Sienna Miller’s Deal with Satan gets Sweeter
I’m definitely convinced Sienna Miller has signed a deal with Satan. There is no reason why her list of ex-boyfriends is as comprehensive (and impressive) as it is, or any reason why she is touted as a fashion icon. My feeling is that Lucifer has a little something to do with it.
The dealbreaker came today when I see that Sienna is now dating Craig David. I have crushes on two British celebrities - David Beckham and Craig David. Hmm…I just now noticed that both those names have the name David involved. I wonder if this is a sign. When Becks grows tired of Posh, I'm sure I will sweep in for the kill. But until that time, Sienna is NOT allowed to date Craig David. Only I can. She has officially gone too far and that is why I’m calling her out. Bitch, step off or I will kick your Bohemian ass.
Atlantic City
As many of you know, I was in Atlantic City this weekend with mamadukes and company. One hundred dollars, and zero Beyonce sightings later, I return to New York City. I did, however, drive past the 40/40 Club which means not all was lost.
Have you ever bought Mary Kate Olsen-sized sunglasses on the Boardwalk for a dollar? I have thanks to Atlantic City.
Did you and your mom both lose (at separate times thank God) $40 in 4.5 minutes? We did, in Atlantic City, on black jack and roulette, respectively.
Have you ever seen a former 1950’s greaser pimping out his own mother through dance? Cause I have. Thanks to Atlantic City.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
More Celebrity Sightings
This week has been full of celebrity sightings and few things make me happier. I'm talking five people- a new weekly record!
Friday, October 21- While on a pub crawl and visiting the SoHo grand, I spot Jack Osbourne across the room, sans drink of course, since he just got out of rehab. No one else believed it was him since he recently became skinny. I got angry because NO ONE knows a celebrity better than me. Everyone expects them to glow with some shiny aura, but SURPRISE they look just like you and I but with better plastic surgery access, I mean, better access to nutritionists and personal trainers. Anywho, it was Jack Osbourne.
Wednesday, October 26- I attend the party for the premiere issue of Inked Magazine, sponsored by Bombay Sapphire and Sapporo beer. As we all know, nothing goes better with tattoos and gin than hip-hop and I go with full expectations to see Missy Elliot, who was supposed to be there. I am disappointed I don't see her, but I do see Joy Bryant and Quddus and Sway from MTV. Joy knows 50 cent, which means technically, I saw someone who knows 50 cent. And that, to me, is awesome.
Thursday, October 27- I head over to LaGuardia Airport to pick up my mama, and lo and behond, Queen of All Celebrity Spotters- my mom- spots Kwame Jackson from the Apprentice just ahead of us in the taxi line. That's where the skillz come from ya'll. Anyways, we then proceed to have a loud conversation about the Apprentice and I'm sure he hears. But then we move on to ER and he probably relaxed. Anyways, Kwame is tall! And he had really nice shoes on. He should I guess, he's like a multi-millionaire now. That bastard.
Anyways, I'm out to Atlantic City for the weekend, where I'll have my eyes wide open for celebrities doing bad things. I'll take a special stroll past Jay-Z's new 40/40 club that just opened in the hopes of spotting Missy...or, if there is a God, seeing Beyonce.
This week has been full of celebrity sightings and few things make me happier. I'm talking five people- a new weekly record!
Friday, October 21- While on a pub crawl and visiting the SoHo grand, I spot Jack Osbourne across the room, sans drink of course, since he just got out of rehab. No one else believed it was him since he recently became skinny. I got angry because NO ONE knows a celebrity better than me. Everyone expects them to glow with some shiny aura, but SURPRISE they look just like you and I but with better plastic surgery access, I mean, better access to nutritionists and personal trainers. Anywho, it was Jack Osbourne.
Wednesday, October 26- I attend the party for the premiere issue of Inked Magazine, sponsored by Bombay Sapphire and Sapporo beer. As we all know, nothing goes better with tattoos and gin than hip-hop and I go with full expectations to see Missy Elliot, who was supposed to be there. I am disappointed I don't see her, but I do see Joy Bryant and Quddus and Sway from MTV. Joy knows 50 cent, which means technically, I saw someone who knows 50 cent. And that, to me, is awesome.
