The Countess my have to Count on Another Name

The Real Housewives of Everything is one of the only shows I watch these days. It's seriously like a scab you can't help but pick at but when you do you inevitably start oozing blood and hate yourself for the next couple of days because it hurts like shit and takes forever to scab over again. Yes this is EXACTLY what I feel like every Tuesday night but I can't help it. These ladies are THE most entertaining attention seeking desperates in the most unfortunate outfits, hair styles, angles, and dilemmas I've ever seen! Right now Bravo is airing The Real Housewives of New York, not to be confused with The Real Housewives of Jersey which is coming to a television screen near you in the coming months. I must say that their delusions of class this season are far better than last season. Especially the Countess LuAnne de Lesseps, the countess who's name she shares with a platter at Luby's. She literally stated two weeks ago that men do not like their women to feel equal to them; that the damsel in distress is what gets men riled up. My personal feeling is that its viagra, alcohol, and availability but whatever. LuAnne is the former "print-ad" model, code for I used to model stirrups for Land's End, who married some aging (yes LuAnne, he's ancient, practically surviving on Metamucel) Count from somewhere who's family apparently gave the United States the Statute of Liberty. I love how they gift the symbol of freedom with an inscription that reads, "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free" yet go around Manhattan requiring the "help", i.e. drivers, domestics, and fucking everyone else, call them "Count and Countess" so as not to be associated with the poor tired masses or the trashy.

Anywho today People.com posted that THE COUNTESS is separating from her husband. Apparently "print" models don't curry favor anymore. Do you love it or do you LOVE it. Bust out the damsel routine LuAnne looks like you're going to need it! And here is the rest of it.

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Grandmothers

My grandmother told me this morning that she was glad I lost all the post-asshole weight because now she can see my face. Today is going to be a great day.

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Good Things Come to Those Who...

As I alluded to earlier I won a chance to review a book from one of my favorite authors. The book in question is Megan MacCafferty's final chapter in the Jessica Darling series, Perfect Fifths. OMG indeed. As you guys can understand I don't want to fuck this up so I'm going to take my sweet ass time finding the right way to express my thoughts on Jessica and Marcus' last go round. Rest assured I've finished the book already; it's hard not too. But I'm going to go back and sit with it for awhile. And by "sit with it" I mean re-read sections. I've said to much already. Look for the review this week. For right now I'll leave you with this. You'll understand soon enough.

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Random Ramblings

1. This is kind of disturbing? Is it? I don't know I waiver. On the one hand, it could be perceived as her taking control of her life. On the other, it's a gun...on your rib cage. A tiny gun I grant you but still a weapon. What happened to tramp stamps in the shape of butterflies or some ancient Tahiti symbol for "breathe"? I am sincerely befuddled. Actually I'm sincerely concerned that she flew her tattoo artist to wherever she was. Couldn't she have waited, oh I dunno, until she was in his vicinity? I take it she did not send an email question to Obama's cyberchat. There were rumors awhile back that she was broke. Must have been just rumors. Domestic Disturbia 09 is getting outta hand guys. Outta hand.

2. Apparently the gymnist Shawn Johnson needs protection because a fan with TWO guns and DUCT TAPE showed up to the set Dancing with the Stars coming for her. Shawn Johnson needs protection. Shawn Johnson. No, not Mary Lou Retton. Shawn Johnson. I don't get America; I really don't. Yes. Shawn Johnson. Fine, I'll include a picture of her here.

3. The time has come. Where the Wild Things Are trailer: here. Misty eyed. You know what else is in the works? Amelia Bedelia. Yes siree. Playtone, owned by Tom Hanks, bought the rights and is adapting it for the big screen. They also, coincidentally, adapted The Polar Express and Where the Wild Things Are. Nice move Tom. Praying upon everyone's childhood is indeed smart. Now if you can also get cracking at a couple of other favs including some short films for Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shell Silverstein, and a treatment for Sideway Stories from Wayside School by Louis Sachar I will promise to watch any movie or show your son is in. Thanks!

