Every Day is Casual Friday

There was a time in my life when I wouldn't be caught dead leaving the house without makeup or in a tee shirt and sweats. Even in college when most of my sorority sisters were rocking the "Hungover/walk of shame/boxer shorts and sweatshirt" look, I still maintained a sense of dignity in my high waisted jeans and bedazzled top with shoulder pads (this was the peak of fashion in the late 1980s).

Today I have metamorphisized into some kind of "sweatpants and tube sock" monster. Most days (when I'm not working) a bra is only optional and drawstrings are my new best friend. Make up is minimal and usually involves nothing more than a swipe of under eye concealer or a dab of lipgloss - but only if I'm really working the 'sexpot' look. Seriously, it is only a matter of time before I go grocery shopping wearing nothing but a Snuggie and frog slippers. While I admit that I have become rather slovenly over the past few years, I've still thought of myself as having some sense of decorum. But that all went out the window a few days ago.

I was dressed to the nines in an old pair of ripped, period-stained Juicy Couture drawstring sweats, a long sleeve shirt that said "Kingston Jamaica" (surprisingly it did not include a giant marijuana leaf on it) and flip flops. I was perusing the aisles of Blockbuster video and as I reached for a copy of "Inglorious Bastards" I could feel a gas bubble making its way through my stomach. Had it been 5 years ago, during my "dignified days," I would have sucked in my cheeks and shuffled out of there until the coast was clear. But ever since I became Roseanne Barr's Doppelganger, I have lost all concept of appropriate behavior and went for it. Besides, I honestly thought that it would be nothing more than a quiet, harmless little fart. What should have been a silent little "puff" came out sounding like a Thunderclap of the Gods. And even though there wasn't anyone in the immediate area, I might as well have gone up to the front counter, pulled down my pants and let it rip into the loudspeaker. I was horrified. You've never seen anyone move so fast from the "I" section to the "Z" section in your life. And as I stood there, red cheeked, reading the back of "Zoolander" like it was the most fascinating reading since Star magazine came out, it dawned on me that maybe from now on I should clean up my act. Then again, maybe I'll just stay clear of Blockbuster for a few weeks.

Oh Diddy! You So Crazy

Today my stomach churned in disgust as I read that P. Diddy threw his son Justin Dior (yes that's his real name) a Million Dollar Sweet 16 Birthday party. And naturally, it will be aired on MTV's upcoming season of "Sweet Sixteen" (a.k.a. "Armageddon is Near") But here's the kicker: he also gave him a $350,000 Mercedes Maybach (with personal driver) and $10k cash.

I can only imagine if Parker or my parents had even spent a cool $2,000 on either of our parties. Insert a visual of us in 1986 at the Wildcat Cat House (on teen night) with a 4 foot Duran Duran ice sculpture, backlit in pink neon, dancing on the picnic tables while a DJ in a Hawaiian bow tie played "You Spin Me Round Round" by Dead or Alive. Parker would be wearing a Lily Reuben sequined $300 cocktail dress with ginormous shoulder pads (the bigger the shoulders the higher the status symbol... plus her mom worked there and got a discount). I would be rockin' one of my mom's Liz Clairborne black polyester dresses, Esprit silver belt, dripping with rhinestone jewelry and about 10 coats of Cover Girl Ocean Breeze Sparkle blue eye shadow.

Meanwhile, Justin Dior is most likely wearing a $4,000 Christian Dior custom tuxedo. Hmmmm, that Diddy kid isn't going to be too obnoxious when he gets older. I take that back; I'm pretty sure he already is obnoxious. I also found the picture above, of a very humble "Justin Dior" sitting in the rafters overlooking his party subjects on a red throne with a red and gold crown. He probably had a 30-karat diamond scepter as well.

Of course I joke about our parents because we were each showered with sparkly, hand-me-down rides when we turned 16: Parker got a kick-ass shit brown 1982 Chrysler K-Car (4 door), while I hot rodded in my grandmother's 1974 army-green, sporty 2-door Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. We were clearly, the "Justin Dior Combs/Diddys"of our generation.

Pick Up The Phone, Ringo

Like many people across the globe, I tuned into the "Hope for Haiti" telethon on Friday night. Of course its not like I had a choice, considering that it was on 500 channels and my only other option was getting dressed up and going out in the torrential California rain only to show up at my destination with carpet-head.

