OSCARS recap

You know some people say the only thing people are interested in anymore, as far as the Oscars are concerned, are the clothes. How superficial. What's really important are the awards. Well, I say phooey on you. The awards aren't really very important either. What do I really care if a movie—which, sure, I liked well enough—wins an award? Wins a thousand awards? Basically, I don't know anyone affiliated with this movie from the director straight on down to the catering service, and whether or not this movie wins in no way affects my enjoyment of said film. These awards are basically a circle jerk for Hollywood power players who use their newfound status as "Academy Award winners" to get bigger paychecks and more caché. So why not fixate on fashion? It's at least as important as anything else that happens that night.

On another note, I've decided to do away with gender division. The people are clamoring for equality (it's actually more out of my own laziness, but whatev)! I'm just going to list everyone straight up "best dressed" and "worst dressed."

BEST DRESSED:

Will Smith looked superfine in his pinstripes and velvet vest. Points off for the double diamond studs (ditto for Ludacris and Jamie Foxx) which I think is, well, gay.



George Clooney also looked dreamy in his bespoke Armani tux. Love the tuxedo stripe on the pants, a tradition which seems long forgotten (but maybe I'm just not going to enough black tie events).



My two favorite ladies were Sandra Bullock, who wore a gorgeous navy blue Angel Sanchez frock with pockets (I love dresses with pockets—very 50's),



and Michelle Williams who wore a wonderful marigold-colored Vera Wang confection which looked fantastic with her red lipstick.



Heidi Klum also gets points for her lovely flowy ice blue dress. Heidi's fashion sense is always questionable, so it's nice to see her looking so classy.



WORST DRESSED:

Tim Burton. Not really shocking.

Graydon Carter, who wore an inexplicable pair of blue plaid pants with a tuxedo jacket. I'm sure he was just trying to be "different" but it's his party! He should look like the host, not the little kid who stayed up past his bedtime.



I have to call out Felicity Huffman in a Zac Posen dress, who looked great from the neck up and the waist down, but she is in her mid-40's and I just think side boob cleavage is reserved for those much younger (and even then I have my reservations). I mean, I get it—she was just in a movie about a man who wanted to be a woman and she is also the frumpiest of the housewives, but c'mon, lady, act your age.



Bahar Soomekh almost gets it right. The color of her Calvin Klein dress is great, but the drooping v-neck and lack of, erm, support, are not doing her figure any favors.



Ziyi Zhang is gorgeous and usually looks great, but I hate this Armani dress on her. She has the opposite problem of Huffman: she wants to grow up too fast. I call it Mena Suvari Syndrome (remember when she wore that matronly Escada gown to the Oscars?). Zhang should be wearing something fun and youthful and this dress is just too...old.



Lauren Hutton. I can't explain.



Regina King. It looks like she bought this dress three months ago and thought, "I'll lose weight to get into this thing" and then never did. As they say in the biz (the grocery store biz) "Trying to fit ten pounds of potatoes into an eight-pound sack."



BEST PLUS ONES:

Les Moonves' wife, TV personality Julie Chen, looks smokin' hot in this red number.



Rupert Murdoch's wife, Wendy Deng, also looks fantastic.



I love these stuffed penguins. Maybe a little hokey, but fun. If I were actually at the Oscars, I would have tried to steal one.



WORST PLUS ONES:

Easily Martin Landau's date, Gretchen Becker. Yikes! The embroidered dress is bad enough, but those boots!



I actually found the clothes this year rather pedestrian. It seems like the more outlandish outfits now happen at the Vanity Fair party.

PS-Why was Terrence Howard wearing a brooch? I can't think of a possible circumstance in which it is okay for a man to wear a brooch.

My Most Fabulous Day

You know how when you read those new year's horoscopes they will give you a list of days throughout the year that are supposed to be "fabulous" or "lucky in love" or "stay at home"? I decided to actually test that this year, so I wrote down all the fabulous days for my sign in my Palm Pilot. (I don't remember what magazine I got this information out of, but it is safe to say it probably had some über-skinny model on the cover with wind blown hair and something about having the best sex of my life on page 64.) The first day was February 20^th. Here's how it went:

• President's Day, so I didn't have to go to work: most fabulous
  
• Did my taxes and am getting back a decent return: most fabulous
  
• Went to Win-Depot (a restaurant supply store) and bought a pizza plate because I'm tired of cooking pizza on a cookie sheet: not really what I'd call fabulous but I do like new kitchen gadgets, so I'll call it very fine
  
• Worked on very belated art project: very fine
  
• Went for a ride in a friend's new car; more fabulous for him, but not so bad for me: fine
  
• Ate a crappy veggie burger and decent fries at a diner: I hate crappy food! This gets a not fabulous
  
• Watched a very good episode of "How I Met Your Mother"...freeze frame high-five...hi-lar-i-ous: very fine
  

Overall, because of the no-work and good tax return, I would say this day was on the low end of fabulous.

Next fabulous day: May 7^th

A Valentine's Day Love Story...

I'm sure Snowman would have some objections to me telling this story, but tell it I must.

He was talking to an ex-girlfriend a week ago (he thought her dad might be able to do some work for his company). He always tells me when he talks to one of them, which is rather infrequent. I asked—fool that I am—if he mentioned me. He—fool that he is—told me this: Ex asked if he or his brother were seeing anyone to which Snowman replied "Neither of us are married."

I'm not mad. And I'm not in any way insecure about his feelings or our relationship. But, seriously, what kind of answer is that?

Lactose Ad Intolerant

Much like the ubiquitous Absolut vodka ads, I think the "Got Milk?" ads have overstayed their welcome. How long until they go all Inside the Actor's Studio and get people like Bo Bice and Bruce Villanch to do spots?

But nevermind that. Is it just me or is the ad featuring the ladies from The View the scariest thing you've ever seen? It's obviously been PhotoShopped like mad because they look like demonic clowns. I know what you're thinking: I thought Joy Behar was a demonic clown. If that's what drinking milk makes you look like, I'll stick to my Cornflakes and chocolate syrup, thank you very much.

Longing for the days of Milk, It Does a Body Good.

Things You Can Do During a Blizzard...