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Brainiacs to Good Google Use

The Google geeks are genius. Ever replied to "all" then wanted to kick yourself in the balls because you only intended to reply to one? Raise your hand if you mocked someone completely intentionally on email but not so much intended for them to know that. Raise your hand if you've sent a drunk "feelings" email then went to throw up because a.) mixing your alcohols is always a bad idea and b.) you realize sharing feelings is not what we as humans should do. I've done all of the above so many times I'm amazed people still converse with me. The Google Geeks wanted to change the humiliation so they've created the 5 second "O FUCK" rule. Yep. 5 seconds to take it back and retract a sent email. Tell me if this is not one of the best ideas ever. How it works is simple. When you hit the send button Google will automatically replace that button with "sending...undo" for 5 seconds at which point you click it and save your life. In order to activate this button, however, you need to go to your Google labs tab under settings in the upper right hand of your Gmail display. If you are confused ask me in the comments and I'll guide you.

This is going to change our live peeps.

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How so Lucky?

I have received text messages, gchat queries, and facebook comments from friends determined to know why I posted a positive message as a status update on said referenced facebook. So uncharacteristic of me I know but I can't help it. Today is a good today. I call it my Natasha Beddingfield day. Labeled as such because it's at precise moments like these, good moments, that a girl can't help but consider themselves part of a jewel toned color schemed shopping/laughing montage replete with smooth legs, headbands, and a fountain nearby for flavor. All captured, mind you, by the essence of the words from an of-the-now songstress singing about pocket fulls of sunshine and rain on the skin which no one can feel except for oneself. Yes girls, one of THOSE days.

I don't want to ruin the surprise but suffice it to say I won a contest and I'm going to get to write a review. Details will come soon so stay tuned. Until then...




And here is the rest of it.

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Can't Be Sure

I can't be sure but it looks like I own the same pair of jeans as Rachel Zoe. Who cares? I care. Because she's the ultimate stylist and if my tastes run in the same playground as hers then guess what...I'm just as un-awesome as I was before but by God I look good doing so. Of course hers were probably purchased in the kids section but I will not think of such things. I wore those jeans to a night at The Huntley in Los Angeles. Had I know the place was cougar central my ensemble would have incorporated a dash of leopard print. Leopard print and some hair teasing. Rebecca will vouch for me. A pic of Zoe in my possible jeans:

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B to the S

I've had an extremely trying weekend capped off with a literal hailstorm on Sunday. A hailstorm that most assuredly just destroyed the hood of my car. But bygones. I'm writing this because while the blindsides I received yesterday were RI-dick, three people in my life made it ok. You know who you are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me release my sadness. I'm sure with the crazy way this world works these last few moments of complete assinine bullshit will not be solitary incidences. More bullshit will come. Just like Robin Williams movies. But not everyone will have the support system I have to tolerate it. So again, to you guys, my knights, I love you.

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MOTHER CHUCKER

Normally I'm the biggest Spoiler whore this side of the Mason Dixie line. Shamefully I am the kid who opened my presents before Christmas then re-wrapped them feigning ecstasy on Jesus Day because I couldn't fathom not knowing what I was getting from my parents. I searched for my gifts before hand in the off-chance I hated what I got and couldn't method my way out of the disgust. Off-chance? What am I talking about off-change. As per usual I hate everything that isn't specifically on a pre-approved list. What? Lying here would only make gift spontaneity more popular amongst my friends which in turn would just require more method. Man, I'm such a dick but it gets worse. When I'd see said gift which was not as requested I'd proceed to drop hints for weeks that my friend, Sally, (always Sally) got [insert my Christmas gift here] for her birthday two weeks ago and wasn't that SOOOOOOO stupid Mom followed with a chuckle, chuckle for four counts..1, 2, 3, 4... then pause for three...1.2.3....then begin with who would want that?...deep deep breath for 1,2,3,4...continue with I mean can you believe it?...over emote for 4,5,6,...sigh again at 1,2,3..crescendo with I feel sorry for her pathetic excuse for a gift..pause for two,1,2...another sigh this time with slight head tilt downward for..3,4, 5, shake head with..1,2,3...and scene. Everytime guys. Everytime. As I type this I'm well aware that God did not need to provide me a physical asshole because technically my whole being is one. One big arsehole polluting the world with my own brand of E-coli called life. Damn it Rita, perdona! I really did learn to love that bright green Liz Claiborne wallet. It was never hard to find! I can't believe at almost 29 I still can't be decent about it all. This reminds me of the time I asked for a fake Louis Vuitton for my birthday. They sold them at Macy's under the brand "Moni". Little MM's instead of LVs. Cute, no? My father, who at the time adored me because my personality hadn't completely formed yet, decided to get me the real deal, as in LV, in an effort to appease his baby girl. Like real. At 11. You know what I did? So help me God to make him pay for his mistake of not buying me "Moni" I stuffed the probably $300 (it was the 80's kids) bag with fucking rocks to make a point. Quartz kids! Needless to say my father never forgave. From then on it was Math blaster 2.0 and other educational toys. Sigh. Follow me after the jump for the full tragedy.