I know this is wrong of me to say, but was that not the most boring telethon of all time? Granted, I didn't catch all of it, but what I did catch was downright dismal. Halle Berry on a dark stage in leather pants reading off a cue card with about as much emotion as Napoleon Dynamite. Robert Pattinson couldn't be bothered with shaving his sparkly vampire beard and was as stiff as a cardboard box. What they said wasn't even heartfelt. It's like they were reading off a cue card all the while thinking, "I can't wait to hit up Koi after this and get me some California Rolls." Cold Play sang one of the longest and depressing songs of all time. I realize that Haiti is a horrifyingly sad event, but so is Muscular Dystrophy and somehow Jerry Lewis seems to put on a telethon that has a little gusto. And anyone who was alive in the eighties can tell you that there is nothing sadder than starving African children and Madonna still sang "Into the Groove" to raise money during Live Aid.

The most exciting part of the telethon was when the camera would occasionally pan to a room full of A-list celebrities answering telephones. I had planned to make a donation (again) but when I saw a room where Jack Nicholson sat side by side with the guy from The Office, just behind Julia Roberts? Well that just sealed the deal. After trying approx. 60 times (only because my daughter willingly hit the "redial" for me over and over) and getting a busy signal, I finally got a ring. And then I saw him on the telly: Ringo Starr. Sitting in the last row (which is just wrong I tell you!) and virtually the only celebrity not on the phone (aside from Chevy Chase). With each ring I chanted "Pick up the Phone Ringo" in an English accent, hoping to will fate into allowing me to have a conversation with an actual Beatle (although I would have also been happy with Leonardo DiCaprio or Meg Ryan). Unfortunately, some sweet lady named Pam (and no, it was NOT Pam Dawber of "Mork & Mindy" fame) took my donation with a cherry voice (much more cheery than Nicole Kidman's earlier speech on the black stage of doom).

Sure, I was disappointed that I didn't get to speak with Ringo. I would have told him that his hit song "You're 16, You're Beautiful and You're Mine" will always be a favorite of mine (despite its pedophile overtones). I may not have Ringo, but during my stint in the reservations department of a 5-star hotel, I have spoken on the phone with Bryan Adams (he jokingly told me to give him a bed with a mirror over it. Hilarious), and the lovely Kim Cattrell. At the time Kim was in Arizona filming a Lifetime movie of the week about aliens (seriously) with Rob Lowe. Apparently the film's budget didn't include a travel agent and Kim called in her own reservation. This was years before "Sex and The City", but of course I recognized her name and voice from the hit 1982 movie "Mannequin". Kim couldn't have been nicer and I remember feeling a pang of pity when she booked the least expensive room in the not-yet-renovated part of the hotel.

All kidding aside, I really don't mean to criticize this great and meaningful event. To be honest, they could have forgone the celebrities (even Ringo and Leo) and just shown pictures of those poor children, injured and parent-less with nowhere to live and I would have shelled out some dough. And it was all for a great cause, even without a tired, sweaty Jerry Lewis screaming for a drumroll or Madonna belting out "Get Into The Groove."

Thanks!

We've had a few really nice comments over the past several months and we just wanted to say "Thank You". Every so often we get discouraged and think "to hell with the blog" and then we get a nice comment and it encourages us to continue. So thank you to all our readers! More to come....

Anderson Cooper is Superman

Last night I turned on CNN right as the above clip was airing. (By the way you may need to click the "Close" button in the upper right hand corner to get rid of that annoying ad in order to see this hearbreaking clip). My first thought was "Why does that poor little boy have paint all over his head?" And then when Anderson Cooper swept in (without regard to his $200 Dolce and Gabana tee shirt) and carried him away, I realized it wasn't paint but was blood and I immediately began to cry. Some bastards where throwing concrete off a building and this poor kid was hit in the head - because he didn't have enough problems already. You have to give Anderson credit however for putting a person in need ahead of his job (and coming off looking like a hero to boot.) On the other end of the spectrum, a few days I saw one reporter shove a microphone into the face of a woman who had just been pulled from the rubble and he seriously would not let up. If I had been that woman I would have told that reporter to shove his 3 foot microphone where the sun don't shine and asked for a bottle of Aqua Fina.

Although Parker and I are bitchy, sarcastic gals who write about Pop Culture and weight gain after 40, we are both deeply affected by this tragedy. Sure, last Tuesday when the earthquake hit and we didn't realize the magnitude of it, our first thought was "I hope this news story doesn't preempt American Idol." One thing is for sure, when you see a 2-year old child being pulled alive from the rubble after 5 days, or a doctor telling a mother that her 5 year old daughter's leg will have to be amputated, it puts things into perspective. Suddenly the Bachelor rose ceremony or Snookie's Jersey Shore hot tub romance seem downright disgusting.

