kind of a step up. I guess my favorite part of the video is the comparison of Stephen to the Biblical figure Job. I'm not a big religious freak, but I did go to Catholic School and I'm pretty sure Job wouldn't have ever signed up for "I'm A Celebrity Get Me out of Here".

Idol Gives Back...live blogging

BEFORE you read: I am going to be extremely sarcastic (below) BUT I will donate, so it's ok, right? Ironically - one year ago today I was actually there in the American Idol studio rocking out in the front row "pit" to KC (without the sunshine band). Unfortunately, despite the demands of the state manager, I couldn't clap my hands above my head: my ruffle shirt was so tight that every time I lifted my arms, my entire shirt would burst open (as the 16 year old girl next to me pointed out several times). The teens in the "pit" did not appreciate seeing my Pillsbury Doughboy stomach every 4 minutes.


I hadn't planned on doing a live blog during "Idol Gives Back" but when they opened with Jennifer Garner in a Hoarder's Trailer, I had no choice. I love Jennifer Garner and am pretty sure she has a heart of gold, but I have to be honest: I've been to a party at a house just one street over from her house and her neighborhood is pretty swanky. So when she pulled up to the most beat down trailer in all of Kentucky to visit a family of six, I'm sure that there was an invisible bubble above her head with the following thoughts: "Are you kidding me? Can I just write a check for a few thousand and head back to the Four Seasons for a sauna and a massage?"

Ryan immediately followed with Victoria Beckham. First of all, perhaps we should be raising money for the "Feed Victoria a god-damned sandwich" fund. Ironically (or not) she is wearing a $600 pair of Louboutin's while sitting next to two poor kids from California. If only she would give each of those children one of her shoes - they could eat like Kings for at least a month.

Black Eyed Peas: I liked this song the first time I heard it - in 1994. Fergie has a great body but even she can't carry off the snakeskin leotard with matching thigh-high boots. Because I should talk - if I was wearing that outfit it would just be a blur of snake scales clashing with Casper-white cellulite. The studio audience would have to wear sunglasses and possibly have vomit bags handy during my performance.

Crap, how do they go from Black Eyed Peas in a sea of lasers and synthesizers to a child dying of Malaria in Africa? That is just cold, Idol. You can't just jump from Fergie shaking her hooters in a stripper outfit to a shot of a child's funeral. Someone get my my Platinum Amex card stat.


Aye Caramba George Lopez is going to kick someone off. Oh! It's one of the judges. SNAP. How clever (not). Hmm, do you think it will be Simon? I'm on the edge of my seat (i.e. I'm off to get myself a glass of wine).

I LOVE the Ford music videos. They really make my Wednesday nights. I actually entered to win one of the Idol-inspired "Ford Festivas" because I've always dreamed of driving a pale blue ford with a giant musical note painted on the side.

Casey James: I had that exact same haircut when I went through my Madonna Boderline phase (only difference is that I had a giant black bow atop my mophead).

Aaron: You might believe you can "Fly" but you and your puka shells are in the bottom three. That white jean jacket isn't helping your cause, either.

Jeff Beck and Joss Stone are singing now. You know they both just smoked a ton of pot backstage. Word to Jeff Beck (or is it Rick Okasek?) : If you are over the age of 57, you have no business wearing  a silver bangle on your upper arm - especially if your old flappy skin is hanging over the side of it. I'm convinced that Nicole Richie is the only person on earth who can carry off that look.

They just showed Kara cradling an orphan in a pink knit hat (her mom died during childbirth). Now Morgan Freeman is speaking - and who can resist Morgan? I just donated $50 (see I'm not that bad).

Queen Latifah is live at the Pasadena Civic Center with Common. Umm, am I supposed to know who "Common" is?
Carrie Underwood is belting out some country song (about a family in a trailer?). Hey Carrie, I was once a 103-lb, 24-year old girl with golden hair and not a wrinkle on my face. Someday you'll be 40, Carrie. Someday.

