Body Fusion Is My Kind of Workout

I've always despised exercise. And then I turned 40. I could probably eat nothing but celery and ice for a week and still gain weight, so I caved in and did what I've feared for years....started to exercise regularly. And while I have to admit I am actually starting to kind of like my daily 2-3 mile walks, if I had my druthers I would get in a time machine and head back to the eighties where working out was more about brightly colored leotards and matching leg warmers and making sure you pile a crapload of Ocean Blue Cover Girl eye shadow on before heading out to Jazzersize.

Anyhoo, below is one of my favorite SNL Digital Shorts from a few years ago. Because this is how exercise should be done.

I am McGruber

By now you've seen/heard all the hoopla about Sarah Palin being on Saturday Night Live this weekend. It was great - especially when  Amy Poehler did the Sarah Palin rap. Amy Poheler is sooo pregnant I thought for sure her water would break mid rap. 

I've been a fan of SNL since it first aired back in 1975. No matter that I was six years old and didn't understand half the humor, I've stuck with it through thick and thin (except during the mid-80's thru early 90's when I actually had a social life). But, of all the skits shown last Saturday night, I'd have to say my favorite is the MacGruber skit (a take off of the Richard Dean Anderson 80's vehicle "MacGyver"). I love his reaction when he checks his stocks, which was almost a mirror image of me checking my 401k on the Internet every day last week. When MacGruber turns to armed robbery and heroin thanks to the economic crisis, I could relate:

-val

Judy is One Hot Bitch! (So is South Central Chihuahua)

When I saw this video on Saturday Night Live this weekend, I almost peed my pants. Judy is one hot, sexy bitch. Also, with beer goggles on, she looks slightly like Nicole Kidman. I've been singing this song all weekend. 

My daughter has been begging me to take her to see "Beverly Hills Chihuahua" - but unless the movie theatre has installed a Margarita Machine, I would rather take a hot poker in the eye then sit through that shitstorm. I would, however totally pay my $10.50 to see "South Central Chihuahua". When my animal-lover daughter saw this on "The Soup", she became emotionally distressed and ran from the room sobbing (must have been the realistic bloody effects). Meanwhile my son and I were rolling on the floor gasping for air. -val

The Tramp Stamp Epidemic: Sad Lady Indeed

Although it is 3 years old, the Saturday Night Live Tattoo removal skit is perhaps one of the best SNL bits of all times. I live in Southern California where sadly, the lower back "Tramp Stamp" has become somewhat of an epidemic. Even in my Stepford-like, upscale neighborhood it is not uncommon to see a mother bend down to pick  up her toddler, revealing a hideous purple garland o' pansy's hovering above her thong, or  garbled Chinese lettering resting comfortably above her butt cheeks.

I too am a victim of the tattoo craze that swept through my college in the early nineties. At the time, thankfully the lower back was not yet an option for upper middle class sorority girls. No, the ankle tattoo was all the rage. At the age of 19, nothing said "classy" to me more than a tiny rose bud tattoo, placed delicately on my right ankle. Sure it would stay with me forever, but really what is more timeless than a rose bud? It would never go out of style and practically screamed, "You are a refined yet confident lady." My parents almost shit a brick when they eventually discovered my disfigured foot. Dad was certain I would never get a real job. After all, who would hire an inked up punk like me? My mother thought I'd most certainly start turning tricks any day now.

Regardless of my parents' concerns, I did manage to get gainful employment after college and despite a few drunken make out sessions with some oddballs, I never really did turn to a life as a prostitute. My tattoo will always be a symbol of the mistakes we make growing up. Cut to 19 years later and it is no longer a delicate rose, but rather what appears to be a faded chili-pepper with a stem, lurking amongst the wrinkles of my calloused cankle. "Sad lady" indeed!