Thursday, October 27- I head over to LaGuardia Airport to pick up my mama, and lo and behond, Queen of All Celebrity Spotters- my mom- spots Kwame Jackson from the Apprentice just ahead of us in the taxi line. That's where the skillz come from ya'll. Anyways, we then proceed to have a loud conversation about the Apprentice and I'm sure he hears. But then we move on to ER and he probably relaxed. Anyways, Kwame is tall! And he had really nice shoes on. He should I guess, he's like a multi-millionaire now. That bastard.
Anyways, I'm out to Atlantic City for the weekend, where I'll have my eyes wide open for celebrities doing bad things. I'll take a special stroll past Jay-Z's new 40/40 club that just opened in the hopes of spotting Missy...or, if there is a God, seeing Beyonce.
Monday, October 24, 2005
The Normal People, Part Dos
As further proof that New York is full of f*ing psycho’s, the following is a REAL letter that a REAL friend of mine received on MySpace- the home of networking, fun time-wasting and Internet stalkers.
I have added my personal commentary in blue. Be warned, I got kind of pissed the further down I went, b/c this is so ludicrous. Funny but ludicrous.
Dear A-
I would like to apologize for clogging your inbox with this message (so why are you doing it a-hole), but I found your ad so irresistible that I had no choice but to write to you.
My name is Trent and I recently moved to New York City. I have only known one true happiness in the world, and that is the unmitigated joy of a woman. (Obviously he has never dealt with a woman with a period. No woman on planet Earth provides unmitigated joy.) My life's passion is to give everything of myself to a woman--to devote my every waking thought to her happiness and to endeavor to play a part in the fulfillment of her life.
I began my journey in high school as I approached women as a submissive maid and errand boy. (In high school, we called people like this “nerds.”) What began as a simply rendezvous to clean their house (and by this I mean “vagina”) would almost inevitably find it's way into transcendent conversation. To this day I still speak to several of the women that I served in my formative years.
I followed this path through college. My personal life would vacillate from dating a sorority girl for six months, to becoming deeply involved as a woman's servant for the next six. There wasn't much rhyme or reason to my movements--I simply followed what felt natural at the moment, but I began to find that the relationships where I acted as a woman's slave were remarkable. No two encounters were ever the same (whereas I could often mark the geography of a traditional relationship with a map--understanding where I would find myself after the third date or second month). What initially began as a simple arrangement of my doing a woman's errands and chores would inevitably lead somewhere else. (Cause nothing says let’s be more than friends than hey, can you scrub my toilet while you’re at it?) I might find myself hiking to the top of a mountain at dawn for yoga poses, training a woman for a marathon or hosting a dinner party for her friends. (Where did you go to school, loser? What about doing my homework during football games? Now that would have been useful.)
It took a while to place my finger on the pulse of the situation, but, when I finally found it, the truth was simple: By building a relationship of unmitigated honesty (yada yada), devoted to the sole purpose of finding a way to be a part of a woman's happiness (you could start by being a little less long-winded), we both found a place devoid of the usual constraints of inhibition. By freeing myself of any desire beyond contributing to the woman's life, by making myself her slave, she began to grow in a completely unbounded way.
Throughout college I worked as an assistant to a lawyer, but one day we stumbled upon the topic of submission and the relationship morphed into slavery. I acted as assistant, sissy maid, (huh?) errand boy, cook, chauffeur and personal trainer to her and her daughter (GROSS! And how can you be both sissy maid and personal trainer? I smell sexual confusion.). It was perhaps the most fulfilling 18 moths (moths? You can actually use the word transcendental in a sentence, but had a trouble with the word “month”) my life, and what drove me forward in the world. (Sorry but your mom’s birth canal actually did this…)
I found myself living with two dominant women this year--as their roommate to the world, but slave in actuality. I truly enjoyed my time with them, but one of the women recently became engaged and asked that I simply be her flatmate. I find such transitions too painful, and so I came to New York to write and find a new owner in this magical city. (Aha! He’s English- no wonder!)