Ellen and David Arquette are visiting a food bank in Monrovia, CA. Ellen made approx $35 million last year - so Ellen can you just give the out-of-work teacher and his wife some "Hungry Man instant mashed potatoes" and a check for $50K? Perhaps David can donate some of his plaid plants.

Did Ryan just say something about how even he had trouble paying for health care to Bill Gates? Ryan you live in an $11 million dollar house - so I'm pretty sure "Health care" is not an issue.

OK - wanda sykes material is pretty trite -  I think even I could write more original material. But her delivery is stellar.

David Cook is waxing poetic about his trip to Ethiopia. On a side note, do you ever notice how when celebrities travel to Africa they never get bombarded with a swarm of flies? (Angelina Jolie comes to mind). Seriously, Angelina will be sitting on a dung heap with a gaggle of babies and they will be surrounded by flies - but Angelina (or any other celebrity) will be clear and free. Whats up with that. Can I get some of that "Fly be gone: for celebrities only" spray?

Annie Lennox is amazing and if you add a montage of adorable poverty-stricken children, no one can resist opening up their pocketbook (I'm talking to you Parker).

Holy shit, Mary J Blige is singing "Stairway to Heaven" and she's wearing my mom's sunglasses from 1977. Seriously is there a "Rock-n-Roll" policeman on hand who can arrest her for committing this musical crime? Listen up, Mary J, you are no Robert plant. And despite the fact that the awesome Travis Barker, Randy Jackson and the gorgeous Australian guitar player from Michael Jackson's "This is It" are backing you up, you have no right to sing this song. Next time, let's do a cover of Hanson's "Mmmm Bop" or perhaps Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam's "Head to Toe", because "Stairway to Heaven" is untouchable!!!

Simon really does have a heart of gold! I knew this the moment he "winked" at me on Beverly Blvd. while I was cruising in my gold Toyota 4 runner and he (cigarette in hand) pulled up next to me in his $200 convertible Bentley.

Elton John!!!  I love Elton  - and someday will tell my story about meeting Elton in a tent on a Mexican Beach when I was 6. OK, it probably wasn't Elton, but when we got back from our vacation I showed my mom a picture of Elton and said that I had met him during our vacation. Shit, it was probably some child molester in giant Rose -colored glasses, but I blacked it out. Seriously though, I thought it was him. He's singing my all time favorite song "My song" while they play videos of hungry people in the background.

That's it - I'm headed to bed. If you can donate, please do ( or send your money to the ASPCA). If not, I get it - the economy is rough. Either way, thanks for reading. Val "OUT". 'night.

-Val

People Really Piss Me Off (this is probably why I have only 1 friend)

It's been a while since either of us have blogged. In my case, I've been uber-busy at work. It's funny how that happens immediately after you receive your layoff notice. Naturally, over the past week and a half, I've had a few run-ins with some of the most irritating people on the planet. And I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with my raging PMS.

Listen up ladies (and gents): I get that sometimes you need to multi-task by talking on the phone and shopping, but can we all make a pact to keep it down?

Yesterday I was in my office potty stall while a Russian (?) lady waxed poetically in her native tongue during her bowel movement. Russian echoing in a tiled public bathroom is extremely annoying and really messes up my concentration. About an hour later, someone had explosive diarrhea all over this same bathroom. I blame the obnoxious Russian lady kharma.

This morning at Target, while I was admiring a ravishing cotton tee with gilded butterflies and raised lettering that said "Team Jacob" in Gothic font, I was overwhelmed with noise pollution by a petite blond practically screaming about her "important job", "whose fault it was" and how "Jamie lost almost $70,000 on this deal." This conversation lasted for at least 20 minutes (I know this because it took me that long to peruse the tee shirts and clearanced 'Jean Paul Gautlier for Target' collection). Look lady, if you job is so god-damned important what are you doing splurging on Target clothes? I'm pretty sure "Jamie" and her missing $70,000 would not appreciate you going all "J-Lo on a mad shopping spree" with those Merona Chinos and Xhiliration ruffle blouses.