In the meantime, we have donated money to both the Red Cross and Jean Wyclef's charity. I am also gathering gently used shoes and bringing them to Sports Chalet who are going to distribute them to homeless people in Haiti next month. I even convinced Parker to send me a box full of old shoes - so if you happen to catch a Haitian lady in a food line wearing a pair of last season's Gucci stilettos, you'll know where they came from.

And while I know we don't have a ton of readers, our hope is that if you are able to give something at all to help out that you will. God bless the people of Haiti.

Golden Globe text-a-thon

The Golden Globes were a little dull this year (although we do love Ricky Gervais). Also, Parker came across this picture of Bjork in this amazing dress. You can really never go wrong with a portrait of Michael Jackson bedazzled on your skirt.

During the show (like we do every year) we rapidly texted each other back and forth with our thoughts about the various celebrities. Some wine was involved as well. Here are some of our thoughts:

V: Julia Roberts is totally wasted. Sorry about the bottle of Cristal you chugged in the limo with Tom Hanks and his wife (who looks like a 1800's spinster).

P: Now that Mo'Nique has won, does that mean she won't be doing the third season of "Charm School." Crap, we'll never know what will become of Pumpkin.

V: When is Nicole Kidman going to remove that ginourmous stick that's permanently wedged up her ass. Lighten up Nicole. Of course she can't show emotion so it's hard to tell if she's happy or mad.

P: What's up with "Dexter's Hat"?

V: Umm, its called cancer, cutie.
P: Oops.

P: Juliana Margolis is so 1992

V: And I have a Christmas ornament that looks exactly like the top of her dress

P: Cher looks like she just stepped off the set of "Ice Castles"

V: More like "Blades of Glory" because she looks like a male ice skater

V: Harrison Ford is so crusty. Bad mood much? Go home and roll naked in all your money with Calista - that will cheer you up.

V: Julia Roberts might also be stoned. She probably toked up with Paul McCartney in an alley during one of those annoying Chrysler commercials.

V: I heard Paul McCartney's girlfriend is 50 - she seriously doesn't look a day over 35. The miracle of Paul's money perhaps?
P: Ugggh, she's ugly (not). Why do you even know this???

V: A bad gossip magazine or US magazine

P: Brow lift alert on Jessica Lange

V: True that. She can't even blink. She was my idol back in 1976 - I wanted to grow up and look exactly like her. I guess I have some plastic surgery in my future - if I want to live out my "dream".

V: Meryl Streep said in an interview that she's never had Botox. She's a great actress and a freaking Liar.

P: They are so not going to cut HER out with music. She had more wrinkles in "Silkwood"

V: No kidding. I look like an old Treasure Map compared to her.

P: Geez, even Helen Mirren is so thin. Also they are totally serving dinner at the Globes and no one is eating - not even Precious. Her and Mo'Nique are probably going to Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles after the show

V: Unless they have a bag under the table. (we are both so going to Hell for that one). The girl who plays Precious is so happy to be there - she seems sweet.

V: I seriously can't stand Chloe Sevigny. She seems like a raging bitch.

P: I am switching over to 24 know. Peace out.

V: Go dry hump another Christmas tree, Keifer.

More Like "Forever 41"

First of all, What The Hell? Heidi Montag (clearly desperate for another magazine cover and madly clinging to whatever fame and dignity she has left) just underwent 10 plastic surgery procedures including: Full Body Lipo (because we all know how she was riddled with cellulite), a brow lift, and gargantuan bazooka boobs that frankly look ridiculous.

Listen up Hedi: You are like 23, and about as smart as the bags of silicone in your stripper tittays. Enjoy it while it lasts because in 15 years those "not-so-funbags" will be resting comfortably on your muffin top (oh yeah, it'll happen) and instead of being the petite youngster with the hourglass figure, your midsection/breast area is going to look like a god damned globe. Botox? Call me crazy but wouldn't it be wise to wait until you actually had a wrinkle before shoving the poison into your forehead? Same goes for the liposuction, dimwit. Also? If you continue with the brow lifting your brows will be somwhere in the vicinity of your ears by the time you are 30. As it is you are starting to resemble Sharon Stone (who is 50 and claims to have never had surgery or Botox- because she is a liar and insane).

