Not too long ago...

...I wrote about Charlie Sheen's most recent antics. It got me thinking about the reality that there seems to be a tolerable level of celebrity crazy. That is, there's a point at which celebrity antics go from entertaining to, well, just plain uncomfortable. Case in point:

1) Britney Spears was flashing her vagina all over town in a way that was awesome. That is, until she became a mom. You know who's vag I'll look at in paparazzi photos still? Kim Kardashian.

2) Did Bill Clinton inhale? Not clear. Does he fuck hella bitches. Obvi. Do I love it still? Yes. The guy who was railing Chandra Levey on the other hand? Well, I prefer not to talk about it.

3) Lindsay Lohan was lovable when she was maybe dabbling in drugs. Then she stole a car. With people in it. And went on a joy ride. Also, she did her body weight in coke. And her parents have clearly used her for pretty much her entire life--or at least the part since Parent Trap. But the Olsens, in contrast, are still adorable.

4) Hugh Grant got busted with a prostitute. And he was dating a woman who later mysteriously got pregnant by a man who went unnamed for a while. Still love him. But when George Michael kept getting pulled over for sitting at red lights, I couldn't even look at the headlines.


That's all the evidence I've got. But I'm pretty excited to put this theory to really scientific tests.

You're welcome

There's a terrible fabulous web-based series called "The Legion of Extrodinary Dancers."

It's as bad awesome as it sounds. Which means, obviously, that I love it. The good news for you is that season two has started. Check out the magic here.

A new addition?

I tricked you with that title. I'm actually talking about my kitchen. And crafts.

Done snickering? Good. Keep reading.

A while back, I made a few decorations for my kitchen and dining room with food-related quotes that make me happy. Here are the features:

1) Clean your plate
2) The poets have been mysteriously quiet on the subject of cheese. -Chesterton
3) Let them eat cake. -Marie Antionette.
4) My favorite animal is steak. -Fran Lebowitz

The first and last are my favorites.

Anyhow, I've recently been reading Molly Ringwald's Getting the Pretty Back which I think I menioned a few posts ago. I failed to tell you then that it's clever and delightful and made me smile and tear up and long for red lipstick. And love her. She cited a quote that I am considering adding to my collection. What do you think?

"Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants."

Here's the problem...I don't really...you know...eat plants. So it it too, well, leafy?

Skinny Mini

October was a pretty crazy month, and to get me through the hours of plans and airports and sleepless hotel nights, I've been reading Molly Ringwald's Getting the Pretty Back. Here's a pretty sweet line:

"A good rule of thumb is that skinny jeans should be left to skinny
people."

I made it to NYC and LA over the course of the last few weeks on seperate, but equally whirlwind-y trips. Don't get me wrong, I dig fashion. In fact, I'd say I have a pretty good sense of style. But I've never gotten into skinny jeans or their bastard cotton cousin, leggings. And don't even get me started on jeggings.

But this is what I learned while observing all kinds of confusing proportions on both coasts: lay off the skinny jeans.

For serious.

So people do look good, but most people don't. And odds are pretty good that, unless you have a problem with both cocaine and bulimia, you're not one of the people who should rock 'em.

The return of...

...unlicensed advice.

This time: Charlie Sheen.

Look, dude, I dug it when you were maybe enjoying hookers. And even blow. But it went too far when you started beating on your wife and she didn't even seem to mind. You see, you went from being a little out of hand to something violently tragic.

But you're on that wholesome Two and a Half Men and people say it's lovely (I don't watch anything "wholesome," sorry). And Denise Richards was so damn unlikeable in It's Complicated that I started coming around.

But you just had to go and beat a hooker erm escort porn star, run around naked, and just generally wreck shit. Then, you had the nerve to tell me you took a lot of over-the-counter medication.

Oh the possibilities

I've never fancied myself particularly creative, except as a storyteller. There's a particular joy in weaving together the perfect words, a mischievous smile, and just the right amount of drama to solicit laughter, or even tears, from others.

My favorite thing to talk about, of course, is me. But then there are the tales I make up, mostly just to kill time.

Take the couple sitting across from me at the airport right now. It's worthy of note that we're awaiting a flight that should have left around lunch time. She's visibly annoyed, but the steps he's taking to console her just seem a little too much.

Maybe she's pregnant and so he's extra concerned for her temperament. Or maybe he was recently busted being unfaithful, so he's digging out. Or maybe, and I think this is my favorite possibility, she's just a bitch. One with doting parents who taught her she could do no wrong. She took ballet as a child and pretended to love it, all the while despising every tu-tu and plie.

Kathy Griffin

Not too shabby on the book, Kath. Do you mind if I call you that? No? Great.

