Why so sad?

I could hardly believe what I heard on the radio on the way to work this morning: Owen Wilson was in the hospital after having allegedly attempted suicide by slitting his wrists and taking pills (not necessarily in that order).

It made me wonder why someone so funny cute and together would try to off himself. It seems it's always the funny ones who are so inwardly tragic. It's that cognitive dissonance of a crying clown, except Owen is less creepy than a real clown.

Or even a mime.

With the news of the day, I'd like to reflect on my top five creepiest suicide scenes in movies:

5.) Heat (1995). Val Kilmer's daughter tries offing herself in the bathtub. It was creepy.

4.) Leaving Las Vegas (1995). Pretty much the whole thing. Nic Cage epitomizes the typical suicidal character, the antithesis of Owen Wilson.

3.) Wizard of Oz (1937). Okay, not a real suicide, however there is an urban legend that one of the munchkin actors allegedly hung himself in a tree... and they left it in the final print. Turns out it's a big bird. This also ranks up there with the "ghost boy" in 3 Men and a Baby, which turns out is a cardboard cutout. But I digress...

2.) Royal Tenenbaums (2001). This is extremely strange given Owen Wilson's latest display. I hate watching people cut themselves with things in movies, I hate it worse than watching people shoot up with needles in movies. I hate pain.

1.) Balls of Fury (2007). Christopher Walken's career suicide. Makes me wonder, does he really need money or is he to the point where he doesn't really need money?

At Least She's Pretty

When Miss Teen South Carolina grows up, she wants to be a veterinarian because she loves children.



I could see the next line of question going something like this:

Guy with Microphone: "Tell us your thoughts on euthanasia."
Miss Teen South Carolina: "I think youth in Asia have small feet 'cuz they bind them when they're little."

I know how it goes. I was in the Miss Dixie College pagent.

*Update: August 27, 2007*
From people.com
"The beauty contestant's video on YouTube has received more than 2 million hits thanks to her amazingly off-the-mark answer at Friday night's pageant, when she was queried about why Americans are so bad at geography.

Specifically, she was asked why one-fifth of Americans can't find the United States on a map.

"I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don't have maps," she ventured.

During her meandering response, she also tossed in out-of-the-blue references to "the Iraq" and "Asian countries" and their need for the support of the American educational system in identifying the United States on the map.

Upton is described as a varsity athlete and student leader at Lexington High School, where she graduated in June with a 3.5 GPA.

Despite the on-camera gaffe, Upton finished as third runner-up."

The Mother Lode.

Tonight, just now, I discovered that Pepsi Jazz Carmel and Creme flavor tastes exactly like diet creme soda. Diet creme soda is extremely difficult to find, for whatever reason, and so right now I'm giddy with excitement. Zero calories of yummy.

I've also had over a bottle of Argentenian red wine prior to discovering said caramel creme soda.

I am blogging on red wine. Alone. In my thoughts.

For those of you who don't know me, or even for those who do, I'm a dancer. I have been a dancer for my entire life, starting at the age of two-and-a-half because my mom lied and said I was three to get me into classes. I danced through high school and when I attended the University of Utah was a modern dance major who defected and became a competitive ballroom dancer. I won't lie, it was the glitter and feathers that got me. (Unfortunately meeting men was tough, it was the glitter and feathers that got them too.)

Why is this relevant, you ask? I am currently in a hip hop, jazz, contemporary dance company here in good ol' SLC, and as a "senior member," am going to teach a new audition piece this Saturday. Which is why I found Pepsi Jazz caramel and creme. I've had creative block tonight, and rather than going to the gym, rather than making up the dance, I went to the store to wander. Creative block is a bitch.

I'm pleased to announce that after over a half a bottle of red wine, I have come up with not only a song I like, but also the first sixteen counts of choreography with which I'm pleased. This isn't particularly relevant to the world around us; this isn't going to cure cancer or save the rainforests or find the trapped Utah miners, but it brought a smile to my face.

Dancing is a story, and mine lately is a pretty twisted one. If finding a pretty song and making some gorgeous movement to it can bring a few minutes of thought this weekend to strangers, then I guess tonight wasn't a total loss.