• sleep in late
  
• fall down in the snow
  
• make snow angels on a basketball court
  
• have someone bark like a rabid dog while he chases you in the waist-deep drift
  
• go to a diner and eat warm comfort food
  
• have someone push you around the parking lot at Costco in an abandoned shopping cart
  
• think of ways to break into Socrates Sculpture Garden
  
• make s'mores over the gas stove
  
• play chicken by sliding towards each other and seeing who falls first
  
• offer to help people shovel their cars out of the snow
  
• write your name in the snow
  
• watch old episodes of Star Trek: Next Generation
  

The Open Mind (or Are You a Conservative Liberal?)

I think some people don't actually know what it means to be open-minded—and therefore are also foggy on the details of close-mindedness. Some people think because they have tattoos, listen to Franz Ferdinand, regularly employ various outré sexual positions, and have gay friends that they are open-minded. But should someone come along and question any of those things: Tattoos are immoral. Franz Ferdinand sucks. I only like it missionary. Homosexuality is a sin. this person, who believes he is open-minded, goes ballistic. Rants about crazy conservative Christians who can't accept anything outside the norm. Posts blogs about how fucked up middle America is and stay the fuck out of my life you strait-laced twat.

Now I ask you, is that an open-minded person? Because, technically, the dictionary definition of close-minded is intolerant of the beliefs and opinions of others and I have to think that definition is a two-way street. It goes for the Christians who don't believe in pre-marital sex and it goes for liberals who don't believe in waiting. Some people wave the banner of "Don't judge me and I won't judge you" but that's a heavy banner to carry, and what I suspect they really mean is "Don't judge me because I'm not 'normal' but you're a poser for walking down the middle of the road." Hey, some people like the middle of the road! That little yellow line down the highway is a convenient guide, you know.

You wear the t-shirts. You have a nose ring. You know a guy named Terry who is "fabulous." Is that all it takes to be open-minded? Don't judge me and I won't judge you. So you say. But do you really have the balls to stand behind that or are you too busy telling right-wingers to fuck off?

Q: How many times can Giada de Laurentiis say "gorgonzola balls" without it sounding dirty?

A: Once.

a public service announcement...

I kind of thought all New Yorkers knew the story with the clock in Union Square already. I heard about it years ago (certainly didn't have the wherewithal to figure it out for myself) and you know how when you know something you assume everyone knows it. But two people I was with today had no idea what the numbers meant, I realized there are probably loads of people just as clueless. So here's the deal:

Death of a Door-to-Door Energy Salesman

There are some adjustments to be made moving from a midtown high-rise doorman building to an eight-apartment walk-up in Queens:

• The apartments creak.
• The water temperature is never consistent.
• There are no right angles in my apartment (seriously, everything is like 92° or 88°...hanging blinds are a bitch!).
• Packages are now delivered to work since there is no one to sign for them.

Oh, sure, there are good things too, but that's another post.

What I hate the most about not having a doorman is that people will ring my buzzer all the time, even though I do not know who they are and will not let them in. This happened a few nights ago. We didn't let him in. But someone did.

He knocks on our door. We ignore him. He knocks again. If I were alone, I certainly wouldn't have answered, but Snowman was there. We asked who he was; he mumbled something incoherent about "energy" and "ConEd." This is of course the beginning of a story on the 6 o'clock news about some crazy murderer who poses as a ConEd worker and rapes old ladies. But we opened the door anyway.

It was an 18-year old kid selling energy. I'm not kidding. You know how you can change your energy provider? It doesn't have to be ConEd (if you don't know, go here). This kid is going door-to-door trying to sign people up to his company...Energy Plus or something. He asks to see our ConEd bill, which I can't find for like five minutes. He's giving his spiel, which I can't totally understand because he has a really strong accent, and at 18, I doubt he is highly knowledgeable about his product anyway. So Snowman says, "Okay, leave us your information and we'll look it over." Salesman says, "Oh no, you have to sign up right now." We say, "Sure...we'll give our personal information to a person we don't know working for a company we've never heard of. Wait, I have a better idea. Why don't we just give you all our credit cards? I'll write my social security number on a scrap of paper and I'll also give you my city of birth, because you know how they like to ask that as a 'security' question. You want a beer? I got some in the fridge."

He leaves and proceeds to knock on our neighbor's door. I kind of felt bad for him. That's gotta be a shitty job. Even if he's trying to scam us, that's still gotta be a shitty job.

The next day when I come home from work I hear an upstairs neighbor (I hardly ever see any neighbors) calling me out. He's about my age and he's got a charming Irish accent. He just wants to talk about the crazy energy salesman and wants to make sure I'm not letting random people into the building (which I assure him I am not). He's going on about it all and I'm thinking, "Wow, I have a cute neighbor."

I find the whole thing absurd. What happened to vacuum cleaners and encyclopedias? I don't even get freaking Girl Scouts on my street. But energy providers? Yeah, that I got.

Hanging at the Gallows

The Triumph of Death by Pieter Bruegel

I can't decide about the death penalty. I've thought about this for so many years, and I've switched from one side to the other so many times (ditto for abortion, the existence of God, wanting to have children, and peanut butter (how did I ever not love peanut butter?)) and I wonder if I'll ever actually make up my mind.

On the one hand, I believe in compassion. I whole heartedly believe in compassion. I think it is the single most important driving force in a life well lived. The Dalai Lama says compassion does not come from feeling sympathetic to your friends when they are in distress. That is attachment. Sure, it can be compassion too, but he was talking about compassion on a larger scale and so am I. I'm talking about compassion for strangers. Not just people you walk past on the street, not just the homeless man begging for change on the L Train. Compassion for people you will never see face to face. Compassion for the world in general, for all humanity, for all life.

I struggle with this, of course. I hate people! I hate the crowded subways; I hate the men that leer at me when I walk down the street; I hate the people who won't get the F out of my way when I'm walking on the sidewalk! I eat meat. I use too much paper. But every day I start with the greatest intentions of living life as a compassionate being. It's easier to be compassionate to people you know because there is some direct benefit in doing it: they may, in return, deal compassionately with you. It is harder to exert the effort with someone you do not think will have substantial effect on your life. This is something I will have to work on in this life and the next.

When I think about compassionate living, I think the death penalty is wrong. It does not deter crime any more than prison deters it. It may help keep the honest people honest, but anyone bent on doing evil, will do it regardless of consequence. I do not think it is within the jurisdiction of any human to take the life of another. I do not think it suitable retribution for any crime; killing the murderer doesn't bring back the victim. And on a metaphysical level, I think it is bad karma for a society to wantonly kill others.