Here's my favorite part: It sounded like you. As in, you were narrating a book on tape just for me. Well done. I could have done without...well...pretty much all of it that wasn't the backstage world of a comedienne. I understand your brother did some really fucked up things, but I gotta tell a, I turn to you for pee-my-pants laughs. And that part, along with the exchange between you and Woz, really brought me down.

Here's a comprehensive list of things I loved:

1) The parts where you were hilarious and failing and relentless all at the same time.
2) Your moms particular breed of crazy.
3) That banter you've got going with Oprah.
4) How damn crazy the Groundlings were/are. What's a girl gotta do to get in?
5) The stuff about your husband, while not particularly funny, was ok with me because...not sure why. Maybe I am some kind of secret man hater.

Final vote: Better than the housewives books, but not quite Chelsea Handler. Get more raunchy next time?

Really, this is true

I'll start by saying that, if I read this, I would assume it was a crock of shit. I'm begging, begging, begging you, though, to consider that this could be true. Because it is.

My boyfriend and I stopped at a Rite Aid one night recently because I was out of pop and would, without a doubt, need one the next morning to help me wake up. I was goofing off at one of those blood pressure testy things when I heard a man make a hilarious inquiry at the pharmacy counter.

"You know what size?" It wasn't immediately clear what he was talking about.
"That's just regular," came a response. I turned around to try to get a peek at the item they were discussing, but was only able to see a pretty tall black pharmacist.
"It come in extra small?"
"No, just extra large."
"Hmmmm...I really small. I Asian. You extra large?"

I ran away from the pharmacy. Like booked it. I couldn't handle it.

A part of me thinks that it was some kind of prank and footage of me booking it is going to be on Tosh.0 or something. But man, it was amazing.

You were probably wondering

I recently got a great present from the heavens. MTV was showing a True Life marathon which included a little "where are they now" tidbit. Remember these guys:



Well, it turns out, they're still together. I know, right?!?! They've got another baby boy now and Mr. Staten Island himself is on the hunt for fame.

Yessssss!

I've got tickets to see Chelsea Handler in October.

Is it October yet?!?!

Oh, Kathy

At the start of the new year, I had big resolution plans. Say farewell to those silly year-long resolutions, this girl was picking smaller, more manageable, monthly goals.

January welcome a (painful) referendum on clothing purchases.

For February I was commiting to doing the PT exercises I'm pretty good at avoiding.

March was...hmmm...I can't remember.

And then April, May, June, July, and now almost August, went the way of March. But I'm really going for it come fall. Yeah, you heard it here. In September, I'm going to read a book each week and to prove it to you, I'm even going to write about them on here. This is the plan, but I should confess that I'm only naming three for now:

1. Official Book Club Selection by Kathy Griffin.
2. Getting the Pretty Back by Molly Ringwald.
3. Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris, and to feel smart.

I can already feel myself getting more wordly for all this literacy.

Dance movies are underappreciated

...I know that, if you hate them, you're probably going to stop reading after the title. But I beg you to keep going.

Dance movies offer the opportunity to escape in a mindless way that their more intellegent counterparts--which tend to be casted with actual actors--don't. There's an easy escape in the movement and joy of it all

I think that it's really easy to love a dance movie, but you've got to go into it appropriately prepared. For what, you ask? Here's a list
1) To not be impressed with the acting
2) To lose yourself in the sweet dance moves
3) To expect no acting ability at all of the dancers
4) To root for the underdog.

That's about it. Oh, and,

5) Low expectations of the acting.

I'm serious, guys, it's always bad. But if you appreciate a story, shared with you through a combo of dance and poorly delivered dialogue, then you can't beat a dance movie. Half the joy is in the terrible delivery.

For examples, please turn your attention to LXD a web-based series from the creator of the Step Up trilogy.

Sometimes life is hard

...and often, it's hard in ways that are unexpected. Like today, I simply couldn't figure out what the hell to eat for lunch. Like for the life of me. Eventually, I went with a Fruit Roll-Up, a bag of Cheetos, and an apple.

I just saw the clip below from Chelsea Lately, which features another (apparently) shockingly difficult task: diving. Enjoy.

I can't stand "Dear Abby"

I mean this one.

My favorite part of her column is the god-awful photo that peers out at me from the left of the screen. She's...stunning.

Beyond that, she gives advice with absoltuely no personality. You're worried your girlfriend is still into that chick she hooked up with in college? Just ask her if she has feelings and trust her. Aaaand that's it. With a headline like "Bisexual Past Overshadows Couple's Close Relationship," I was really expecting a couple of good, racey jokes.

I'm pretty scared to some day be that writer—if I can even call myself by that word.