In the morning, we'll see if my head actually agrees with my typing fingers...

and my tastebuds.

Good to Know!

Bliss.

After feeling extremely stressed out and not sleeping for the past week, I had an early work-morning and then am taking the rest of the day off. Sure, I have to work tomorrow, but for today, it's bad reality television and Boo Berry Cereal.

I have had a love/hate relationship with Boo Berry. I used to love it, obsess over it, eat it whenever I could find it, but it was tricky to find from time to time in the late-90s. Until one heavenly Halloween (my favorite holiday of the year) when my mom and dad showed up at my apartment with a case of Boo Berry-- 24 boxes all to myself. I lined my pantry shelf with rows of boxes, and would sometimes just open the cabinet and stare lovingly.

Every morning I ate Boo Berry for breakfast. Every night I ate Boo Berry for dinner. Snacks? Boo Berry. And it was good.

My boyfriend at the time was very into making cheesecake, and had unbeknownst to me swiped a box to create a Boo Berry cheesecake for my birthday a month later. He showed up with this oddly blue-purple mush encased in a graham cracker crust, sprinkled with half-squishy Boo Berry. Apparently when you try to mix Boo Berry into a cheesecake recipe, it turns to shit.

It turned me off, and he and I are no longer dating. He left the country. I like to think it was cheesecake shame rather than my issues.

Now, nearly a decade later, I have found Boo Berry again. I even bought milk for it so I wouldn't have to eat it dry, though I will probably do that too. The box illustration has gotten a bit of an update, ol' Boo Berry is hipper, happer, less freakishly Casper-ish, but still a familiar friend. He still has that familiar stoned look/lazy eye. Sure the look has slightly changed, but the sugary crunch has remained the same.

Old habits die hard.

Worst. Cover. Ever.

I thought the idea was to make a cover model look even better than they would in real life, thus facilitating sales of more magazines? Gwyneth Paltrow looks positively horrid on this recent cover of W Magazine. I didn't even know it was her, I peed a little.

Because I'm so disturbed by this cover, I have but a few random thoughts to share. These thoughts are totally unrelated to said cover, but just some things I've been kicking around in my head:

1) My lip is still numb from Rocky Horror rehearsal last night. I expect the feeling will return by tomorrow, but by Saturday will suffice. (Sidebar: even if you don't like Rocky Horror, plan to come. We're boasting the tallest Dr. Frank N. Furter ever. He tried on his 5-inch red patent leather platform shoes yesterday and he's nearly seven-feet tall. With fishnets. And garters.)

2) The Discount Tire Company commercial where the old lady throws her old tire through the front window of the building is still airing on various television stations. Why this? Why not the old "Where's the Beef?" lady from the Wendy's commercials? She at least has some personality.

3) Random Kitty has told his friends I'm apparently the cool lady. A new random kitty has been stopping by my apartment for the last two nights. This one is all black-- omen?

4) I'm sorry for the miners and their families in Huntington, Utah. I really do hope they are okay.

5) Brad Pitt showed up for jury duty today. Why is it the rest of us are subjected to sit through jury duty and/or subpoena with people who are missing teeth and open beer bottles with their toes? This also applies to emergency room doctors who seldom resemble McDreamy.

6.) Three words: Rob. Zombie's. Halloween. I'm giddy with anticipation.

Aaaarrrghh...

Despite being exhausted when I came home from work today and falling asleep on the couch until about 8 tonight, I still went to the gym. I'm proud of this.

But I digress.

Being a Mac geek I admit I was excited to come home and read all about Steve Jobs' revelations at today's Apple media event, but now I'm not that thrilled. I do love the latest iMac's shiny aluminum casing and pretty glass screen (a' la iPhone... can we expect a touch-screen iMac in the future?) however, I will officially go on the record stating I can not support Apple's decision to remove the "open apple" from the "command" key on their new keyboards. I'm a purist. Still, the new iMacs are really swell and I wouldn't put up a fight if some nice person were to send me one. Beyond that, nothing else from today really flipped my bunny. The new iLife '08 seems nice; the new version of iPhoto is great and the redesigned iMovie looks a bit more professional than iMovie from iLife '06. Ultimately, I think Apple pretty much blew their hype-wad when they released the iPhone earlier this summer.

