My "To Do" (probably) list

Every morning I crawl up on the bathroom sink, usually in bra and underwear and put on my makeup. Today it really hit me that my stomach could be the Doppelganger for the Pillsbury Pop n Fresh dough, just after you explode that package with the back of a spoon. As a result I promptly tucked my stomach back in my panties and enrolled in a Pilates class. It starts tomorrow...at 5:30 am, a time I pray when the rest of the OC ladies are still in their beds recovering from drunken dragged out bitch fights or recovering from their surgery de jour.

After Pilates, I will go straight to work where I will no doubt moan and groan for a straight 8 hours and maybe even hit up my cubicle neighbor for  one of her muscle relaxers for her back.

What better way to end a day by sitting at hone with a bottle of wine and the first two episodes of Tori Spelling's new show. Don't ask me what the fuck it's called, no time to care..although I'm guessing something like "Its No MysTORI.... My husband is a gross fat cheat."  Yeah, he's a real keeper,

"Lindsay": Yes I Watched It.

I had no intention of watching "Lindsay" until my 19 year-old nephew, who probably knows more about pop culture then me, told me what a shit storm of greatness I was missing. Eventually I found it on On Demand and got sucked into that mess faster than you can say "she's so not sober".

It's no wonder she's a crazy nervous wreck. If I had to unpack that many boxes it would send me into such an anxiety-ridden tizzy that I would require a wine IV just to deal. And then there's her no-nonsense assistant, Matt, who I actually kind of liked, even though I thought by episode 4 he should have ripped off his 3-piece Jos. e Banks suit jacket, loosened that tie and given her the 'come to Jesus' talk.

This show was advertised as a "Documentary" but we learned absolutely nothing, except maybe that she doesn't own an alarm clock or a bra. I literally cringed when I saw all her designer clothes (which most certainly were given to her for free) strewn throughout her apartment - disregarded the way some hoarders keep dead kittens, or their own feces. When I was 27, my wardrobe consisted of the finest designers that TJ Maxx had to offer on the Saturday after pay day. You'd never find my new 1996 Ralph Lauren Chaps brand khakis thrown in a corner next to an ashtray in my home.

By last night's finale, I think we were supposed to be rooting for her, but sorry girlfriend, I'm just not feeling it. I would never joke about a miscarriage, but when she admitted that she had missed two weeks of filming because she had a 'miscarriage'  I didn't quite believe her. Somehow she strikes me as the person who would be in the hospital - on camera - demanding morphine at the first sign of a miscarriage. I am probably going to hell for that one. OWN did not renew the show, but it did end with her possibly getting a book deal. The day I see a book written by Lindsay Lohan at Barnes & Noble is the day I lose faith entirely in humanity.

An Open Letter to CNN:
I've watched for over a month while you've waxed poetically about the missing Malaysian flight. The truth is, it's a major bummer, and had a family member of mine been in that plane, you'd probably find me in a neon pink Versace scuba suit, scouring the seas for an iota of evidence for that mother fucking plane. But as day 50-something approaches, let's call a spade a spade - the plane is a goner. I don't need to hear Don Lemon chatting with the guy who looks like Basel from Austin Powers droning on and on in his charming English accent and bad teeth about what the "pings' could possibly mean. I don't need to see the childish graphic of the plane circumnavigating the globe in a crazy zig zag pattern for the umpteenth time. Oh and 'Earth to CNN', it's no longer 'BREAKING NEWS." Take down the model plane sitting on your desk and move on....move on already! When you find a floating mini bottle of Turning Leaf Chardonnay and a plastic cup alongside a Vera Bradley overnight case off the coast of Australia, let us know. Until then, how about throwing in a little more info on the Korean slinking ferry or the Ukraine for god's sake.

We're Back....