But I also believe in justice. Not necessarily an eye for an eye. I feel that philosophy is immature. But I believe that everyone must own up to their actions, even if they're accidents (Rebecca Gayheart runs over a kid and serves no time; Martha Stewart sells her stock on an inside tip and goes to jail for six months...yeah, that seems fair). Does motive really count for anything or is it only the end result that matters? Hypothetically, if a man rapes and kills a girl, such an action not only affects that girl's life, but also the lives of those who knew the girl. The girl will never grow up, fall in love, have children, have a career, drive a car—anything. And her parents will never really overcome the loss of their daughter. It seems fitting that he should die for such a reprehensible offense. Not only as punishment, but as prevention. What if he is paroled or escapes and kills again? How many chances does someone get? Doesn't "life in prison" where you don't have to worry about food or shelter (hey, I'm not saying it's Club Med) seem like a rather picayune trade off for ending a girl's life?

A friend once said he believed in capital punishment because if a person is in a community pool and starts bullying the other swimmers, that guy loses his pool privileges. This makes sense to me. But do we just put him in a pool with other bad kids or do we never let him in another pool again?

I wish we all got exactly what we deserved. I often wonder, if I did get what I deserved, would my life be better or worse than it is today? I feel like it would actually be about what it is. I think I'm a good person most of the time, but I also feel like I am a long way from being the kind of person I would like to be.

I believe is compassion and justice equally and I'm not sure how to reconcile the two. When it comes to capital punishment, it seems like they are at opposite ends of the spectrum. How far does compassion go? Does it go on infinitely? Even when someone shows no remorse, no sense of wrong-doing, no desire to mend their ways? The Dalai Lama would say yes. Compassion should be infinite. And for that matter, Jesus says it as well: Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?" Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times." (Mark 18:21-25) But we're cynical people; we don't want to be duped. When we forgive someone, when we give them a second chance, it is so they can prove to us they have learned a lesson. And if they don't learn it, if they only repeat their offenses, we will feel taken advantage of. We hate being taken advantage of. It seems like it's just easier to kill them, than to risk being humiliated.

At least I know how I feel about peanut butter.

SAG Awards

Real quick:

Best Dressed: Rachel Weisz in Rochas. Pregnant and beautiful.


Worst Dressed: I was going to say Teri Hatcher, but upon further inspection, I must give it to Frances Conroy. The frizzy uncombed hair is bad enough, but I cannot believe she would actually wear an unironed shawl to an awards show. So low brow!


Best Dressed Plus One: Josh Holloway's wife, Yessica Kumula. She's hot stuff, no?


Worst Dressed Plus One: Harold Perrineau's wife. She looks like a piñata.


Worst dressed male (I know, it goes against my rules, but it's too hideous to ignore): Terry O'Quinn. As if it's not bad enough we have to look at your man-boobs on Lost every week, now we have to see your gnarly toes as well. I mean, really? Flip flops? Maybe Perrineau is just a bad-clothes magnet.


Well, I guess I should do a Best Dressed Male too, shouldn't I? I'll just give it to Josh Holloway since I've already posted a picture of him and he looks nice.

This is post #200! Let's celebrate!

Clue #14 I'm Getting Old

Snowman bought me a pair of Heelys for Christmas. I'm actually surprised he bought them for be since he is hyper-protective of me doing anything with wheels—cycling, roller blading, tire swings. He said he didn't think they seemed that dangerous.

Boy was he wrong. These things are tricky! They're actually harder to master than roller skating because you have to have a much keener sense of balance. The first time I tried them on, I was kind of terrified. I calmed myself with thoughts of Well, if a ten-year-old can do it, then so can I. I was practicing in the kitchen for awhile, but I actually took them out yesterday and Heely-ed my way to the movie theater.

This was difficult for the following reasons:

1) Pavement in Queens is wildly uneven.
2) Pavement in Queens is covered in dog shit.

Heely-ing is a much easier affair inside, as I discovered at the movie theater, at the diner, at the Walgreens.

My legs are so sore today and I have to wonder if I don't look like an idiot trying to roll around the neighborhood. The truth is, there are a lot of things a ten-year-old can do that I can't. Like eat an entire pizza for dinner and neither gain weight nor feel sick afterwards. And wear sweatpants that have "HOTTIE" emblazoned on their asses.

My Heely career may be over before it's even started, but if you do see me gliding around the 'hood, do me a favor and don't laugh.

Happy Robert Burns Day!

As I'm sure most of you already know, yesterday was Robert Burns Day, which is well nigh the national holiday of Scotland. In honor of the poet, I ate some haggis. You can read about it here. If you'd like to learn more about the man, you can read about it here.

Also in honor of the poet, here is the modern English translation of his poem "Address to a Haggis." I must say, I like the poem a good sight more than the meal.

Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm

The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads

His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich

Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles

Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner

Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist.the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit

But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He'll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles

You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!

Tales of a Four-Eyed Nothing

I have worn glasses for most of my life. I got my first pair when I was in second grade. They were the ugliest pair of glasses ever made. Be sure that I had no say in what kind I wanted; they were handed to me. I hated them. I instinctively knew that people who wore glasses were not pretty. I hid them in my desk as soon as I got to school. There was a black girl who would steal them and taunt me with not giving them back and whom I could only placate by giving her my crayons.

There was a boy in second grade named Ray who loved me. I didn't like Ray. He followed me around like a puppy dog. One day he came to school with one of those heart-shaped chocolate boxes. Instead of chocolates, he filled it with hairpins and jewels he had taken from his mother without her consent. He gave the box to me. I was embarrassed. His mother came to school during lunch demanding her things back. I was more embarrassed. She picked through the box and took what was most valuable, but let me have a few things. There were hairpins with little birds on the end with different colored wings and jeweled eyes. My mother still has those in a drawer somewhere.

The day I got glasses Ray stopped loving me. That is a hard lesson for a seven-year-old to learn.

I hated myself. I thought I was hideous. I pined fruitlessly for boys I couldn't even talk to because I was so sure they wouldn't even know who I was. I disappeared behind my glasses.

As I got older, things got worse. I got bifocals. Not the progressive ones; I had the ones with the visible separate lenses. I can only assume my parents secretly hoped I would join a convent.

