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.