Sadly, I was noise-raped later today in Macy's when I overhead a man evangelizing about some spiritual mumbo-jumbo at approximately 300 decibels. Hey Mr. metaphysical-genius, If I wanted to hear your religious rantings, I would have just stayed home and watched a rerun of the 700 club. At least Jim and Tammy Faye Baker are good to make fun of. Plus her eye makeup was nothing short of mesmerizing.

I then headed on to my local Albertson's to pick up my daughter's migraine prescription (she inherited my migraines, irrational burst of anger, hypochondriac tenancies and blond hair). The prescription used to be $30, but is now $70. This is for FOUR pills. Umm, is it heroin? The truth is, this stuff works, but sadly it doesn't take you on a magic carpet ride or anything like that. After getting $-ass raped once again by "the man" (aka the insurance industry), I headed over to the in-store Starbucks for some much needed caffeine. I kid you not the man in front of me was returning a tub of "Smokehouse beans" at the Starbuck's counter. Actually he wasn't even returning them, but instead complaining about being "overcharged" for said "Smokehouse beans". Naturally the store manager had to be called and money had to change hands at an excruciatingly snail-like pace. I'm really glad Mister Smokehouse got his $3.26 back and I hope he goes home and has explosive diarrhea.

Brownie Husband

Sometimes a Brownie Husband is just what the doctor ordered...

SyFy Channel, I Hardly Knew Ye

I've always breezed right by the SyFy Network because, although I might be a dork, I'm certainly not dorky enough to sit thru an 8-hour marathon of Battlestar Gallactica. I've never even sat thru an entire episode of Star Trek.

I stopped in my tracks however, when I saw today's SyFy lineup:
7:00 pm: "DinoShark"
9:00 pm: "Mega Piranha"
11:00 pm: Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus
1:00 am: "Sharks in Venice"

Who knew this channel had such an amazing selection of Mutant Sea Creature genre films? And while these movies could probably stand on their own by the sheer genius of their titles and the spare-no-expense special effects that I'm sure SyFy doles out on all of their original movies, they really sealed the deal with their all-star casting. Some Wunderkind casting director was able to snatch up both Tiffany AND Barry Williams (aka Greg Brady) as the leads in "Mega Piranha." Fear not however, because Deborah Gibson and Lorenzo Lamas aren't left out.  You can catch their thespian expertise in "Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus." SyFy saved the best for last however, by casting Stephen Baldwin in "Sharks in Venice" (let me guess, he plays a Roman Catholic Priest/Marine Biologist who kills the deadly shark with a holy cross while riding in a Gondola with Sheena Easton?)

Oh the regret I have for not discovering this channel sooner. How many other original SyFy Channel movies have I missed? Thank god for the Internet, because after a quick Google search it turns out I've missed quite a bit, including: "Mansquito", "SwampDevil", and "Chupacabra: Dark Seas."

Needless to say, I have my  night planned. Two diet Red Bulls, a bag of microwave popcorn and a date with a mutant piranha and Greg Brady. Ahh, happiness (and in no way a waste of 2 hours of my life).

Click here to see a sneak preview of Mega Piranha (Warning: I laughed so hard when I watched this that I actually peed a little bit).

Knock Knock....You're Fired

So last Friday, I got "Laid Off." It's not quite as bad as it seems. I work part time for the state of California under a grant that ends this June (June 30 will be my last day at work) - and we all know California has about as much liquid cash as MC Hammer did after he squandered all his money on bodyguards, bling and genie pants. The worst part was that I was notified by mail. On my day off. During the middle of a heavenly nap - the kind where you are wearing your softest, yet scumiest clothing, your hair is completely disheveled and you are drooling full blast. Then my completely uncouth Postman (who once yelled at me because my mom sent me a oversized birthday card and didn't put enough postage on it - so he stood there with his hand out while I searched through the pillow cushions for that remaining $0.22 - see I told you California is broke) rang the doorbell and then banged on the front door as if he were the SWAT team at a meth lab.