I am seeking a woman to take me as her property. I am eager to be your maid, assistant, errand boy, chauffeur, masseur, personal trainer--literally ANYTHING you ask of me, will be done. To the world I will simply be your employee and friend (aka gigolo a-hole), but you will know the joys of having a handsome man cleaning your house in the outfit of your choosing. (The scent of sexual confusion becomes stronger.) The ability to wake me from a deep slumber at 3 am to fetch a favorite snack; an attractive man to work like a dog for you and your friends' amusement, and a true and constant confidant. Through this time I will be completely devoted to you, but you will be free of any restraints to pursue your romantic desires. (Grow a sac dude!)
I suppose a little more about me would be helpful. I am a 25 year-old Jewish man. I love music, theatre, movies, sports and literature. I am clean-cut and well spoken. I have a great relationship with my parents and have worked as a personal trainer and personal assistant at the highest levels. (Of what? I would bet this guy weighs a buck-oh-five soaking wet).
Would you have any interest in allowing me to be your slave?
Best,
XX
Seriously- what is wrong with people? I was laughing so hard when I read this, my co-workers actually had to ask me what was so funny so I told them. As it turns out, THIS IS COMMON. My one co-worker had a friend who had a slave for a short time. It so happens I have met this girl and she’s in a band called the Flaming Vagina Lips, or something like that anyways, but still??? I mean this is seriously weird to advertise and even weirder that someone WANTS this. I will forever be amazed by peopl but this makes me angry for some reason.
I HATE THIS MOVIE POSTER
On an unrelated note, does this movie poster scare the living sh** out of everyone, or is it just me?
I have to see this every time I get on the subway and in my morning blur, I hate seeing this red-eyed beak-y bird thing starting at me with those two fingers. I hate it more than words can express. Thank you very much for ruining my morning commute you indy bastards.
As further proof that New York is full of f*ing psycho’s, the following is a REAL letter that a REAL friend of mine received on MySpace- the home of networking, fun time-wasting and Internet stalkers.
I have added my personal commentary in blue. Be warned, I got kind of pissed the further down I went, b/c this is so ludicrous. Funny but ludicrous.
Dear A-
I would like to apologize for clogging your inbox with this message (so why are you doing it a-hole), but I found your ad so irresistible that I had no choice but to write to you.
My name is Trent and I recently moved to New York City. I have only known one true happiness in the world, and that is the unmitigated joy of a woman. (Obviously he has never dealt with a woman with a period. No woman on planet Earth provides unmitigated joy.) My life's passion is to give everything of myself to a woman--to devote my every waking thought to her happiness and to endeavor to play a part in the fulfillment of her life.
I began my journey in high school as I approached women as a submissive maid and errand boy. (In high school, we called people like this “nerds.”) What began as a simply rendezvous to clean their house (and by this I mean “vagina”) would almost inevitably find it's way into transcendent conversation. To this day I still speak to several of the women that I served in my formative years.
I followed this path through college. My personal life would vacillate from dating a sorority girl for six months, to becoming deeply involved as a woman's servant for the next six. There wasn't much rhyme or reason to my movements--I simply followed what felt natural at the moment, but I began to find that the relationships where I acted as a woman's slave were remarkable. No two encounters were ever the same (whereas I could often mark the geography of a traditional relationship with a map--understanding where I would find myself after the third date or second month). What initially began as a simple arrangement of my doing a woman's errands and chores would inevitably lead somewhere else. (Cause nothing says let’s be more than friends than hey, can you scrub my toilet while you’re at it?) I might find myself hiking to the top of a mountain at dawn for yoga poses, training a woman for a marathon or hosting a dinner party for her friends. (Where did you go to school, loser? What about doing my homework during football games? Now that would have been useful.)
It took a while to place my finger on the pulse of the situation, but, when I finally found it, the truth was simple: By building a relationship of unmitigated honesty (yada yada), devoted to the sole purpose of finding a way to be a part of a woman's happiness (you could start by being a little less long-winded), we both found a place devoid of the usual constraints of inhibition. By freeing myself of any desire beyond contributing to the woman's life, by making myself her slave, she began to grow in a completely unbounded way.