After over two years, we decided to take another shot at this blog thing. Hopefully some of our old readers will remember us and maybe a few new ones will join along the way. Get ready for some unadulterated bitchiness and real talk.love to hear from anyone in the comment section!
God bless, Val & Parker

1975 McDonalds Commercial Two All Beef Patties Special Sauce Lettuce....

Time Flies...an Email from 2004

Yesterday, after going through all the email on my main server, I found a file called "Funny Emails". It was like opening a time capsule to August 2004 (almost 7 years ago).... here is a portion of the email back and forth between me and Parker


To Val:
From Parker:
Hi cutie, how are you? We went to Sushi and then watched "Cold Mountain", which I really liked except I couldn't get past Nicole Kidman's perfectly botoxed face. I was happy however to finally see a decent movie in our media room after a bunch of stinkers. DW didn't like it so much but then again his favs are Police Academy, Zoolander and Undercover Brother. I want to see Elephant, it is a high school Gus van Zant Sundance movie based on the Columbine Shootings. 

I am so overwhelmed right now I feel like I have been gone for two weeks on vaca and I am just getting back. I am also going to have another cancellation this week so I will be the big loser again. Write back when you can, I know this email is so thrilling. I am too beaten down to be funny.


To Parker
From Val:
 Sorry about the work slump, cutie. At least the new Fall Season is starting, so there will be some new t.v. shows to make fun of. My kids  can't wait to see "Joey" so I have that to look forward to. I spent most of the weekend playing on my new computer. Tom was really mad at me for getting an Apple and on Sat he spent all morning cursing at the computer and saying aloud  "This computer  Sucks! Why would anyone get an Apple?"  Sunday he finally got it figured out. I'm like because an  "Apple E-Mac" is a bad computer,  Whatever, it's not like I went out and bought an 8 track player. 

Yesterday I got out all our old videos from the camcorder we purchased  a few years ago and figured out how to make movies on the computer. I put together a montage of the kids doing karate, riding bikes b-day parties etc... and put it to the music of Pink's "Let Get This Party Started." Is it Spike Jones or Val?

Also yesterday we took my son and his 3 best friend bowling for his  b-day. As pathetic as it is, I actually had fun, even wearing the kids size 4 cutie bowling shoes. We also went out for Pizza. It was a  crazy-ass trailer-trash b-day extravaganza.  

I assume you missed Casino last night. It wasn't that great, except that a porno star was making the moves on the best man/brother of the groom, while his girlfriend/bridesmaid watched. Then his ex-girlfriend was in the wedding as well, and trouble ensued as all the skanks vied  for his attention. Finally his girlfriend went upstairs and packed and left while bestman/brother walked sadly down the hall in his hideous groom attire, which looked like Bugsy Siegel meets Huggy Bear. (Long  tails, 1950's mafia hat with white satin stripe, etc...) Have you seen the promos on MTV for a new reality show called "Laguna Beach?" It follows young spoiled rich kids who live in Laguna as they go to the beach (and do it), surf then get drunk) and whatever else it is that teenagers do these day (be lazy and mooch off their parents.) I will be watching it like a hawk circling over a dead rabbit on the road. 


Wow - talk about a blast from the past, I remember when Cold Mountain came out and as Parker said, Nicole Kidman had not a wrinkle on her face. Let's be real, if any one of us were living in the circumstances that she did in Cold Mountain, we would all have deep dirt-encrusted wrinkles, butter-colored teeth, black circles under our eyes and shag-carpet head hair. I can almost guarantee you that if we took a time machine back to the Cold Mountain days - we would be hard pressed to find anyone over the age of 17 with a Nicole Kidman-smooth face. Parker wasn't kidding about DW - to this day he still loves and quotes "Undercover Brother" - but then again,  who can resist a 1970's themed movie starring Eddie Griffin and the talented Denice Richards? 


I am also amazed that my kids were excited to see "JOEY" of course they were only 6 and 8 at the time, so its not as if they are going to sit through an episode of NOVA. I love how my husband hated our first Apple computer and just 2 nights ago he looked over at me while perusing his iPad and said "God, Apple is so great!"


I don't even know what "Casino" was (but clearly I wasn't talking about the classic Martin Scorsece flick). I think it was probably an early reality show and most certainly a huge waste of my time in 2004.


So here we are seven years later, now we have both Nicole Kidman's forehead, are still complaining about work, still watching crap reality (but both of us have really curbed our reality addiction and are both completely off the gossip magazines), and still making fun of anything we can think of.....

Here Go Hell Come.....

Stay tuned (those of you who are still out there). The blog will be back up and running shortly.

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!