Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The End of an Era

Well, it's finally happened. I have gone through withdrawal and sweated and puked out my illness and now I am officially trashy magazine free. I'm kind of bummed about it, though. I would totally read them if they even pretended to be interesting. But they've given up. Defeat, thy name is Khloe Kardashian.

I mean, just look at these. Would you even use them for toilet paper? (Answer: Obviously no, since that cheap ink will rub right off).

First up is InTouch Weekly. This is the most terrible cover I have ever seen (and I once bought the US Weekly issue with the Real Housewives of New Jersey on the cover, so my standards are hell to the low).

I will admit that I rediscovered Emotions this weekend and it is fucking awesome. But nobody cares about Mariah Carey right now. Especially since, if her new fragrance ads are to be believed, she is slowly morphing into LaToya Jackson:

Next up, OK!, the worst celebrity magazine on newsstands, and—shocker—it's all Kardashian, all the time.

I do not watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians, but my sister has seen it and assures me that it is not worth anyone's time. And if you know my sister, that means it is an EPIC TV FAIL because that girl watches even more garbage than I do. Now that one Kardashian is knocked up and one had a surprise wedding, I fear they'll have newsstand real estate for months. Sigh. They are even worse than Jon & Kate! (Note that my chagrin stems entirely from the fact that I do not watch the shows on which these people appear; I almost wept with joy when I saw EW's Jim and Pam Office cover. My heart grew three sizes, until it was as big as one of Jon Gosselin's under-eye bags.)

(P.S. I hope Brad and Angie's recipe for love involves blood sausage.)

US Weekly used to be my fave, and I will give them props for putting actual celebrities on the cover, but this drama is soooo wah wah wah.

Ladies, do not date Justin Timberlake. No good can come of that. Did you not see this?

(Awesomely, this image is titled "bsnuts4." Which makes me think of those hot nut vendors in Manhattan called Nuts4Nuts. I always want to order some, but I'm too busy giggling at the idea of "hot nuts" because I am twelve. But Britney's next venture should totally be a franchise of those street carts called BSNuts4Nuts. No?)

Finally, Star...

This cover makes me realize two things:

1) I do kind of want to know if it is, indeed, "on" between JT and Rihanna but I won't be fooled; the articles in these magazines always completely blow. The only reason to even buy them is for the pictures, and now that 98% of those pictures are of someone with Kardashian blood, I ain't buyin'.

2) I want to take Shiloh Jolie-Pitt fishing. I think she'd have fun.

So, that's that. Now I'm just going to follow gossip online, and, when I really need a fix, buy People (the middle-aged aunt of the trashy magazine brood) and cry at stories about autistic children and fat people who lose half their size.

What Are You Doing This Saturday Night?

Wanna see my hubby's photographs? You can meet him; he's cute. You can meet me too (thrilling, I know).

Be here from 6-9 on Saturday for the opening or stop by the gallery anytime between now and Nov. 29 for some mind-blowing art action!

Monday, September 28, 2009

Laundry Intervention: An Open Letter to Myself

Dear Self,

I want you to do me a favor. Lift up your skirt. No, not here. Go in the bathroom. OK, now lift. What do you see? That's right, you are wearing a pair of your husband's Hanes boxer briefs. You've hit rock bottom, dude. This is even worse than when you wore your bathing suit bottoms, of ALL THREE bathing suits you own, for three days straight. Either do your laundry, or buy more underpants. Are we clear? Good.

Now go tell Jeff before he reads it on this blog.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Fake Hair/State Fair

OK, so first of all, I was not stoned last night when I posted the Bollywood video. Just wanted to clear that up. I simply recognize comedy gold when I see it.

Anyway, a few more pictures from my trip this weekend (apologies to all of my Facebook friends; not only have you already seen these photos, but this blog is basically a rehashing of the captions I posted.)

I mentioned that our first order of business after my plane landed was, naturally, to buy fake mustaches. Our second order of business was to have a teenager take a photo of us wearing said mustaches in a parking lot.