Throughout college I worked as an assistant to a lawyer, but one day we stumbled upon the topic of submission and the relationship morphed into slavery. I acted as assistant, sissy maid, (huh?) errand boy, cook, chauffeur and personal trainer to her and her daughter (GROSS! And how can you be both sissy maid and personal trainer? I smell sexual confusion.). It was perhaps the most fulfilling 18 moths (moths? You can actually use the word transcendental in a sentence, but had a trouble with the word “month”) my life, and what drove me forward in the world. (Sorry but your mom’s birth canal actually did this…)
I found myself living with two dominant women this year--as their roommate to the world, but slave in actuality. I truly enjoyed my time with them, but one of the women recently became engaged and asked that I simply be her flatmate. I find such transitions too painful, and so I came to New York to write and find a new owner in this magical city. (Aha! He’s English- no wonder!)
I am seeking a woman to take me as her property. I am eager to be your maid, assistant, errand boy, chauffeur, masseur, personal trainer--literally ANYTHING you ask of me, will be done. To the world I will simply be your employee and friend (aka gigolo a-hole), but you will know the joys of having a handsome man cleaning your house in the outfit of your choosing. (The scent of sexual confusion becomes stronger.) The ability to wake me from a deep slumber at 3 am to fetch a favorite snack; an attractive man to work like a dog for you and your friends' amusement, and a true and constant confidant. Through this time I will be completely devoted to you, but you will be free of any restraints to pursue your romantic desires. (Grow a sac dude!)
I suppose a little more about me would be helpful. I am a 25 year-old Jewish man. I love music, theatre, movies, sports and literature. I am clean-cut and well spoken. I have a great relationship with my parents and have worked as a personal trainer and personal assistant at the highest levels. (Of what? I would bet this guy weighs a buck-oh-five soaking wet).
Would you have any interest in allowing me to be your slave?
Best,
XX
Seriously- what is wrong with people? I was laughing so hard when I read this, my co-workers actually had to ask me what was so funny so I told them. As it turns out, THIS IS COMMON. My one co-worker had a friend who had a slave for a short time. It so happens I have met this girl and she’s in a band called the Flaming Vagina Lips, or something like that anyways, but still??? I mean this is seriously weird to advertise and even weirder that someone WANTS this. I will forever be amazed by peopl but this makes me angry for some reason.
I HATE THIS MOVIE POSTER
On an unrelated note, does this movie poster scare the living sh** out of everyone, or is it just me?
I have to see this every time I get on the subway and in my morning blur, I hate seeing this red-eyed beak-y bird thing starting at me with those two fingers. I hate it more than words can express. Thank you very much for ruining my morning commute you indy bastards.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Where Have All the Normal Boys Gone?
Inspired by another blog I read this morning on the lack of tall boys, I’d like to expand on that notion and say where are the normal boys in general?
Six weeks single, I’m just beginning to open my eyes to the possibilities. And then I shut them again because the possibilities are HORRIFYING.
First of all, whatever happened to chivalry? For those of you who ride the NY subways, you know there is an etiquette to getting on and off the train. First, you wait for people to get off. And then you get on. I know it sounds complicated, but you get the hang of it soon enough. The only caveat is a crowded arriving train, you have to allow a few seconds for those caught up in the middle to find their way to the exits. Well today, Mr. Big and Important Dickwad, pushes right past me (and for the record, I was standing in the much-coveted first-person-to-get-on spot) to go past, except WAIT, there is still people coming off…cause he didn’t allow for the extra few seconds rule! He is forced to take a few steps back to allow the passengers to exit. So I, newly-minted bitch that I am, give him a dirty look and rightfully assume my position to enter first. And I do. But I wonder- what the hell is wrong with him? I’m a girl and I’m in the front. Even if you did think I was taking too long to get on the train, why wouldn’t you let me go first? Because CHIVALRY IS DEAD that’s why. And because he’s an ASSHOLE.
Two, whatever happened to eye contact? Is it just me or do boys now think that girls know what they are thinking through magic and ESP? There is no use of the eye sockets anymore. Am I supposed to guess that you’re checking me out or just realize it out of the corner of my eye YOU SHY-ASS BASTARDS. I hate you! Grow some balls and say hello!
Third, in the rare instances boys do get their acts together and don’t annoy me with number one or number two, they are PSYCHOTIC. I don’t want to hear that you do drugs with your parents and that “it’s so awesome because being high with your dad is funny.” Or, when I don’t respond to your inquiries to meet, it doesn’t mean you get to e-mail me 96 times just to make sure “I’m receiving your messages because you haven’t written back yet.” I’m writing back now bitches and it’s to tell you I HATE YOU!!! I don’t even know you and I hate you.