After spending time at the gym this evening, I came up with some workout iDeas (get it? ideas?) in honor of today's Apple event:

1.) iSpandex- This is for the woman who filled up her water bottle ahead of me. She very much needed the stretch feature in her biker shorts, so much that she had both front and back camel toes that actually made me feel her pain. This camel toe feature is also interchangeable with the iMooseknuckle and the i'Msmugglingayoyo.

2.) iGrunt- This is for the guys who load up their weight on a Nautilus machine far too much. Yes, I know you're manly, but must you broadcast this by slamming down the stack of weights in such a prehistoric way?

3.) iFreshener- The best part of my gym experience tonight. I won't go into detail, but for the man who was next to me on the elliptical... Just because you're wearing headphones doesn't mean we can't hear it when you rip one.

Go forth and conquer, Apple.

Light at the End...

...of the tunnel?

This day started out like shit. I forgot to wash the conditioner out of my hair, and after running around all day like a crazy girl, my whole head is threatening to turn into a giant dread lock.

My very expensive, eight-dollar Clinical Secret deodorant for extremely high-strung, sweaty girls doesn't seem to work. How anything you put on at night and then expect to last through the next morning's shower is supposed to work is beyond me. Eight-dollar deodorant?

The light seems to be the prospect of wearing a dog collar on stage and playing my saxophone in Rocky Horror 2007. Click on my name, see my picture, drool over it-- even with smelly deodorant and a head dread lock.

Lord Balthazar of the Flies

When I was in eighth grade, I had an uncanny love for Balthazar Getty. I remembered seeing the picture above in an issue of Seventeen magazine, and I hated Milla Jovovich with every fiber of my being just because she was touching my Balthazar. Sure I had glasses, headgear and played in the school band, but I was so much better than Milla! How dare she pose with Balthazar, how dare she get her breast buds so close to him!

I saw Young Guns 2 twenty-five times in the theatres, each time spending my hard-earned allowance to feed my Balthazar obsession. It's bad enough to see any movie twenty-five times in the theatres, much less the fact that it was Young Guns 2. I purchased every Teen Beat, Tiger Beat, and Bop I could find if it contained Balthazar (and Jonathan Knight from the New Kids was an added bonus and another obsession. His birthday is the same day as mine almost!) My bedroom wall was literally wrapped floor to ceiling with glossy Balthazar pictures I had ripped out of my various mags, and every time his Young Guns 2 character died, a little part of me died as well.

Here's the icky thing: I actually came home from work this afternoon to find Lord of the Flies on the 24/7 Chiller channel. I actually thought, "OOOOOh! Balthazar! I love him!" Then they showed him, and he's like twelve-years-old and then I felt really creeped out. Sure, Balthazar has aged just like I've aged, he's even aged on TV, but for the first time in a very long time, I felt really old.

Here's the other thing: Kids have it so easy these days! Not only did I spend thousands of dollars on teen tabloids, but now all kids have to do is jump online, click their keyboards and print out free pictures of their crushes! It's so unfair. Kids these days will never fully appreciate the act of riding one's bike to the 7-11 to grab a Slurpee while pouring over the magazine rack.

While I appreciate all my childhood activities, I also realize my old habits die hard. My Balthazar is married and I'm still wearing glasses and playing in the band.

To bling or not to bling.

Just like last year's Justin Timberlake album, the word "bling" is apparently now "whack." According to Kanye West, if you use the word "bling" nowadays you're unhip and totally out of style. This makes complete sense, my mom was using "bling" last November, I should've been clued-in then.

In honor of Kanye's colloquial revelation, I'd like to present some slang I enjoy to work into the vocabulary to once again be one of the "cool kids." Because just look how cool Kanye must be to pull of the hot pink sweater pictured above.