I originally ignored the ding-dong, bang-bang. But hell, I was already awake now, so I went downstairs (you never know when Publisher's Clearing House will show up with a 6 X3 foot check for $20 million, a bouquet of Carnations and a bottle of Frexinet) I opened the door and although UNCOUTH mailman had zipped off  - he left behind the ever-so-dreadful "Certified Mail" card. Typically, unless you are claiming your inheritance from that Nigerian Prince that you met via e-mail, the "certified mail" card is usually something bad. While ordinarily I would have just slammed the door, wiped the spittle from my mouth and headed back to napland - I instead decided to chase down uncouth mailman as he sped down the street at a whopping 8 miles an hour. I'm pretty sure he put the pedal to the metal when he saw me running after him in my hot pink drawstring waffle pants and over sized gansta-tee that said "Stanford" on it. The crazy-lady bed head and drool might have freaked him out a bit too. Nevertheless I chased that Mutha down and asked if I could retrieve the letter. As I stood there, half-a-block away from my house looking homeless - he handed me a thick letter and I could see from the return address that it was from "Human Resources" at my job.

I walked back to my house not unlike Charlie Brown after the kids have just kicked him off the school play - with my head down and read how I was being "laid off" effective June 30th. On the bright side - I have three months left - and my job loss isn't going to take any food of of the table (maybe just a nice Coach bag once every so often - and I'll probably have to switch back to L'Oreal makeup). In a world where so many are being laid off and losing their homes, I'm pretty damn lucky.

By the way, my husband got the mail last night and the Human Resources sent me the same exact package via regular mail. OK cuties - I get it - I'm  "Laid Off". Maybe if you didn't spend so much on postage you might be able to keep some employees around.

PS - when I told my son I got laid off he asked me, "Did they send George Clooney to do it?" (Up In the Air reference). No, god dammit - they didn't even send Clooney.

A Fine Wine some Dancing and Less than Zero...

I'm off to a slow start today for so many reasons. Last night my hubby and I walked over to the local Pizza Parlor/Pub for a quick drink. I ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio and I knew I was in trouble when she pulled out a gallon-sized jug of wine. I'm not a big wine snob, but typically when wine comes in a jug or a box you can bet your bum that its no award winner. I channeled my inner 18-year old palette and managed to get through a glass (with only a slight dry heave as I downed the last drop). My smart hubby stuck with tap beer, but I thought I'd mix it up a bit and try the Merlot. Once again I knew it was a mistake when the bartender asked if I wanted the "House" Merlot or their "premium". I threw caution to the wind and went with the "premium" - which turned out to be "Fetzer Merlot." Last time I checked you could purchase a bottle of Fetzer at any corner 7-11 for about $4.99. If Fetzer is their "premium" what on earth is the house wine- sewer water? Needless to say I woke up at 5 am this morning with a mouth that tasted like ass.

Speaking of the bad stuff - I got up this morning ready to clean house and lo and behold turned on the TV and "Less Than Zero" is on. Now how can anyone be expected to clean house when "Less than Zero" is on?  I'm at the part where Julian (Robert Downey Jr.) is telling James Spader (the best bad ass character actor of the eighties) that he's ready to go on the straight and narrow. But we all know that James Spader will never stand for that and immediately dangles a crack pipe in front of Julian and sends him off to work in a room full of gays.  Meanwhile Andrew McCarthy (always the do-gooder) pouts his way through the entire film.  I could watch this movie on a constant loop for an entire day - it never gets old.

Lastly, I missed Dancing with the Stars, but luckily found this clip of Kate Gosselin's performance last night. My first thought is "Sometimes the tabloids don't get it wrong: she really is a major bitch." Secondly, I'm pretty sure I could dance better than her if I was in a full body cast.  

Put the Label on the Table (and tell Bill Blass and Calvin Klein to F-Off while you're at it)

I considered writing about the Jessie James/Sandra Bullock scandal, but personally I find this much more entertaining.
From the WTF files, here is a video that captures the epitome of the 1980's. If you didn't grow up during that decade, you might not relate, but if you were a child of the 80's, you might just be mesmerized.