In 10 years, when Heidi is living in a studio apartment in Long Beach off the 405, she will be wishing she would have put her plastic surgery money in an IRA or invested it with Microsoft. Clearly by that time her "Hills" money will be gone and she won't be able to get a job because her skill set doesn't so much as include the ability to type a memo (but then again there's always Hooters).

Meanwhile, if money were no object I would do full body liposuction in a heartbeat. Something happened to me between the ages of 35 and 40 and it involves the production of a lot of cellulite and depletion of all muscle tone. After finally retiring my "Melrose Place" professional wardrobe, I went out today in hopes of finding a cute Burka - or at the very least some long-sleeved tops and some pants that don't make me feel like I'm getting an immediate yeast infection because they are so tight. Of course, like anyone who's gained a few (15) pounds, I keep thinking that I will soon be able to fit into my skinny clothes, so I wasn't in a position to drop "Heidi Montag" money at Nordstrom. I started at Macy's and at one point was so desperate that I walked into "Forever 21." I figured that at $14 for a top, I could get a cheapo temporary wardrobe until I miraculously (without diet or exercise) loose the weight. Clearly I was mistaken, as "Forever 21" really is and should be for those 21 and under. Sure, that $23 pleather biker jacket with steel (i.e. silver-colored plastic) studs would be a great accessory to my closet, but I held strong. After all, I am saving up for that lipo surgery.

Reality Round up: Idol is Back

So last night at 5 pm I get a text from Parker that said, "I totally have the same body as the first American Idol contestant." Anyone who has ever met Parker knows that this isn't true, but when the first girl came on, I could totally relate. This girl was not fat, but she was slightly thick and soft, possibly hyped up on Sudafed, and to make matters worse, thought it was appropriate to wear Mom Jeans paired with a pink half shirt from the Britney Spears 1991 "Hit Me Baby One More Time" collection at Wal Mart. To make matters worse, she insisted on jumping up and down a good 75% of the time - which made her muffin top jiggle like crazy (I can say this because I can put on a jogging bra, my faded glory Lee Jeans from 1994, jump up and down and I am that woman's body double).

Speaking of bad wardrobe decisions, Can someone please explain to me what some of these contestants are thinking the morning of the audition when they open up their closet and say to themselves, "OK, Idol Auditions today. I think I'll go with the stirrup pants and size XS tank top. Make up? Nah, why bother. I mean It's not like I might be on television in front of millions of people or anything. " Look, I'm not saying that everyone needs to go on a Neiman Marcus shopping spree beforehand, but for the love of ghaad, slap on a little lip gloss or a shirt from this century (I'm talking to you glitter-vest-wearing, El Debarge-hair, Micheal Jackson loving guy). Hell, I went to a taping of American Idol and even I got my hair did and managed to put on a pair of high heels and lipstick. Good thing, too because that $40 blow out and wine colored lipstick got me in the front row of the pit and a good 2 seconds of on-air time that I'm still getting recognized for (you can read about it here).

That being said, here are some of our thoughts, in short about the season premiere of American Idol:

• Victoria Beckham: Holy Christ, she is thin. If either one of us walked in and saw her sitting there we would be too busy sucking in our stomach to even get a single note out.


• Did anyone else notice Randy Jackson's plastic red watch? Did he pull it out of his box of Capn' Crunch that morning? The ironic part is that that stupid plastic watch probably cost more than most people make in a month.


• What was the deal with the angry bespectacled John Hinkley contestant, who most surely will return for a live taping and shoot Kara from the back row? Also, is there some special store that most of us aren't privy to that sells Eye Glasses from the Serial Killer Collection by Foster Grants? If so, I'm pretty sure that guy is a customer.

And, for those of that who missed it, below is "Contestant #1" (i.e. Parker and Val's demure and ladylike "Body Double").

So (I Might Have) Married a Hippie

Last night when I saw that the new season of "The Bachelor" now has a subtitle: "...On the Wings of Love" I knew I had to watch. Sure enough, my family protested and looked at me with disgust. But how could I turn away from a show who's promos show him 1) crying over a rail on a staircase 2) throwing a rose into a bonfire (symbolism for sure) and 3) is promised by that reassuring-ABC-voice-over guy to be "The Most Dramatic Bachelor Ever"? Not to mention that one of the contestants gets jiggy with a producer from the show (not staged at all). But, like I always do when my family gives me the 'look of shame', I simply programmed it into the DVR when no one was in the room.