I also bought fake eyebrows, a set which included The Angry Scotsman...

And, of course, my old friend the unibrow.

Oh, by the way, here are those pictures of the abusive Arthur Ashe statue I mentioned yesterday. You can't tell from these shitty BlackBerry photos, but he is totally about to wail on those kids with his racket, and also maybe throw a book at them.

After the brief detour to photograph that statue so that I could post it on this here blog, we got on the road and headed over to the State Fair!

We missed the racing pigs, very sadly, but we did find time to peruse the lost children, and gape at the 1000-plus pound blue ribbon-winning giant pumpkin.

We hit the funhouse next, which mostly consisted of body-distorting mirrors. My legs never look this skinny, so I had to document the occasion.

We went on a ton of stomach-flipping rides, including the roller coaster, the Zipper, the Gravitron, and something called the Extreme, that swung back and forth like a demonic pendulum while spinning us every which way, high above the fairgrounds. I love a good thrill, and like to think that I have a stomach of steel. But the one ride I refused to go on was the Super Shot.

There is some variation of the Super Shot at every amusement park. You get strapped in to a contraption that slowly rises higher and higher and then, suddenly, drops into a free fall for twenty feet before catching itself and preventing what seemed like your imminent death.

Drew, Charlie's boyfriend, was freakishly gung ho about this ride. Charlie demonstrated more appropriate terror.

I HATE the feeling of free fall. I have never been on one of these rides because it is one of my great fears to fall to my death from something high. But as soon as these boys came back down they convinced me to give it a try. I have absolutely no willpower.

I don't have a photo of me riding the Super Shot because I was gripping my safety bar too tightly to even think about reaching for a camera, but if I had taken a picture it would have just been of my uvula, since I screamed with my entire being the whole way down.

It's still giving me shivers just writing about it. But, on the plus side, the turbulence on my plane ride back seemed super lame and not at all scary by comparsion.

I'll leave you with this:

This morning I noticed that Charlie had affixed this circa-1999 photo of me (in a humiliating come-hither pose that only Dubra vodka could have inspired) to his bathroom door. I think and hope that it was just there for my visit. Or that it serves as a warning to all who enter there, as if to say "Use this time in the lavatory to pull your shirt down, and practice your sexy faces, for God's sake, before someone takes a picture."

I'd Love To See You Pee On Us Tonight: The Benny Lava Story

Last night after a sumptuous dinner at Comfort and a stop by a house party, Charlie, his boyfriend Drew and I settled in for some quality YouTube.

Drew showed me this real Bollywood music video with fake English subtitles (that are based on how the words sound), and, well, just watch. May it bring you great joy.

Now, off to brunch and the state fair before my flight home!

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Dispatch From Richmond, Day One

Hi y'all! I'm in Richmond, visiting my bestest friend Charlie. I flew in early this morning and he picked me up at the airport.
After breakfast, he drove me around and showed me some of Richmond's famous sights, including a memorial statue of Arthur Ashe about to beat some young children with his tennis racket (well, that's what it looked like; apologies for the lack of photo evidence.)

Then we went to Carytown, where we shopped in some fabulous stores that sell the sort of tchotchkes that no one needs but everyone wants. Like this bacon tuxedo!

Very sadly, it turned out that this was just a fake gift box.

This Singin' In The Rain shower curtain, however, is very real and I WANT IT.

Charlie preferred the Psycho version:

We tried on hats...

And I bought some eyebrows, to get back to my roots.

Then we went for another scenic drive. Here is Charlie's creepy-looking Patron Saint of Lost Things:

And his amazing air freshener ("Skipping: Jogging's Gay Brother") and hanging Gumby.

Pokey's riding the rearview mirror!

Oh, yeah, we also bought some mustaches.


Fun fact: Charlie works at Starbucks, and he did these fabulous chalk drawings. I have always wondered what magical elves made them, and now I know it is my magical elf.

These pics are all from my BlackBerry... more and better ones to come tomorrow from my real camera.