Mr. T's prolific commentary during the "fashion show" (secret warehouse pedophile meeting?) really puts the icing on the cake. Lines like," Here's Zena and Xena from San Bernidina"; "Here's Marta in her graffiti-inspired tank top, catching the A Train to fashion. She's a real 'hot dog'"and "Hey, that was great. I like that, don't you?" Best of all, at the end of the video he basically tells Calvin Klein and Bill Blass to go F-themselves and encourages us to "Put the label on the table and wear your own name." I'm headed upstairs to my closet right now, Mr T!

Catch Mr. T's reaction from behind as he watches model "Manny" break dance. It really makes me uncomfortable. He's right about Janine, however. She does look cool as a "peppermint ice cream." Damn, I'm never going to get that Casio synthesizer "new wave" song out of my head.
-Val

Why I Shouldn't Make Fun of the Idiot teenage daughters from the Real Housewives or the Rolling Stoned

On last nights Idol, which was "Rolling Stones" night, I had my fingers crossed that someone would sing "Start Me Up" for no other reason than I wanted to hear one of them belt out the line: "you make a dead man cum" (yes this is an actual line in the song. You can't say Mick isn't romantic). Sadly no one sang that tune, but I must admit unlike many people I knew the words to every single one of those freaking songs. I owe this to my mom who had the Stone's double album "Hot Rocks" on constant rotation during my childhood. She loved the Stones so much that on a trip back from Mexico, the song "Honky Tonk Woman" came on and she pulled the car over, got out and started dancing on the side of the highway with her sister. I sat in back, redfaced and ashamed. I'm a big fan of the Stones as well, but have never seen them in concert. Luckily Parker has (sort of). Here's her experience:

At the ripe age of 19 in the late 80s my college boyfriend and I went to see the Stones at the Superdome in New Orleans. My dad had gotten us tickets and to my surprise the two people sitting next to us were his company Sales Manager and wife - who my parents were also great friends with, and still are to this day. Being an appropriate, well-mannered and mature teenager , I proceeded to smoke a big fat joint right next to them . I thought perhaps if I didn't look their way or blow my smoke in their direction they wouldn't notice. Yes, I'm a genius.

They never spilled the beans on me and I was watching American Idol last night I don't recognize any of the songs. Either its that all the contestants thus far are horrible, or it was that giant Cheech and Chong spliff I sucked down at that concert. I do remember Mick dry humping a plastic blow up doll on stage and no I was not dropping acid. For that concert anyway. -parker

Happy Leprechaun Day

Hopefully most of you are sober enough to read. I turned on the local news at 7:00 am and a reporter was interviewing some overly excited and completely wasted people at a Los Angeles Bar. I love a good drink now and then but can't ever imagine a scenario where I would/could be drunk at 7 am (unless I was 19 again and still drunk from the night before. That is/was totally plausible). But then amidst the drunkards I saw something that actually made me jump back a bit. The bar had hired a midget (oops! I mean "little person") to dress up like a leprechaun and hide throughout the bar while the revelers searched for him. What really bothered me was that he was African-American (perhaps African-Irish) and some genius decided it would be smart to paint his face green. The result was anything but green. This poor little leprechaun man was the exact same color as the mystery-bruise I have on my right thigh. In fact, he looked not unlike the dancing California Raisins from back in the day.

I haven't been able to stop thinking of the purple leprechaun, because I can only imagine the kind of ridicule and torture that he has endured today. I know from experience that drunk people can be cruel (you can ask Parker who once dry-humped a Sponge Bob in Times Square). Anyhoo, here's hoping he's well paid and can enjoy a nice frosty green beer when his Leprechaun shift is over.

In the meantime, Happy St. Patty's Day - please enjoy this amazing video from a few years back. Apparently Leprechaun's are real. Who knew?