Down, but not out, I headed up to bed with a good book while my husband channel surfed. Then it happened: as I slept, the sound of Ed Begley Jr. in my head, bitching and moaning about solar panels (or a composter or his electric car or something like that). I awoke to find my husband mesmerized by "Living with Ed" on the Planet Green Channel. At one point I actually heard him "Oohing and Ahhing" as Ed toured some hippie-actress's "all green" house in the Hollywood Hills. It was at this point that I actually put on my black satin sleep mask and tried to fall back asleep. But sleep was futile. As my husband chuckled at the crazy antics of Ed Begley Jr. and his not-so-green wife, I began to reminisce about his behavior over the past few years and wonder, "Is my husband becoming a hippie?"

We've been together for 20 years and looking back, none of the telltale signs weere there. While we dated, he never went through that experimental phase some guys go through, like growing hair on the face or sporting a pony tail. He's never owned a pair of sandals or even a Puka shell necklace. In fact, although in college we both drank like we were roadies for Motley Crue, he has never tried weed.

Today he's a scrubbed up business man with short conservative hair and a closet full of suits, ties and shiny black loafers. But a few years ago he started a garden. A composter soon followed. Any vegetable scraps were saved and promptly thrown into said composter in order to create the perfect soil for the aforementioned garden. Peace. Then he bought a Prius (which I now drive, so who's the real hippie in this relationship?). Last year he actually called a solar panel company for information (luckily the $80,000 price tag held him at bay - for now). Then, last spring, when it came time to plan our family vacation, in lieu of our regular "Resort, Sunbathing and Hitting the Spa" trip, he planned an RV trip to the Grand Canyon and a few other National Forests that I can't remember the name of. Two days ago I caught him watching Planet Green and saying aloud, "This is a great channel". To which I replied (with disgust since it clearly doesn't have any dating reality shows or celebrity gossip), "I didn't even know we had that channel. I don't watch anything past channel 250.") It all came to a head last night when I caught him red-handed getting slowly sucked into the Ed Begley Jr. trap. And then, this morning as he headed out the door, he left behind a map of Yosemite National Park's hiking trails. Sure enough, he is planning yet another "Nature trail in an RV" spring break vacation. When I suggested that instead maybe we head out to a resort for some fun in the sun, he looked at me stone-faced and said, "This family relaxes too much." Son of a Bitch - is that even possible???

-Val

PS. I kid about my husband, as I too am big on recycling, love Polar Bears and Ice caps. Also I have been known to eat an organic vegetable now and then. Meanwhile, as I write this I am at home in my most comfortable fat clothes, alone and watching my "oh-so-coveted "Bachelor: On the Wings of Love" season premiere. One girl just told the Bachelor (who is a pilot) that she'd like him to "land his plane in her landing strip." Holy shit these are some desperate horny young ladies.

My So-Called Vacation

4th quarter every year is always a white-knuckle, piss your pants, throw-up-in-your-mouth roller coaster time of year for me. Between the mayhem at work, family, holiday gathering and shopping for family and clients, at the end of it all I feel like Cameron Diaz in the closing scene of "Very Bad Things" sitting in the cud de sac in a ratty robe, rubber cleaning gloves and waving a toilet brush while crying hysterically at the sky (except instead of Cameron picture Delta Burke's Body or Kirstie Alley in her "Veronica's Closet" days).

All this and my new doctor won't prescribe me Xanax. Speaking of....my regular doctor of 18 years closed her business out of the blue last month (without notifying anyone). I feel like Ahnuld just told me "I've been erased" because I don't even know how I'll ever retrieve my medical and gyno records. At this point in my life I can't imagine throwing a kid into the mixture. I really can see how people forget their kid is in the back seat of the car, although in the unlikely event at 41, that I actually do have a kid, I'm sure the universe will pay me back with a redhead freckled face smart ass kid who will talk smack to me from the moment she can speak. Granted she will be wearing Prada Mary Jane's and a crisp white Lacoste Polo while whipping my ass.

To top things off, a week before Christmas my company announced bankruptcy. I was so busy that I just shrugged and said, "Whatever." Just like the people that make $90k a year and buy a million-dollar house, or a person who makes $25k a year and buys a $4,000 Louis Vuitton handbag, my company pretty much did the same when they bought our company - only on a much larger level.