I had always been clumsy and nerdy and whether I had glasses or not, I would still have been those things to some degree. It's not like if I didn't have glasses I would have been homecoming queen. But I could have been...somebody. I was nobody. Maybe that's not how the rest of the world saw me, but that's how I felt. And when that's how you feel, that's what you are. I thought if I could wear contacts, my life would change. I would emerge from my proverbial cocoon and spread my wings. I would have a boyfriend. I would kiss someone. I would be noticed. I couldn't get contacts. My ophthalmologist couldn't recommend it to a girl with astigmatism. And if the doctor would not give his okay, my mother considered the case closed.

I was under her thumb. It never occurred to me to rebel, to find a different doctor or a different answer. I felt defeated. At sixteen. If I had any self-confidence at all, it was tucked into some far recess of my brain where it could not easily be retrieved. I went to the Gap with my mother once and the cashier asked if I modeled. I looked at her like she was out of her mind. She told me I was really pretty (this may have been an attempt to flatter me into buying more socks). I didn't believe her.

When you are young you cannot see the end of anything. Any hardship seems interminable. This is the worst part of being young. I couldn't, at that, point, see the day when anyone—least of all myself—would ever look at me as something even remotely attractive.

I hated women who wore glasses but didn't need them. They wore them as a fashion accessory and I thought, If you knew what it was like, you would not be so careless.

I got contacts right before college. Turning 21, losing my virginity, leaving home—all these things pale in comparison to life before and after contacts. I saw things in myself that I had no clue were there. Good things! Things not even related to how I looked. Good humor, creativity, tenderness. All I ever saw for ten years was an ugly kid with glasses.

A friend came over to my parents' house once and saw an old picture of me in my glasses. He laughed at how I looked. I wanted to punch him. If you knew what it was like, you would not be so careless.

It's hard not to blame my parents for their recklessness with the fragile ego of a young girl. I was tortured over this and they never tried to save me.

I still wear glasses sometimes, but I don't mind now. They actually look good on me. I picked them out myself.

X is for X Ray

I love x-rays. I mean, I don't love getting them and I'm sure the radiation, low-dose though it may be, is not great for my insides, but I love having them. We've all seen skeletons and we all know the basics of our own bodies and how our bones protect and move us, but isn't there still that tiny bit of disconnect? "I know I have bones, but I've never seen them laid out on a table, so I just don't feel very attached to them, I have no emotional resonance with my own insides." But x-rays give you a connect. You get to see your very own bones and suddenly, you think of your arm or your spine or your neck in a new, more tender way.


So I got a neck x-ray the other day. Nothing serious; I wasn't in an accident or anything. But when he said "x-ray" (he also said "MRI" (again, nothing serious)...Yippee! A chance to connect with my brain!) I got excited. He showed me the x-ray and I'm thinking "Wow, that's a good looking neck. So very, very straight." I felt regal, like Eliza Doolittle at the embassy ball. Then he told me necks weren't really supposed to be that straight, they were supposed to curve. He also said that even though I was thin (I'm sure he actually meant short) I had a very long neck, and that it might have been longer. Huh? Longer? (Man, I'd always wanted to be taller!) He said, well, he couldn't be certain, but it appeared that my neck had suffered some trauma, much like if you fell on your head...or were dropped! (Cue sinister music.)


I recall no such accidents in my life, and if what he says is true, did someone drop me when I was a baby and never tell me? I suspect my sister...

Golden Globes

I was going to write a recap of The Golden Globes until I realized recapping awards shows is tremendously boring, thus I can only assume, it's even more tremendously boring to read about. But I can't resist the opportunity to go Fashion Police on everyone, so here it is [yes, it may be sexist, but I could give a toss what the men are wearing, thus, they will not be discussed].

First of all, I like to be fair. Pamela Anderson, bless her heart, is never going to best, say, Reese Witherspoon in the clothes depot, so I grade celebs based on their own history. Therefore, Pam, Mariah and even Nicolette (God, why is she so unattrative?) are not among my worst-dressed, because, for them, they actually look pretty good.

Who is on the WORST-DRESSED? First and foremost, Mary-Kate Olsen, whose fashion sense is hit or miss anyway. But this long Michael Kors dress coupled with the long pigtails have the effect of making her positively hobbit-esque. A half-starved, heroin-addled hobbit. She's followed closely by not one, but two Hiltons. Kathy is wearing what I am pretty sure is the ugliest coat ever. And Nicky is channeling Kelly Taylor from the "I almost got raped on Halloween" episode of Bev-9er. She's also channeling Donatella Versace with her scaly red sunburnt skin. Come on, ladies! You know you're in trouble when Paris is the best dressed Hilton woman!

Who else did I really hate? Heidi Klum. Her fashion sense is also all over the place, but this Costume National dress makes her look like her boobs are hovering around her navel, and supermodel or not, that ain't a good look!

I don't even know who the hell Dayna Devon is, but she looks like a Barbie Doll reject.

BEST-DRESSED? If I had to pick my absolute favorite, I suppose I'd go with Keira Knightley, who looks lovely most of the time, but particularly so in a strapless Valentino.

Also on the list is Maria Menounos, whom I'm used to seeing in much, much less. Yoon-jin Kim (Korean sisterhood, you know) looked sweet. Other well-dressed lassies include Mena Suvari (remember when she used to dress like this?), Rose McGowan, who looked so awesome in such a hard color to wear, and Kerry Washington. Melissa George gets points for spunk. I love the lace shirt and shorts look.


I'm also creating a new category for Plus-Ones (i.e. dates). Best dressed is Eric Bana's wife, Rebecca Gleeson. This is brocade done right (take a note, Kathy Hilton). Worst dressed is Jonathan Rhys-Meyers' gal pal, Reena Hammer. She looks like a lime. A naked, trashy lime. A naked, trashy lime who is sooo behind the times becuase, duh, Elizabeth Hurley corned the market on side-split evening wear long ago.

Butt(ered) Popcorn

I went to the movies today, and a women walked out of a stall with her popcorn in her hand. Is it just me, or is that groddy? I don't even like to bring my bottled water into public restrooms! I mean why don't you just lick the freaking toilet? Of course, I know someone who dropped his hot dog on the floor of the theater (oddly enough, while watching the same movie I went to see today...maybe Woody Allen just makes people want to eat dirty snack food) and picked it up and ate it.