Cirqe de la "Kiss my Ass"

With "Spring Break" just around the corner, our family still has not planned our vacation. Last year we braved the elements in a 24-foot RV, and while it was great to get-back-to nature, we simply aren't what you would called a rugged family. After day four I smelled like a bonfire and I just don't do well with river sand in my bed at night.

I came 'this-close' to booking a 5 day cruise to Mexico but naturally the procrastinator in me took over. Good thing too, considering Americans are being shot left and right in the streets of Mexico. Sure we'd probably be safe snorkeling off the coast of Cabo - but you never know when a drug dealer with a vendetta might feel the need to do some "American Spearfishing."

A few days ago we bit the bullet and settled on Vegas. Despite the fact that we have some comp rooms at one of the nicest hotels in town, I'm sure we will still manage to blow a shitload of cash on food, drinks and other stuff (i.e. overpriced hotel gift shop crap for the kids). One of the main reasons for our trip is to see the "Beatles Love" Cirque de Soleil show. Turns out that these tickets start at $155 each, and we are taking the kids. Those Cirque de Soleil acrobatic fuckers better be able to spin on their fingertips while their big toe is stuffed in their ass during "Strawberry Fields Forever" for the $600 we'll be shelling out. Seriously, somebody in a blue body suit better be giving me a foot rub while attending to my martini-drip during the ENTIRE show.

The rest of the time I plan on lounging poolside with my "not ready for summertime" body, a margarita in my left hand, my Kindle in my right while screaming at my kids to stop splashing. Who knows, perhaps Tom and I will feel adventurous and get our vows renewed at the drive-thru Elvis chapel.

You Give Fat A Bad Name

It's not nice to make fun of overweight people, but this gal (or guy?) is one of the reasons why so many people do. I'm not a psychologist like Gretchen from the Real Housewives (you'll get this if you saw part one of last night's Reunion Show) but I have a few theories about this crazy character in the fishnet onsie:

Theory #1: This sad fashionista was never breast fed or had that oh-so-important bonding time with mom immediately after birth.

Theory #2: She (he?) was one of those desperate-for-attention drama nerds in high school who never got the attention she deserved (or the lead in Godspell!). You know what I'm talking about because every high school had one. Ours actually took a headless mannequin in a tuxedo to prom when she wasn't invited by a real boy. Meanwhile, no one asked me, but I was rational enough to show up and hide out on the 3rd level of the atrium hotel and peak over the balcony every 5 minutes to check out the arrivals and silently hurl insults about their Jessica McClintock dresses. Instead of a mannequin, I brought a bottle of Boonesfarm with a plastic neon curvy straw.

Theory #3: She/He went rogue and quit taking her meds. Lord help me if I stop taking my meds - this could be me in a matter of weeks.

PS - this pic came from dlisted.com . Lord only knows where he got it from.

American Idol is Killing Me Softly with it's Song

I've been an American Idol fan since season 1 and, as a die-hard couch potato, I will probably continue to watch long after the original hosts are gone and it is a sad hollowed-out shell of a show hosted by Hall & Oates, Samantha Fox and the lead singer from Color Me Bad.

But something is really missing so far this season and I can't quite put my finger on it. I tried to watch last night, I really did. But it was (insert English accent here): "dreadfully boring" to say the least. If I wanted to listen to tortured college aged singers strumming their guitars during open mike night at the local coffee house.....well that would just never happen, but you get the drift. Sure, Crystal Bowersox has some chops and once they give her some ultra white Chiclet teeth she might even have some star power. But, in my humble opinion, there aren't any real power players in the bunch. Ironically, immediately after Idol, Fox played a repeat from last season's "Glee" which made me wonder, "why can't they get someone of that caliber to be on Idol?"

At least last year they had Adam Lambert and Alison Iri-something-or-other, who both could belt out the tunes like they were on fire. Maybe its still too early in the season to tell. Perhaps there is a hidden Lady GaGa or Freddy Mercury somewhere in the bunch. But in the meantime, American Idol is killing me softly with its song(s).