The day before my holiday break, I met with a client in the evening an hours drive from my office (in the snow). We were supposed to work out an agreement for the first quarter but midway thru he said, "Boy, I'm beat. Let's talk about this in January." I tried to put my special "Parker close" on him (not the one where I push my new weight gain huge boobs out so the top button on my shirt pops open) but an actual more skilled verbal assertive close. He still looked at me like I was nuts and on my way I went.

The next day I woke up not excited about the first day of break, but instead knowing the hell that awaited me when I'd get back. A long time client signed an annual contract with me then went on vacation for two weeks. In the meantime his new hired ad agency called me to tell me I could basically wipe my ass with that contract and would need to re-negotiate with them - a.k.a. have them grind me to a pulp so that they can look heroic and oh yeah, I would be making less than half my commission with the new deal. Super. Let's get this party started Mo-Fo's. The agency then proceeded to call and email me all day despite telling them I was on vacation, had doctor's appointment and was picking up relatives at the airport (none of which was true - except the vacation part). Honestly I could have been in the hospital with tubes coming out of my mouth and they would still be asking for more and more... maybe even a kidney.

It was hard not to take this one personally. In college my dickhead ex-boyfriend once came to the restaurant where I worked with his new girlfriend and sat in my section and ordered a bottle of Frexinet champagne for me to serve them (the "Cristal" of the late 80's - or so I thought). This "are you kidding me" gut-wrenching feeling was the same way I was feeling. I was officially Christmas Salesperson Roadkill.

When Christmas day finally cam, I was just happy that I wouldn't be bothered by a client in need or their rape-me-in-the-ass ad agency. I can always count on my mom for a Christmas zinger however. She actually asked me if I thought it would be a good idea for her to offer to pay for Jenny Craig for my overweight 48 year old brother that had just come in for the holidays. Mmmmm, probably not such a great idea Nancy. However, I said jokingly, "Will you pay for me to do Jenny Craig?" Without missing a beat she looked at me and said, "Ok."

-Parker

Our Apology to Carson Daly and Why I Should Work for VH1

I rung in the New Year by switching back and forth between VH1's Marathon of "100 Most Shocking Moments in Rock", the Kathy Griffin/Anderson Cooper CNN New Years coverage and NBC's Carson Daly yawn-inducing NY Rockin' Eve. Naturally I have opinions about all:

With the help of no less than 3 diet Red Bull's I somehow sat thru the first three hours (i.e. numbers 100 - 20) of "Rock's Most Shocking Moments" on VH1. As a pop culture junkie I thought I'd remember more of these "shocking moments" but what shocked me most of all was that they put the "Death of Elvis" as only #28. Meanwhile some moron at VH1 coined the number 23 most shocking moment in Rock the time when rapper "Akon" was hit onstage by a flying pretzel. Because everyone remembers where they were the moment Akon was hit by a pretzel. They also put the Kanye-Taylor Swift moment well above the death of Elvis. Clearly the producer of this show is a 22 year old fresh out of Community College graduate with an Associate Degree in Black Studies and/or Volleyball. Tomorrow I am sending a resume to Vh1 because this shit is completely unacceptable. After the morons at Vh1 put the Akon pretzel scandal above the death of the King of Rock n' Roll, I was so disgusted that I had to turn the channel, which is when I caught the NBC Carson Daly debacle in Times Square.

To me Carson Daly will always be exciting as a package of saltine crackers, but regardless I still think we (mostly Parker) owe him an apology for something that happened five long years ago. (I only am now apologizing because tonight I told my kids the following story and they looked at me with disgust and said, "Oh my God mom, you and Parker are sooooo mean!") It was a party in Los Angeles at Spago (well documented by this blog) and Carson Daly was there, and had recently lost a ton of weight. I met him and as I politely shook his hand, Parker came up behind me - Apple Martini in hand - and said "Hey Carson, my friend thinks you are HOT." Such a mature statement for a 35 year old woman to say to a 29 year old man. In shock, I looked Carson straight into his emaciated, starving, baby blue eyes and replied "No I don't!" I think Carson might have been a little crushed, but before I could say anything else, Parker took a slug of her martini and continued with, "Geez Carson could you be any skinnier? Eat a sandwich fattie!" She then proceed to drag me away from Carson who was completely shocked (or maybe that was just the look of unadulterated hunger). Of course at the time I snickered and headed to the bar to order my own delicious gallon-sized martini, but in retrospect maybe we should have apologized. Then again, Carson probably got paid a gazillion dollars to host his New Year's not-so-rockin Eve party tonight, so screw the apology and for crying out loud Carson, eat a Whopper and a shake once and awhile.