You're annoying, LOL

The whole point behind blogging is to blow little things out of proportion in entertaining ways, right? If this is indeed the case—and I think that it is—then there’s significant room out there for me to talk about my myriad pet peeves. There’ll be a new category called, “annoying stuff.” And to get this started…

…Please don’t “LOL” unless you mean it. I know that I have occasional moments of comic genius, but I’m not that funny; we both know you’re not laughing out loud at everything I type or text.

Even more confusing to me is the use of multiple LOLs in sentences such as, “I can’t believe you did that LOL LOL. Man. LOL.” What does that even mean?!

“Why Miss Know,” you’re probably saying, “what should one do when something is truly funny?” How about remarks like, "That’s really fuckin’ hilarious!" Or perhaps, "Holy balls, that’s funny!"

I love Lindsay Lohan

I know she's a hot mess. She's even beyond that, actually. And I love it. If she had kids, I'd find it much more tragic. And, if she were doing well, I wouldn't wish for her to fall into the kind of life she lives now. But if she's just going to run around doing what has to be the stupidest thing posssible daily, and then topping it the very next day, I'm definitely going to enjoy watching.

As you can guess, this means that I've had an absolute ball over the last few days. First, she made an insincere and ocassionally indescernable plea (that's a video!) to the court and got a crazy awesome jail sentence anyway. We find out later she had "fuck u" written on her nails, then she was maybe going to be charged with contempt for it. Next, she missed her own birthday party, went batshit on Twitter, put up with press-hungry, but somewhat witty, remarks from her father, and then—when it seemed like there was no where else for this story to go—her lawyer resigned last night.

I made some mistakes yesterday, too. What, you ask? I sent out a document for review that I forgot to spell check.

I'll give ya 3 steps

I picked up a handy little link today from RelationshipAid on Twitter titled "How to Diffuse an Argument in Three Easy Steps." The steps were simple 1) give pause to articulating your opinion; 2) convince your partner you want to understand his perspective 3) "look for the kernel of truth" in it.

Honestly, it sounds like good advice, but who actually follows good advice? Not this girl. I will, though, share with you a few of my tested tactics that have no paid off:

Yelling louder and louder. You'd think that this would eventually shut the other person up. In fact, it has the effect of making him more angry. You heard it here.

Kicking him in the shin. I haven't tried this one since second grad recess, but I'm pretty sure it's equally ineffective off the playground.

Storming out. There might be good occasions to try this one, but I tend to do it in a way that reads more "she's crazy" than "she's right." Be careful.

For a really good time, try all three together!

Wait...he WHAT?!

I was shocked to read one of yesterday's posts over at "Savage Love" (yes, you read that right, it's an intriguingly named advice column). I feel like I was mislead. You see, it was titled "Sex at Dawn"—don't click that link yet—and so I thought I was going to read complaints about a voracious morning sex appetite. What I actually read about was a woman whose man recently requested her to sleep with another man, unprotected—you know what, I can't go on. Just read it; here's the link again.

The truly shocking part was the response. It highlighted how her hubby was engaging in pretty normal, albeit animalistic, behavior when he enjoyed making love to her while she was still covered in/filled with another man's scent/love juice.

The wife's concern was that this might mean her husband was gay. My concern is that he made her have sex with another man, watched it, and then railed her afterward. Call me prude (or perhaps the author would say I'm in denial of my evolutionary roots), but I try to keep my number of sexual partners in any one-hour period limited to one.

To each their own?

So what was that "sex at dawn" madness about, you ask? It's the title of a book on sexuality that apparently sums up how normal the husband's behavior is.

so maybe it's common sense...

...but this flow chart makes me smile.

Good news

So this was originally posted back in February, but clearly timliness isn't my thing. It's a list of the top ten guys to follow on Twitter for love advice. I've started following the ones that didn't seem too emotional (read: the pervvy/arrogant ones) and will keep you posted.

Thus far, the most exciting part is that Barney Stinson made the list.

Second best? A quote posted by this guy that made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. At the innermost core of all loneliness is a deep and powerful yearning for union with one's lost self. ~Brendan Francis Is he talking about masturbation?

I've got an answer for you, James

One of my friends asked me the other day if there was a way to avoid the being sent to the friend zone by a lady. After substantial deliberation, I’ve decided on an answer.

No.

I should, of course, add the caveat that it actually depends. But it depends on information that you can’t know. For example, it is possible to avoid the friend zone if the girl already likes you. But you generally can’t know that. Plus, if you did know that she liked you, you wouldn’t be concerned about the friend zone, but would instead be more occupied with how the heck to ask her out.