SO yeah, I am not averse to knowing things before hand. In fact, it makes me deal with the world better, but sometimes, just sometimes, not knowing provides a thrill I had forgotten existed. Like when I picked up the Harry Potter books 7 years too late or when Jim and Pam finally got together on The Office. The feeling of NOT knowing what the hell was going to happen made me anxiety ridden and thus became a weekly topic at my therapy sessions. In the end, though, the payoff was fantastic. So were the bills....so were the bills. And yes I did indeed talk about Jim and Pam's relationship with my therapist; she assumed it was a metaphor. I did not correct her. Anywayz... Discovering things as they happened gives me a little high that I sometimes crave. And since I hadn't felt that for awhile I was looking forward to that little precious moment of incertitude with the release of Megan McCafferty's final chapter in the Jessica Darling series, Perfect Fifths. If you read this blog then you know to which books I'm speaking of because I have shoved them into your hands and the hands of those in your respective book clubs and/or made you a homemade "You.Yes.You." t-shirt as a Christmas gift..mmmmm Marcus.(sidenote: Jen I think you have my Charmed Thirds and Fourth Comings).

The book comes out April 14th, and I was STOKED, so much so I threw up a little in my mouth everytime I thought about the endless ways the story could go. Would Jessica end up with Marcus? Did Marcus cut off the dreds prompting him to lose his Samson-like mysticism? Are they both accountants? Or worse...Ice Road truckers! Has Jessica heard of Mutemath? So many possibilities! So many questions! All to be answered on April 14th!!! Gahhh! You see, you see the tension and bliss of the unknown I felt?!?!?! However someone will die because someone RUINED THE ENDING for me. Fuck no I'm not kidding! A reviewer that shall remain nameless, partially because I forgot who, thought it cool to answer some of the questions from the comments. Is it good? Yes, amazing, blah blah blah. Did you really like it? Of course who wouldn't blah blah blah. And then...DO MARCUS AND JESSICA END UP TOGETHER? Answer: I'm not telling you BUT SHE FUDGING TOLD ME. MOTHER CHUCKER!!!!!! This is what I wrote a friend when I found out:

FUDGGGGGGGEEEEEEE....UGH!!!!

I was SPOILED. I was SPOILED!! I found out how Perfect Fifths ends accidentally. FUCKKKKKKKKKKK!!!! I didn't want to know and my eyes grazed on a book review comment and the reviewer answered the damn question!.DAMN IT TO HELL IN A HAND-WEAVED BASKET!


AARRRRGHHHH

Note the excessive exclamation points and capital letters. That spells pissed friends. I know what you're thinking. Why did you go read reviews if you wanted that eensie little high of not knowing? Because it's a process folks. Because people just don't quit cold turkey. I was skimming to get a taste is all, smelling the bouquet to quote the most annoying overly-indulgent/descriptive writer ever. I did NOT expect said reviewer to answer the damn question. Who would answer that question?!?!? Tell me, WHO!!!? Whatever. So now I know. Granted I don't know how it unfolds or which perfect gems of dialogue/80's pop culture reference will be made this go round but I do know the bottom line. I hate that I know this. Will it deter me from picking up the book? Um...has a divorce from Lorenzo Lamas deterred the lucite beauty, Shauna Sands? No. I will still stand in line April 14th and read the book in a day in my You.Yes.You t-shirt. I will still dream that Marcus exists and is waiting to run into me at a Starbucks across the street and I will still enjoy it and push it on everyone. However I will already know the outcome. Le-Sigh. I guess in the grand scheme it could be worse. There could have been a half-vamp, half-human baby born with a full set of teeth named Marsica conceived from 107 year old sperm so....glass more than half full, yes?

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