Just Plain Weird

I'm sure there are all sorts of weird "rules" about being a female celebrity that us layfolk don't know about. Like getting collagen injections in your armpits on Oscar night so you don't sweat on your gown. Or wearing at least one outfit in your career in which your nipples either show through the fabric, or else just pop out completely. But why, why, why do they all wear shoes that are too big for them? Is it because they're free and Christian Louboutin just doesn't know what size you are? Are they more comfortable when they're big? Do you secretly not have toes?

Your Body Is a Wonderland...sort of

For the most part, the human body is rather remarkable. You can contract any variety of diseases—HIV, cancer, polio, malaria—and, if not recover, at least live in reasonable comfort for any number of years. You can lost your eyesight, hearing, ability to speak and still live on. You can lose the ability to move your legs or lose your legs entirely and even that won't kill you.

But you can't live without oxygen for even five minutes. You can live on a little oxygen for a long time, but you can't live on no oxygen for even a short time. I think this is our biggest design flaw. See, if I were designing, I would have some sort of spare oxygen chamber...in the appendix or our butt cheeks or something so that if we were ever deprived of oxygen we could...um...breathe through our butts, I guess. Okay, so it's not a great idea, but I'd rather be called "butt-breather" than "dead."

Design flaw #2: menstruation! Who's with me?

Magical Mystery Metrocard

I have no idea when my unlimited montly card expires. The last day was supposed to be the 9th, but I think because of the strike I got 3 extra days. This would have made the last day yesterday, but I tried to use it today and it still worked. This might be because of that strange holiday program they had that was, quite frankly, too hard for me to understand, and which also, might I add, was a waste of money. Whatever good PR was to be had from giving riders a few extra days was mightily offset by the transit strike, wherein said riders had to, well, walk.

Anyway, back to the Metrocard mystery. I'm starting to think I actually have a magical Metrocard that will never expire. Kind of like that Grimm fairy tale about the pot that cooked unlimited porridge. All you had to say was "Cook, little pot, cook." Every morning I wake up and whisper "Go, little Metrocard, go."

I have finally joined the world of civilised living...

...by buying this book.

explosive diarrhea

Isaac Mizrahi (yes, okay, I'm hooked on his show) says that no matter what, if you say "explosive diarrhea" people will laugh. And guess what...when he said that, I laughed.

I know I'm a girl and I'm 30 and I like to think of myself as cultured, but seriously, poop and farting are endlessly funny to me.

PS-I totally spelled diarrhea right! I mean, who would think it actually had two R's?

Fun Word Alert!

It's been too long, people! This one comes from Isaac Mizrahi.

Delightmare: so bad it's good (Lord of the Rings musical, anyone?)

symmetry

Kelly Clarkson picked "Never Is a Promise" by Fiona Apple as one of the songs on her iPod playlist. She said she likes to listen to it in the tub. I have always thought Tidal was a perfect tub CD. I have listened to it many, many times amidst a bevy of bubbles.

A,B,Cs

*cribbed from html goddess.

A is for Age: 30
B is for Booze: Jack and (diet) Coke
C is for Career: nothing yet of which to speak
D is for Dad’s name: James
E is for Essential Item to bring to a Party: food
F is for Favorite Songs at the Moment: theme song from Magnificent Seven
G is for Goof off thing to do: sleep
H is for Hometown: Orlando
I is for Instrument you play: flute
J is for Jam or Jelly you like: jalapeno marmalade from Mesa Grill
K is for Kids: Michellephant, Howler, Slushy, Snappy, Bronto, and Pippo(potamus)
L is for Living arrangement: 2BR in Queens with Snowman
M is for Mom’s name: Young
N is for Names of best friends: Snowman plus a few select others
O is for overnight hospital stays: not since birth
P is for Phobias: dying
Q is for Quote you like: "Man's reach should exceed his grasp/else what's a heaven for?" Robert Browning
S is for Siblings: Angry Dolphin, Wang Chung
T is for Texas, Ever been? San Antonio
U is for Unique trait: paper crafts
V if for Vegetable you love: the humble potato
W is for Worst traits: moody
X - is for XRays you’ve had: upper GI; hip xray; dental xray
Y is for Yummy food you make: oatmeal raisin cookies; tuna fish; birthday cake
Z is for Zodiac sign: Scorpio

No one cares about orphans anyway!

This transit strike aggravates me. Not because there IS a strike, but because everyone acts like it's the end of the world, when really, it's just a strike. Europe is in a perpetual state of strike. I've been walking to work. It's about 3.5 miles and takes around an hour. It's not awesome. It's cold and windy and I'm pretty tired before I even get to work. But it's not heinous either. It's good exercise and I just plug in my iPod and contemplate. But whenever I tell anyone (and it's always because they ask me, not because I'm eager to share my "war story") they look at me like I just said, "How do you like my coat made from the pelts of orphans? It's soooo soft."

It reminds me of when I was little and had no concept of distance. Ten blocks seemed like the Bataan Death March.

The best cracker ever!

Triscuits with rosemary and olive oil are unbelievably delicious. I mean, you have to like rosemary, which I certainly do. They are so salty and yummy. Now I want a triscuit cake for my birthday.

There's a place for us...

You know that sound the subway trains make when they leave the station? It's an oddly melodic three-note screech. Have you ever noticed? If you have noticed, have you further noticed it sounds like the first three notes of "Somewhere" from West Side Story? Next time you're listening to a train pulling out of the station, sing the words "There's a place for us..." in your head and you'll see what I mean. Who knew the MTA where Bernstein fans?

Saltiest food in the world...

It's gotta be corned beef hash.

Long Time No...

Haven't been posting much, but I have big plans to overhaul this whole page next year.

Saturday I got a Christmas card from some people and I have no idea who they are! I have only lived in my new apartment for like two weeks and it had my last name on the envelope (no first name). It was one of those photo cards with the whole family PhotoShopped onto a speed boat with a Christmas tree and presents and Santa hats (lawd, why would I want to know people who put together that kind of card anyway?). They live in Lindenhurst. Seriously, who are they?