This is why I think that you can’t avoid the friend zone: getting sent there in the first place is a function of things that you can’t really control. They’re about who you are and how attracted she is to you. And there’s no way to put up a more attractive front that is both convincing and long-lasting. Lying, while it may be a tempting way to get your foot in the door, won't result in you becoming something she's attracted to in a real way; it'll only allow you to fool her for a limited time (though maybe you just want a night, so this doesn't sound so bad). You may be able to delay the friend zone, but if that's what she thinks of you, that's where you're going to end up.

Those sorts happen pretty quickly—sooner than you realize, probably—and there’s not a whole lot you can do change my mind. I don't want to speak for all women here, but experience tells me that all the ones I know are the same. Tough shit.

Dodging rain drops

In my home, it was my father who played the role of maternal caretaker and my mother who did those things that need to be done for families to carry on, those things that make a parent a little bit more distant.

It's been a rainy weekend here, and I have very fond memories of rain. The one that makes me smile the most, though, is when my dad convinced me that my mother could dodge rain drops.

I can't remember how old I was or where we were, but it was raining and my family was out running errands. The van was parked just out of reach, which meant that, in order to get to the car, we had to walk through the rain. My mother volunteered to pull up the car, and I immediately became concerned that she'd get soaked on her trek through the parking lot.

"Don't worry," my father said in the calmest of voices, "your mom can dodge raindrops." Love and mischief crept across his face as the words slipped out. And that's all it took.

Call me gullible.

So on day's like today, when I feel like a clear head is just out of my reach, I like to stand outside and imagine what it would be like to dodge raindrops. But it's more fun to get a little wet.

i haz confusing

So, when I heard that Sandra Bullock, America's girl-next-door sweetheart, was marrying Jesse James, I was skeptical. You probably think it's a crock of shit, what with him banging that other chick being all over the news and all, but I'm serious. While an unlikely love story of opposites attracting has its appeal, I couldn't get over the fact that he was so cool and she was so lame. With the obvious exception of her character in The Net, and maybe Speed, she plays annoyingly weak and uncomfortably un-funny women. And he has all that hot, hot ink and builds bikes that make me want to enter a lifestyle defined by poor choices.

For the sake of this discussion, let's ignore the fact that Jesse's mistress may or may not be a Nazi.

I'd do her. Hell, I kind of want to be her. It'd be awesome to be a person who could so recklessly abandon social graces and cover herself in absurd tattoos because she felt like it. Plus, her figure's not half bad. I mean, if you're into curves and stuff.

Looking at the pictures of her all over my Google Reader has convinced me that it's time to start that mural on my back that I've been pining over for the last few years.

Gross, upsetting, or brilliant?

upping the ante

I've decided I need to shit or get off the pot when it comes to this blogging thing. Since I'm not a quitter, that leaves me with one option: pooping. Metaphorically of course. I hear that revealing a bit (you can consider that a double entendre) is a good way to up your level of investment, so I decided to go for it. Here's a random smathering of facts about yours truly:

1) The fastest way to my heart is through my stomach. And not in that foodie way where a lady insists on eating mysterious things you can't pronounce. I just like deliciousness. Give me a box of Fudge Rounds and a case of beer and I'll have a smile on this pretty face for months.
2) My sex life is oddly satisfying. You heard me; my man knows how to get down.
3) I'm very very faithful to all things Midwest. I rooted for the Colts for this year's Superbowl because Indianapolis is just a few hours away from my hometown. Yeah, the Saints are bouncing back in poetic style from that hurricane thing, but I'm from a place near Indianapolis. That's all it takes.
4) My friends are much more liberal than I. And I'm not talking politics; I mean their personal lives. I've been known to encourage making out with strangers in clubs, but I've never done it myself. The truth is, it takes an intellectual attraction for me to get down. Cliché, but true. Don't worry, though, I make a habit of not holding anyone else to that standard.
5) Hockey is the best sport on Earth. Let's be honest, it's a bunch of men battling in adverse conditions, occasionally beating the crap out of each other, and basically asserting their masculinity for hours on end. Sign me up.
6) The floral business is built on the idea that women like to brag publicly about their men's affection. Getting flowers at work is all about showing off the fact that he'll assert his territory. Yeah, he digs you, and he's willing to prove it in front of building full of strangers. And damn is that hot. Seriously, ask your girlfriend.
7) I'm pretty terrified of not being funny. I see it as my thing, and if I can't deliver there, I've only got these shocking good looks to rely on. They've gotten me far, but I'd prefer that my brain carry me. Unless you think I'm pretty, in which case that's good enough. Did I mention I'm curvy? Not in the way that's code for "fat," either. Oh I did? Just checking.
8) I watch Tough Love because I think it's incredibly hot when a man will dish it out with complete honesty. No B.S.? Count it.

So there. Now you know me a little better. Maybe that means I'm more likely to come back...