Am I bitter? Yes, very possibly. I am in New York damn it and I am realizing Sex and the City was partly based on fantasy and lies!! Can you believe it??? There is no cute guy reading a book in the park like I am so that we can magically meet through witty conversation. The only guy in the park next to me is homeless and giving me scary hunger-filled looks as I eat my crackers. And he’s got no shoes on.
Inspired by another blog I read this morning on the lack of tall boys, I’d like to expand on that notion and say where are the normal boys in general?
Six weeks single, I’m just beginning to open my eyes to the possibilities. And then I shut them again because the possibilities are HORRIFYING.
First of all, whatever happened to chivalry? For those of you who ride the NY subways, you know there is an etiquette to getting on and off the train. First, you wait for people to get off. And then you get on. I know it sounds complicated, but you get the hang of it soon enough. The only caveat is a crowded arriving train, you have to allow a few seconds for those caught up in the middle to find their way to the exits. Well today, Mr. Big and Important Dickwad, pushes right past me (and for the record, I was standing in the much-coveted first-person-to-get-on spot) to go past, except WAIT, there is still people coming off…cause he didn’t allow for the extra few seconds rule! He is forced to take a few steps back to allow the passengers to exit. So I, newly-minted bitch that I am, give him a dirty look and rightfully assume my position to enter first. And I do. But I wonder- what the hell is wrong with him? I’m a girl and I’m in the front. Even if you did think I was taking too long to get on the train, why wouldn’t you let me go first? Because CHIVALRY IS DEAD that’s why. And because he’s an ASSHOLE.
Two, whatever happened to eye contact? Is it just me or do boys now think that girls know what they are thinking through magic and ESP? There is no use of the eye sockets anymore. Am I supposed to guess that you’re checking me out or just realize it out of the corner of my eye YOU SHY-ASS BASTARDS. I hate you! Grow some balls and say hello!
Third, in the rare instances boys do get their acts together and don’t annoy me with number one or number two, they are PSYCHOTIC. I don’t want to hear that you do drugs with your parents and that “it’s so awesome because being high with your dad is funny.” Or, when I don’t respond to your inquiries to meet, it doesn’t mean you get to e-mail me 96 times just to make sure “I’m receiving your messages because you haven’t written back yet.” I’m writing back now bitches and it’s to tell you I HATE YOU!!! I don’t even know you and I hate you.
Am I bitter? Yes, very possibly. I am in New York damn it and I am realizing Sex and the City was partly based on fantasy and lies!! Can you believe it??? There is no cute guy reading a book in the park like I am so that we can magically meet through witty conversation. The only guy in the park next to me is homeless and giving me scary hunger-filled looks as I eat my crackers. And he’s got no shoes on.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Natural Disasters and Soy Beans...
I have been thinking a lot lately about the natural disasters that have occurred since last December. What is going on with Earth? Is she pissed that God is only talking to Dubya?
Within the last ten months we’ve had a tsunami, a hurricane and most recently an earthquake. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t all that we are missing is a tornado, a meteorite striking and the eruption of Mount Vesuvius?
I’m just getting nervous that’s all.
Edamame...mmmmmm
As many of you know, a few months back, I was having a bit of trouble controlling the frequency with which I was eating guacamole and goat cheese. Not together…but I’d have one for lunch and one for dinner because I was craving it like it was crack.
I’m glad to say I’ve kicked those habits, although I do sometimes suffer a breakdown in the grocery store having to walk on by. But I’m glad to report I’ve found an equally addicting but more healthy food- edamame!
First of all, they are so fun to eat. Pop em out of their pods and into your mouth- good times! Second, they taste even better with salt! Fun to eat, and can be eaten with salt- it’s like I’ve died and gone to soy bean heaven! The bad news is that I’ve discovered a grocery store that sells bags of these little guys…and last night I ate a whole bag. And then ate more for lunch today. Stay tuned for my impending detox….
I have been thinking a lot lately about the natural disasters that have occurred since last December. What is going on with Earth? Is she pissed that God is only talking to Dubya?