Oh, and tomorrow we are going to the state fair! Thank God I remembered to bring my crinoline...


Friday, September 25, 2009

So I Think I've Figured Out My Halloween Costume

Shopping list:

-Extensions/clip-on bangs
-Bamboo earrings
-Lettering to make my cheap busted purse say FENDI
-New Edition Bobby Brown button
-Old-school Reeboks
-Dark lip liner

Can you guess?


Thursday, September 24, 2009

Even I Think I Doth Protest Too Much

My nephew Liam is the cutest ever, but I'm not used to hanging pictured of babies in my cubicle. Generally I hang things like this. What if people think I'm like Angela from The Office?

This is the compromise I reached with myself:


Belated Fashion Throwdown: The Emmys

I can't BELIEVE I missed the Emmys. To paraphrase Cher Horowitz, I am majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love with awards shows. But... my brother-in-law was getting married, so I had to do the right thing.

I know I'm late to the game on this, but you know I have strong opinions about fashion, so I feel I must pitch my two cents into the bottomless latrine of Emmy red carpet coverage.

Let's start off on a positive note, shall we?


There is nothing I love more than a great red dress (I have to restrain myself from buying new ones all the time; they're like my LBD), and Debra Messing turns it out in this simple, sparkly but not ice-dancing sparkly (ahem, Applegate, I am looking at you... scroll down) number. I love her minimal, elegant accessories too. Say what you will about her persona, but Rachel Zoe knows her shit.

I just love Mariska Hargitay. I don't know if it's the way her brow crinkles when she's investigating a brutal sexual assault on Law and Order: SVU, or that her mom is Jayne Mansfield, star of my favorite obscure comedy, Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? or that she has a dreamy husband and the cutest kid ever. Anyway, I love her, and I love her gunmetal gown.

WANT. COVET. Love the color.

I also just love Jenna Fischer. I kind of want to be her BFF. She has a MySpace blog that I read, so I know she loves Project Runway and The Real Housewives of Orange County, and I want her to read my recaps and then call me and come over to watch Housewives (well, I'd probably have to go to her house since I don't have cable) and we could make cupcakes and bitch. Anyway... She never gets to dress pretty on The Office, so I love to see her all dolled up, and this Reem Acra gown is a nice spin on basic, elegant black.

SigWeave always looks amazing. Who looks this good in form-fitting satin? I think this is her reward from the universe for saving us from all those aliens. She is 60 and she beats the tiny pants off of Hayden Panettiere and all of those l'il bit starlets. And again, I am partial to red.


Take that bow off, Nancy Botwin! The color is awesome and you have an amazing body. But this dress makes me want to write a book inspired by my first love called the... (drumroll) Tales From Lake Bow-Be-Gone (cymbal rap).

Mila. Love the color, like the general ethereal effect. Now chop it to just above the knee. Perfect.

I want to like this but... just so meh, no? It kind of washes her out, and it looks like it needs some bodice flair or a statement necklace. This is a stylist fail; I cannot really fault Drew.

People fucking freaked over this dress like it was the second coming of Art Deco Christ, but am I the only person who thinks this is not the greatest? I think the top is cool-looking, and January Jones certainly looks gorgeous, but for me the top is too Wonder Woman-y. Maybe if the hip armor came off so that we had a nice uninterrupted waistline... Also the white washes her out. Pale girls (like me) think white makes them look less ghostly but this is a fallacy that is not doing us any favors.


Listen, Leighton. I get what you were going for, but this dress is really not nearly the best flowy Grecian goddess thing out there, and the weird toilet paper flowers on your shoulders ruin whatever charm this had. What would Blair Waldorf say? Why didn't you just wear her prom dress from last season? Also you look kind of sweaty and your hair has an air of I-just-had-sex-in-my-limo about it. Is that what happened? Did you have to repurpose a terrycloth robe at the last second because you ripped your gown in the heat of passion? Because that I can get behind.