I just found out someone I went to college with died in a car accident in the spring. It's not awful, I mean, we weren't close, but it's not not awful either, because I really liked him when I knew him. We had a couple of classes together and we'd sort of flirt with each other from across the table. He was in a band and I saw them play a few times. In one class, at the end of the semester, our professor had us anonymously write something nice about everyone in class. Even though it was anonymous, I could tell which comment was his and it meant the most to me because I liked him the most. As I'm packing up to move last week, I'm going through this box of old stuff and I find that slip of paper with all those comments on it and his comment still meant the most to me. As I'm reading it, he's already dead, but I didn't know it until yesterday. It's not awful, but it is sad. He was a good person.

I have this CD from his band and the songs are on my iPod.

NYPL

I love the library. You just can't get bored there. And they let you read things...for free! I think it is truly one of the most awesome public services in the country. And who do we have to thank for it? Why, the inventor of the bifocal: Benji Franklin!

When I was younger I went to the library all the time with my dad. There was a big branch downtown and he would let us go off on our own. I would always go to the comics and read all the Garfields (a cat who loved lasagna? crazy!) and Peanuts. And I would check out all these books and never read them, but who cares? It was the possibility of reading that was so enticing. One time we went to a smaller local branch and I thought my dad left me there (I think that must have hurt his feelings for me to assume I meant so little to him that he would "forget" me anywhere). I called my mom and she came to get me. But before she got there, of course, my dad appeared. Now keep in mind, this was in the days before cell phones, so there was no telling my mom to head back home (and even if it weren't, my parents don't even have an answering machine so there's no hope for them getting cells). So suddenly I had TWO rides home...I felt stupid.

But I still loooove the library. And with LEO online you can reserve and renew books online! Genius! I look forward, with great anticipation, to the day when we no longer have to speak to each other.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

I wish it were better. I won't mention anything to spoil it for those who haven't read it yet. I thought it kind of dragged. There were some interesting bits that happened and I can kind of see where it's all going to end up. Really, I just thought Harry was a moody brat who--and I have to agree with Snape--thinks he's better than everyone else. Who knows? Maybe he is. Worst of all, I thought Rowling's poor writing skills really showed through on this one. She tells a good story; she just doesn't tell it very well.

Favorite quote: from this book? Yeah right.

Further Evidence I'm Becoming My Mother

I took out a purse I hadn't used in a few months and found half a pack of gum in it (not quite as good as finding a stray $20). When I was little, I used to go into my mom's closet, rifle through all her purses, and unload all the piece of Dentyne she's forgotten about, which I would then eat in quick succession.

If I ever start freezing loaves of bread, please, someone put me out of my misery.

I feel fat today.

Christopher Plummer

Prior to ten minutes ago, I had absolutely no feelings for or against Christopher Plummer. But he is so witty and charming in this EW interview, I think he might be my favorite actor in the whole world. Well, next to Jake Gyllenhaal, of course.

I hate...

...the word gelee. It can't possibly signify a food I would ever want to eat. In the December issue of Martha Stewart's Living, there is a picture of "pate with pomegranate gelee" and although it is a very lovely photo, I think I would rather eat a tree branch.

Pandas are so cute they actually make my teeth hurt. Seriously, I can't stand it! I mean, I know I said it about the baby penguins, but there ain't no human baby this cute!

macamonies

Whenever I make Kraft mac n cheese with the powder cheese, it always ends up a little runny. I could never figure out the right milk and butter ratio. Plus I usually use skim milk because that's what I have in the fridge so that doesn't help the runny factor either. Yesterday though, I happened to have some heavy cream in the fridge. Well, problem solved! No more runny cheese!

Of course, then things got weird when I added jalapeno jelly and crushed potato chips on top. But it was soooo good.

Why do I know this?

There are two pictures of Summer Redstone and Tom Freston in this week's EW. There aren't any captions with the pictures, but I saw them and saw the word "Viacom" and both their names popped into my head. I mean, I'm kind of appalled I not only know who Tom Freston is, but that I also know what he looks like. What kind of crazy, useless shit is stored inside my head and is that why there isn't room for me to remember where my keys are?

411 this ain't

I got a comment to one of my posts that strikes me as totally absurd. This is what it said:

"doer" said...
Hello, just visited your blog, it's informative. I also have a Ebay related web site. Please visit and hope that it's useful.

Keep in mind this is in response to a post about how I dreamt I was in love with Lance Armstrong and he was in love with my mother (that still kind of creeps me out). I mean, I'm not trying to sell myself short, but if there's one thing my website is NOT, it's informative.

Eat Buttons and Die!

I've lived in New York for over seven years, but this recent episode has to be one of my favorite stories. A few weeks ago I went to City Center's Fall for Dance Festival for the first time. As those who have been can attest, seating is cramped. It's nearly 8:00 and there is no one sitting next to me, so I'm feeling hopeful. Of course, this was not to be. I end up sitting next to quite possibly the meanest woman in the city! The first piece is Molissa Fenley & Dancers performing Hemispheres, to which there is no music for the first ten minutes or so. You can hear every cough and twitch and of course, everyone starts turning off their cells (why they couldn't do that before the show started, I have no idea). There is a lady behind us (also not very nice) (apparently) who doesn't seem to know how to turn off her phone. She is pressing a lot of buttons. That is when this exchange takes place:

Lady Beside Me: Turn off your cell phone!
Lady Behind Me: That's what I'm tryin' to do. You wanna turn it off for me?!?!
Beside: Eat your buttons!
Behind: Why don't you eat my buttons?
Beside: Drop dead!

To which there is no comeback. But seriously, "Eat your button!"? What kind of comeback is that? The best part is that the lady beside me hated Hemispheres.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Erich Maria Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front may very well be the greatest war novel of all time, as the dust jacket proudly proclaimed. It was remarkably moving, well-written, funny...all those things a great book should be. Written from the perspective of a German--the "enemy"--you realize life is life, regardless of sides. The books that have made me cry can be counted on one hand and this one made me weep quite bitterly at the end.

Favorite quote: In himself man is essentially a beast, only he butters it over like a slice of bread with a little decorum.

Where do these people come from?

I dreamt I was in love with Lance Armstrong but...he was in love with my mother! She cared not a fig for him.

Grrrrrr...

