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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