Within the last ten months we’ve had a tsunami, a hurricane and most recently an earthquake. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t all that we are missing is a tornado, a meteorite striking and the eruption of Mount Vesuvius?
I’m just getting nervous that’s all.
Edamame...mmmmmm
As many of you know, a few months back, I was having a bit of trouble controlling the frequency with which I was eating guacamole and goat cheese. Not together…but I’d have one for lunch and one for dinner because I was craving it like it was crack.
I’m glad to say I’ve kicked those habits, although I do sometimes suffer a breakdown in the grocery store having to walk on by. But I’m glad to report I’ve found an equally addicting but more healthy food- edamame!
First of all, they are so fun to eat. Pop em out of their pods and into your mouth- good times! Second, they taste even better with salt! Fun to eat, and can be eaten with salt- it’s like I’ve died and gone to soy bean heaven! The bad news is that I’ve discovered a grocery store that sells bags of these little guys…and last night I ate a whole bag. And then ate more for lunch today. Stay tuned for my impending detox….
Friday, October 07, 2005
I Knew It!!!
One of the reasons why it is so important we don’t just read American media, is that you find out information that you just won’t see covered on NBC, CBS, Fox, ABC or CNN.
Today’s News Independent, a British newspaper has the following story on its front page today:
Headline: Bush: God told me to invade Iraq (http://news.independent.co.uk/world/americas/article317805.ece)
We will NEVER see this story in an American newspaper, and if for some reason we do- I’ll be the first to die from shock. I’ll even stick a needle in my chest if it doesn’t happen naturally. Apparently Bush made this statement at a meeting with Palestinian leaders in June 2003 according to a BBC report to air later this month.
I AM PRAYING that this can be corroborated by tape, witnesses, something, somebody, anywhere!
If there is not, I think the conversation probably went something like this...
God: Psst, George. Hey George! Wake up, it's me...God.
George: Laura, get off me, get off. It's God, goddamit. Wait just a second.
God: I had an idea. I wanted to run it by you.
George: Laura, I said stop. God, sorry, what can I do ya?
God: Listen, I thought you should go to war with Iraq.
George: Kill a bunch of people? You're on board with that? You know I've been thinking about it.
God: Yeah, I'm for it. Why not? Besides, I think Dick Cheney's bank account is dipping into the low tens of millions. This'll help him out.
George: OK, cowboy. You got it. Ok, ignore my screams in just a few here once Laura here gets back to business.
Ugh!!!!
One of the reasons why it is so important we don’t just read American media, is that you find out information that you just won’t see covered on NBC, CBS, Fox, ABC or CNN.
Today’s News Independent, a British newspaper has the following story on its front page today:
Headline: Bush: God told me to invade Iraq (http://news.independent.co.uk/world/americas/article317805.ece)
We will NEVER see this story in an American newspaper, and if for some reason we do- I’ll be the first to die from shock. I’ll even stick a needle in my chest if it doesn’t happen naturally. Apparently Bush made this statement at a meeting with Palestinian leaders in June 2003 according to a BBC report to air later this month.
I AM PRAYING that this can be corroborated by tape, witnesses, something, somebody, anywhere!
If there is not, I think the conversation probably went something like this...
God: Psst, George. Hey George! Wake up, it's me...God.
George: Laura, get off me, get off. It's God, goddamit. Wait just a second.
God: I had an idea. I wanted to run it by you.
George: Laura, I said stop. God, sorry, what can I do ya?
God: Listen, I thought you should go to war with Iraq.
George: Kill a bunch of people? You're on board with that? You know I've been thinking about it.
God: Yeah, I'm for it. Why not? Besides, I think Dick Cheney's bank account is dipping into the low tens of millions. This'll help him out.
George: OK, cowboy. You got it. Ok, ignore my screams in just a few here once Laura here gets back to business.
Ugh!!!!
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Best Week Ever
Although this week has been one of the most stressful of my life at work, it has also wound up being one of the best. I did get reamed twice, which sucked. But in between...
I won an I-Pod from a survey I did with a vendor. This was fortuitous as the battery on mine has died repeatedly since May. Will the new one be as cute as my current? No. But that's okay so long as I get my full eight hours bitches.