Hi Peggy. You look pretty, I'll give you that. And I like your necklace. My beef with this outfit really has to do with two things: the color of your dress ("putty" is not a hue that flatters anyone) and the thing going on beneath your right breast. No, not your ribcage, honey. That... little fabric U-turn. It kind of looks like something broke and your stylist stapled the swatch to your bodice. But the good news is that you're not alone:

First of all, Debbie Ryenolds looks amazing. Oh, that's Hayden Panettiere? She looks... matronly. And I guess this belt-staple thing is, like, a trend? I don't like it. But I like it better on your dress than on Hayden's. Hers has a weird, DIY look to it. Is it just me, or does the hem look like someone hacked at it with kindergarten scissors?

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia! A mermaid dress should never have actual scales, much like a ball gown should not be constructed of actual balls. It just isn't done.

I thought at first that this was Freida Pinto, which means, Jamie-Lynn, that you are too tan. I don't hate the dress, but I wish it was more flattering. You look much more pear-shaped than you are.

Wow, J-Lo must have taken a lot of muscle relaxers. Look at her dead eyes! Oh, wait, that's Kim Kardashian. Which takes this look from potential couture to bargain bin at Daffy's. Lop off that sleeve, ditch the hoop earrings and let your hair down and then maybe we'll talk.

Everyone loved this dress, but I think they're just excited that Chloe Sevigny is not wearing hotpants for once. For me, this dress is cute enough but doesn't do a ton for her complexion. It's just... too much fabric and not enough color. It washes her out. It doesn't pop. Maybe I'd like it better if it was cocktail-length....

I love this color so fucking much! But tiny little actresses need to wear knee-length dresses. This dress eats Ginnifer. And the drapey bottom comes off as dowdy on such a petite person. I feel your pain, Ginny. I want to be able to wear elegant gowns that make me look statuesque. But 5'3" will never be statuesque. Just watch this season of ANTM. And I hate when guys say this to me on the street, but smile, baby. Don't just SMIZE, SMILE. You're at the Emmys for Christ's sake.

All the critics also went bananas for this dress, but the sheer volume of it swallows poor Rose Byrne. I think it would have filled out much better on someone with some T&A, like...

The gorgeous Christina Hendricks. Whose dress, sadly, I do not love. I think it's the weird train and the overly modest cut.


Someone has disemboweled Padma Lakshmi. But what a trooper, walking the red carpet with her stomach on her hip.

Oh Kyra. You usually hit it out of the park, but this is just so... escorting your daughter to her first cotillion. With a fifth of Jameson stashed in your purse.

This isn't so much ugly as costume-y, in a bad way. Very French maid. I want to give her a duster.

Let's ignore for the moment that Patricia Arquette is wearing a dress the color and texture of highway asphalt with a boxy, asymmetrical design and a lumpen piece of flair on the shoulder. Instead let's have a moment of silence for Patricia's left breast and armpit, which have been cruelly imprisoned in a too-small bodice. She has a lovely figure, but it looks overstuffed here. I would say she should have gotten the next size up, but that would mean she would still have worn this dress. Patricia! You were in True Romance. You are a foxy, foxy lady. You are better than this.

I have to be delicate here. Look, I know Applegate's had a rough year. Her show got cancelled and she beat breast cancer, and I think that she's a strong woman and a fabulous role model. But finding solace in the spangly, sequined, unflattering see-through midsection of one of Michelle Kwan's rejected ice-skating costumes should not be condoned.


Um.... Wow. Unless this is an image of a funhouse mirror reflection of Sarah Silverman, this dress is, um, not very flattering. The words WIDE LOAD come to mind, and Sarah is skinny. Also, this smacks of Snow White to me. Like, the actual Disney Princess Halloween costume version. Is it possible that this is a joke? She's a comedian, right? Heh...heh?

And, finally, I'll leave you with...


Tina, you're beautiful. And yes, black sheaths are classic and elegant. That said, wear something other than a fucking black sheath. Or at least wear one with some detailing like Jenna. Dresses are eye candy, and nobody likes the licorice.

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