I'm not in a good mood today. It's way too busy at work; I think I'm getting an ulcer. I'm going on vacation for a wedding but all I really want to do is sit on the couch at stare at the walls for four days [no offense to my very dear friend getting married]. And then I get this work email that is just bullshit. We're all about sending out bullshit emails that don't mean anything or have anything to do with work, really, (like "there are cookies on the table" or "come see my band play") and it was the breaking point for me. What I really want to do is punch my fist through the computer screen and use the keyboard as a sledgehammer. But that would be viewed by my co-workers as "crazy" behavior. So all I can really do is delete the stupid email. But, man, did I click "delete" with all my mighty fury!

Wild(e) On!

I didn't quite finish Oscar Wilde's Complete Short Stories, but since they are just short stories, I didn't have to finish the whole thing, right? I like him; I like his writing. He is one of those historical figures I would have liked to have known personally. And I know he had a hard life, what with prison and all, but his fairy tales are quite disturbing. You think it will end pleasantly, but the then the last sentence will literally be "He died poor and alone. Everyone hated him."

Listen up children: life is hard, unfair, cruel. Worst of all is love. Whatever you do, DO NOT FALL IN LOVE! You will die alone. The end.

Favorite quote: The only thing that sustains one through life is the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else... ("The Remarkable Rocket")

Help!

Seriously, I'm so addicted to eBay. I need to join a twelve step program...

Martha, Martha, Martha

So her new show kind of sucks. I loved the old show. It was really informative and had lots of cooking, crafting, gardening. There was an occasional guest, but in a very controlled environment. And there was no fucking audience! Now that she wants to be not only popular, but liked as well, her show has gone down the crapper. Now she's more interested in entertaining us than in educationg us. If I want to be entertained I watch cartoons. If I want to be educated I watch Martha. Only not anymore. I'm quite heartbroken. At least I still have her magazine to comfort me...sniff sniff.

In my life why do I smile at people I'd much rather kick in the eye?--"Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now"/The Smiths

Of all the people...

...for me to have a dream about...Bill Nighy? And he wasn't Bill Nighy, he was someone else. And I shook his hand and was very pleased to meet him. Didn't even remember the dream until I saw a picture of him in a magazine just now.

going up...throwing down...

If you're ever bored on an elevator, I've discovered a fun game. Figure out which of the people on the elevator with you, you could beat up in a bare-fisted fight. Children count. There were six in the elevator with me this morning. I think I could take three of the girls (there were two other girls and one guy I do not believe I could beat). One girl I probably could not normally beat up, but her foot was in a cast and I think that would give me the edge. Grr!

If it weren't for the fact that I view eBay as one gigantic department store (albeit, where I'm not allowed to try anything on), I prolly would have noticed that I had totally missed the Barney's Warehouse sale. I'm dead disappointed as I could have used some new shoes (Snowman would disagree, but what does he know about a girl's need for shoes?).

I'm afraid of Virginia Woolf

I gave up on To the Lighthouse. I found it quite laborious and boring to read. I'm not saying I won't try and read her again at some point; I mean, I do feel obligated to make it through one of her books. But I shall save it for my convalescence, when I've nothing but time. I've substituted her with Oscar Wilde and I'm already enjoying it a thousand times more. Who could not love a story about a happy prince, after all?

If I ever...

...have a baby, I want to watch The Golden Girls while I'm in delivery. Or Tom & Jerry. It's a toss-up. I love them both; it's not polite to have favorites.

Raise your hand if...

...you're so excited about the new fall line-up on TV! I am! I am!

eBay addict

I have to stop with the eBay! I've sold three pairs of shoes and hope to unload many more, plus a few coats, and a sewing machine. I've bought two pairs of shorts, a pair of white sandals and an insanely gorgeous tweed coat. It's not like I'm buying crap I don't need or don't think about very seriously before I bid on, but I've been trolling the site like crazy, loading up my watchlist, seeing people walk away with things for either really great prices or really shitty ones ($60 for a LAMB tank top? No thank you). It's not that I want all that stuff but the possibility of getting it in absolutely intoxicating...

Jesus' Son

I breezed through Denis Johnson's excellent Jesus' Son. I bought this book in college, but never read it, and it retrospect I have no idea why I was so hesistant. I can only chalk it up to being required reading for an absurdly early class the last semester of my senior year, thus not inclined to do much of anything. It is a complete 180 from Everything Is Illuminated and quite like a breath of beer-soaked fresh air.

Favorite quote: ....but we'd torn open our chests and shown our cowardly hearts, and you can never stay friends after something like that.

*I would just like to add that when hot-linking the title to amazon.com, I had to search for a cover that didn't make reference to the movie. I hate it when movie stars are on the covers of books that existed on their own steam prior to Hollywood. I don't want to read the movie version of a book, I want to read the book version of it, thanks.

The Nextel Yankees

Went to see the Yankees last week. They always have these little games for the crowd, up on the Jumbotron, when teams are changing positions. My favorite was the subway car race. Except instead of the D and F and the 6 racing each other it's the Dunkin' Donuts D and the Baskin Robbins F and the Coors Light 6. Really? Charging $6 for a soda, $5 for a hot dog and $8 a beer isn't making enough money? Do you really need to prostitute everything? How long before we hear "Diet Pepsi Matsui hits his third Nike ribbie and runs to Pizza Hut first base. It's a great day here in IBM Yankee Stadium--a great day, indeed, in all of Snapple New York City." Whores!

Everything Is Illuminated

I thought Everything is Illumintated would be better. Jonathan Safran Foer wrote a short article in Real Simple about having a dog when he's allergic to dogs (or something) and I thought it was an interesting, sweet article. So why not read his book? It had gotten such fantastic reviews (which should have been a caution to me: few things live up to their own hype). Foer's writing reminds me of Salman Rushdie's. Of course, Rushdie's got an excuse: he writes like Rushdie because he is Rushdie. I'm not sure what Foer's excuse is. I'm not saying the book is bad. It's not bad. It's good. It's mostly enjoyable. It's just not amazing. Which was kind of what I was led to believe.

Favorite quote: I know that it is not necessary that there be one right thing. There may be two right things. There may be no right things.

"You can't fight marketing. It's like hanging bubbles on a clothesline."--Shirley MacLaine

choo choo

Remember those hideous word problems from math class about one train leaving a station at 60 mph and another leaving an hour later at 75 mph? Or one train leaves in one direction and another leaves in a different and how far apart are they? Finally figured out how to do them. Awesome!

fun word alert

It's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm totally in love with the word "awesome" right now. I am also rather fond of "awesomest" as in "When Snowman buys me hot dogs, it is the awesomest."