Second, I got a free Dyson from work. Dyson vacuums are like $600. Mine- $0. I vacuumed all ten feet of our apartment, and goddamit, this thing can suck dirt like nothing I've ever seen. I think I'm in love.
Third, America Ferrara, movie star, was in our offices yesterday. Not quite as big as my other celebrity sightings, but anyone who knows me knows that any brush I have with Hollywood is cause for celebration.
Fourth, I actually can say someone in today's PAGE SIX is my friend. My friend Crazy Legs is donating to Katrina relief, and I know him bitches!! Check out www.pagesix.com and then look at this picture. That's me. And Crazy Legs. I can now officially cross this dream off of my life's to-do list.
And Friday, I'm going to tape a segment to be on 20/20. Yes that's right. Yours truly is going to be sharing airtime with Barbara Walters. Watch out Hugh Downs.
Although this week has been one of the most stressful of my life at work, it has also wound up being one of the best. I did get reamed twice, which sucked. But in between...
I won an I-Pod from a survey I did with a vendor. This was fortuitous as the battery on mine has died repeatedly since May. Will the new one be as cute as my current? No. But that's okay so long as I get my full eight hours bitches.
Second, I got a free Dyson from work. Dyson vacuums are like $600. Mine- $0. I vacuumed all ten feet of our apartment, and goddamit, this thing can suck dirt like nothing I've ever seen. I think I'm in love.
Third, America Ferrara, movie star, was in our offices yesterday. Not quite as big as my other celebrity sightings, but anyone who knows me knows that any brush I have with Hollywood is cause for celebration.
Fourth, I actually can say someone in today's PAGE SIX is my friend. My friend Crazy Legs is donating to Katrina relief, and I know him bitches!! Check out www.pagesix.com and then look at this picture. That's me. And Crazy Legs. I can now officially cross this dream off of my life's to-do list.
And Friday, I'm going to tape a segment to be on 20/20. Yes that's right. Yours truly is going to be sharing airtime with Barbara Walters. Watch out Hugh Downs.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Sorry Betty Crocker…
A few weeks back I discovered I had a package of Betty Crocker mashed potatoes (garlic butter and herb to be exact) but no box. Anyone who is familiar knows that the box gives the cooking instructions and normally I can’t wing it. However, figuring I could make them anyways, since I’ve eaten them at least once a week since the age of 4, I attempted to eyeball the ingredients so that I could have them with my steak. Once again, the domestic goddess within shined through and I wound up with mashed potato soup.
Disgusted by my own ineptitude, I walked to the store to buy more (because I simply can’t eat steak without potatoes) and to my dismay, found they only had Idaho Spuds. Saying a silent sorry to Betty C., I purchased the Spuds.
That was like three weeks ago and three boxes of Idaho Spuds later, we are officially best friends. I don’t know what kind of magic potatoes they use, but boy are these guys amazing. And they are filling even when I don’t have the energy to cook something else to accompany them. With just a little water, milk and butter, Idaho Spuds transfer from mere potato flakes into semi-solid delicousiness. Although Betty C. will always hold a special place in my heart, I’m afraid she just can’t live up to the standards set forth by Idaho. Sorry Betty Crocker.
A few weeks back I discovered I had a package of Betty Crocker mashed potatoes (garlic butter and herb to be exact) but no box. Anyone who is familiar knows that the box gives the cooking instructions and normally I can’t wing it. However, figuring I could make them anyways, since I’ve eaten them at least once a week since the age of 4, I attempted to eyeball the ingredients so that I could have them with my steak. Once again, the domestic goddess within shined through and I wound up with mashed potato soup.
Disgusted by my own ineptitude, I walked to the store to buy more (because I simply can’t eat steak without potatoes) and to my dismay, found they only had Idaho Spuds. Saying a silent sorry to Betty C., I purchased the Spuds.
That was like three weeks ago and three boxes of Idaho Spuds later, we are officially best friends. I don’t know what kind of magic potatoes they use, but boy are these guys amazing. And they are filling even when I don’t have the energy to cook something else to accompany them. With just a little water, milk and butter, Idaho Spuds transfer from mere potato flakes into semi-solid delicousiness. Although Betty C. will always hold a special place in my heart, I’m afraid she just can’t live up to the standards set forth by Idaho. Sorry Betty Crocker.
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