Lost Boy Indeed....RIP Cory Haim

So I awoke this morning and I must have had a "One of the Corey's is Dead" vibe because I immediately picked up the computer (I usually wait till I've had my first Pepsi or arrive at work before surfing the net) to find that Corey Haim will never be renewing his "The Two Corey's" contract, because alas he is dead. Authorities suspect drugs were involved. You don't say? Also, I love this picture because you know he probably just shot up a shitload of heroin with Judd Nelson right before it was taken

Obviously the first thing I did was run like a bat out of hell to get my Blackberry and text Parker. For those of you who don't know, we have an ongoing competition to out-scoop each other on celebrity deaths. I totally nailed her with Brittany Murphy, but unfortunately she scooped me by a whopping 5 minutes with the Corey Haim death. In all fairness she is 2 hours ahead in Dallas, so I deserve some kind of handicap for the time difference, and if anything, we should call this one a draw. Yet another reason why we are going to hell.

Now back to Corey and his staggering genius of work: Of course he will always be remembered for Lost Boys, which was the "Twilight" of my generation. But I'm more partial to his lighthearted role in "License to Drive", which also starred a young Heather Graham. Crap, I watched that movie probably 6 times on cable over the years, so maybe his death is Karma for the 12 hours of life he took away from me. Ok, I may have gone a bit too far with that last sentence - OD's are never really funny.

Of course we all know what the "Death of Corey #1" (or is he #2?) means: The other Corey (the one who always had greasy long hair, no upper lip and dressed like Michael Jackson for a good 7 years during the late 80's and 90's) is going to come out of the woodwork and work this publicity harder than Heidi and Spencer. I expect to see him on "The Insider" panel tonight (in Micheal Jackson leather garb and one sparkly glove) with a crocodile tear and harrowing stories of his days with Haim and how "He Tried to Save Him." Ironically, "How He Tried to Save Him" will also be the headline on the next "In Touch", "People" and "US" magazine with a pic of the two in their Lost Boys garb. Obviously, I'll totally scoop up those rag magazines and maybe shed a tear or two for losing another 1980's memory.

Oscar Fallout. Where the Hell Was Farrah (and Leah Thompson)?

We have to admit that by some strange twist of fate, the Live Oscar blog got us more clicks on our site then ever before. Maybe there is something to doing an off-the-cuff live blog. One thing you won't catch us "live blogging" is tonight's episode of "The Bachelor: Jason and Molly Get Married." I'd find more enjoyment watching two Jim Henson mute finger puppets walking down the aisle then this hot mess.

Now back to the Oscars. I missed a few things last night (I blame glass of wine #3), but most importantly was the absence of Farrah Fawcett during the We're Dead! montage. The Oscar producers didn't think twice about throwing up a picture of a 100 year old man who designed costumes on "Tootsie", but to leave Farrah out is simply unconscionable. Hell, they gave John Hughes a 10 minute brat-pack memorial (although noticeably absent was Leah Thompson who's shift at Waffle House didn't end until 11:00). Many will argue that Farrah was mostly a television actress and had no business being honored, but those people have obviously never seen Farrah's most riveting work in the 1976 classic "Logans Run".

I watched that movie a zillion times on HBO back in the day. When you're 7-years-old, a movie about killing people once they reach the age of 30 totally makes sense. If I could do a remake of "Logan's Run" today (and let's face it, someone is going to do it), I'd stick with the same plot but instead of people over the age of 30 being killed, I'd substitute them for any person to ever appear on a VH1 reality show (and all of the Bachelors).

For those of you young ones who have never seen Logan's Run - or those who weren't latch-key kids wthat came home from elementary school and watched HBO from 3:00 - 7:30 every night, here is a clip of Farrah at her finest: RIP Farrah.

PS: And those of you who can't get enough of 1970's cheesy flicks, please check out this memoir of Parker's experience as a child actor on the set of the disaster blockbuster "The Swarm" (starring Micheal Caine and Katherine Ross).

Click here to read!