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.