Happy Anniversary!

Yesterday marked my seven years in New York City. And it's true, I've got an itch.

A Christmas miracle...in August!

Last week I met a friend for some drinks after work and as I'm walking home from the bar I realize I've dropped the airclick remote for my iPod. Even in my quasi-drunken state I'm totally devastated. I try to retrace my steps back to the bar, but I'm a little fuzzy on the details and I don't see it on any of the streets or sidewalks. I get home and wail to Snowman about what an idiot I am and woe is me, woe is me.

The next day I see it clipped to the side of a shopping bag I had with me the night before. I'm totally overjoyed and swear this is--finally!--proof of God. But then I start to suspect Snowman had just bought a new remote without telling me, which is a sweet gesture to be sure, but I was kind of hoping for the miracle. I could use some proof of God, after all. I just didn't see how it could go from being clipped onto my skirt to being clipped onto my bag. What are the chances?

But after examing the remote and noticing all the little scratches a new one wouldn't have, and after testing it with my base unit (which wouldn't work if it was, in fact, a new remote) I'm convinced it was indeed the hand of God.

Let us all rejoice!

Never ask a woman if she is pregnant unless you can actually see the baby coming out of her.--Matt Dillon

Rob Roy take 2

Remember how I thought I lost my copy of Rob Roy? Remember? Huh? Huh? I thought I left it at my parents' house and had my mom look for it and she couldn't find it, but really I just thought she was looking hard enough. But I open my suitcase last week and out tumbles...wait for it...Rob Roy! How did he get in there? Where was he hiding? Who knows. It's a blinking miracle! So, without further delay...

Favorite quote: ...do not bait your hook with too much humility; for ten to one, it will not catch a single compliment.

Riding for Two

Yesterday a woman on the subway offered me her seat. I told her I was getting off in another stop, but thank you. I coudn't understand why she offered me her seat; she didn't look more than five years old than me. Then I noticed the way my guazy dress with a high waist gathered around my stomach and how I didn't have great posture and how my arm was slung over my belly (I was holding a bottle of water in the crook of my arm). She thought I was pregnant! I wasn't offended in the least. I actually thought it was really delightful and funny.

It's a little weird because that morning when I put the dress on I thought, "You know, I could definitely still wear this if I ever get pregnant."

Use Your Illusion

How could I have been so absolutely horribly wrong? Back when I used to listen to Guns N' Roses--and I should say straight away, I only listened to them because everyone else did, not because I thought they rocked--I always thought the hottie was Duff. I mean, as a girl, I picked out the best looking dude in any band. I also picked football teams based on the hot QBs (another lapse in judgment: John Elway; as they say, there's no accounting for taste). Duff has since become a scary old man who still uses too much hair product, like all the other glam rockers of his time. I never for a second thought Izzy Stradlin was good looking. I never even looked at him long enough to consider it. But I'm doing some work today and I come smack up against his picture and he's so hot! Why didn't I ever see it before?

Robinson Crusoe

I have no idea why I ever wanted to read Robinson Crusoe, but there, I've done it. It's an interesting idea being stranded on an island, with nothing but cannibals for neighbors. This book was actually more religious than I would have guessed, but I suppose being on a deserted island will do that to a person.

Favorite quote: ...that mine was the middle state, or what might be called the upper station of low life, which he had found, by long experience, was the best state in the world—the most suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseries and hardships, the labor and sufferings, of the mechanic part of mankind, and not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition, and envy of the upper part of mankind.

Elvis or Ringo?

I've heard it said everyone is either an Elvis person or a Beatles person. Even if you don't listen to either, you still fit into one of those categories. I don't know very many Elvis people and I always thought I was definitely Beatles. But I was listening to some Elvis on my iPod the other day and I was having such a good time. I'm thinking about switching sides. Granted Elvis didn't sing a song with my name in it, but the Beatles didn't eat fried peanut butter and banana sammies either, so I guess they're even.

The Persistence of Memory

The other day my boss said to me (via IM) "I knew you were going to say that," which I find very annoying and which he has said to me before. Now we get along pretty well so I told him I didn't like it and he said I say it to him. This strikes me as odd because it's not something I say very often (and really only to Snowman). And when he proceeded to explain the circumstances under which I would say it, it sounded completely unfamiliar. I'm not saying I didn't say it, because I can't remember everything I've ever said. I'm just saying I didn't say it.

Open wide!

Angry Dolphin and I go to the same dentist (I've actually recommended many people to this dentist) and she swears she caught one of the doctors watching porn in his darkened office the other day. Hey, I'm all for porn, but unless you actually work in the porn industry, I really think you shouldn't be watching/buying/downloading porn whilst at work.

Brrr...it's July...

I just bought two coats on Overstock.com. Am I crazy?

If there's anything more fun than selling your old crapola on eBay, I don't want to know about it.

Look, no one likes human babies more than me, but even the cutest, sweetest, most adorable human baby is nowhere near as cute and sweet and adorable as the ugliest of baby penguin. I may have to move to the South Pole...

Owen Wilson recently said Rachel McAdams was one of the best actresses he's ever worked with. This from a man who has actually worked with the likes of Anjelica Huston, Blythe Danner, Barbra Streisand, Gwyneth Paltrow, Cate Blanchett...I mean, did he even see The Notebook? She sucked! If she's one of the best actresses, then I must be one of the best writers of all time.

I also did not know how to spell paraphernalia. But that is a hard word and I knew I didn't know how to spell it. But diagnose? That is lame.

I just realized whilst writing my blog I had no idea how to spell diagnose. Because I spelled it diagnos and I knew it didn't look right, but I had no idea how to fix it. I think it's weird that you go through life thinking you know something--how to spell diagnose, frinstance--and then one day you are smacked in the face with the reality that you have no freaking idea. About anything.

I can't believe I put that in my mouth...

I grew up on Maruchan instant soups and macaroni and cheese--just not at the same time. So when I spied this at the supermarket, I was understandably intrigued. Notice how the picture on the cover looks yummy and creamy. HOWEVER, when you make it at home, it turns into a truly unpalatable noodle cheese soup. It was probably the grossest thing I've eaten in a long time. I had to eat a whole bag of these, just to make the yucky taste in my mouth go away.