1. Earworm noun
A song that sticks in your head and won't leave no matter how hard you try. The best way to get rid of an earworm is to replace that song with another.
Songs that are the worst: Toxic by Britney Spears. I Want it That Way by the Backstreet Boys. Jeopardy! Theme song.

2. Digilanti noun
Combining digital expertise with vigilante mentality, the folks who anonymously police the Internet, exposing scams and fighting spam for the interest of the greater good.
"Our computer guy forwarded up an email he confirmed as spam, he's such a digilanti."

3. Backne noun
Severe acne on one's back.
"That chick looked like a pizza with all the backne she was sporting under her tube top."

4. Cafediem phrase, Latin-ish
Caffeinate the Day.
To ask someone if they want a coffee, ask, "Cafediem?"

5. Mouse Potato noun
The current cyber-version of sitting on the couch and watching TV, instead sitting behind the computer surfing.
"I've done nothing but trash people on their own Web sites today, dude. I feel like such a mouse potato."

6. 404 noun
Someone who's clueless. From the World Wide Web error message "404 Not Found," meaning that the requested document could not be located.
"She's exausting me with all the wrong information, she's got the dumb and is totally 404."

7. Post-Potter Depression noun
The empty feeling that comes from finishing the seventh book in the Harry Potter series and realizing there will be no more.
"My friend went back to reading Stephen King to get over her post-Potter depression, but she just kept waiting for Voldemort to show up."

8. French Exit noun
Leaving a party without saying goodbye to anyone or thanking the host. Disappearing, or sneaking away, from a party.
"Tommy's party homing-beacon must have gone off because he's made the French Exit again."

9. Typeractive adjective, adverb
Somebody who is overly-talkative on text messages or emails.
"She sent me ten emails today detailing why we're no longer friends. Not only is she psycho, but she's completely typeractive."


And my favorite I just heard for the first time a few weeks ago:
10. Crop-dusting noun
Surreptitiously farting while passing through a crowd of people sitting at a table, then enjoying the sounds of dismay and disgust.
Self-explanatory.

Happy communicating.

Quite the day today

Today, Michelangelo Antonioni went to the big sound stage in the sky. He was an amazing director who made Blow Up, one of my favorite films. I was first turned onto this movie by someone for whom I will have an eternal soft-spot, so I'm wondering if I love the movie because it reminds me of him, or if it's really a brilliant film. Chances are, it's a little bit of both-- it's set in the 60s, when I should've lived so I could've gone to Beatles concerts and Carnaby Street in whirl of mod-ness.

As I said, Antonioni went to the big sound stage in the sky today. Why do we have to sugar-coat the phrase, "he died" or "he's dead" or "he's taking a dirt nap?" Something I've learned all too quickly is when someone's gone, they're gone, and they're not coming back no matter how you spin it. Reality can be quite a bitch.

Before this post becomes too morbid, let's switch gears...

Karma wants me to be a crazy cat lady. For the last week, Random Kitty has been living on my doorstep. I have told Random Kitty to go home, I have called the number on Random Kitty's tag to try and get them to take Random Kitty back. I have offered to take Random Kitty back to its owner. To no avail, Random Kitty was sitting in the passenger side of my Jeep this morning. Random Kitty has even started coming to me when I call out, "Raaaandooom Kittyyy?"

What's a girl to do when they're single and a cat shows up at the doorstep? Accept the possibility of becoming a crazy cat lady, and embrace it? Start shopping for my old-lady red hat? Or do I resist taking in Random Kitty no matter how much it lets me scratch its chin?

Reality Show Pondering

The other week I gave in to my addiction of reality television and actually watched Simple Life Goes to Camp because I felt like watching a train wreck. This particular episode featured a boot camp-like instructor who tried to break people of being high-maintenance. Attending camp was a particularly annoying Hollywood woman named Yoi who eventually ended up leaving early because they wanted her to eat crickets. Paris and Nicole said, "Good riddance" to Yoi, which made me think, "Wow, you must be really annoying if Paris and Nicole are bidding you 'good riddance.'"

Tonight, I was watching a bit of "More Swimsuit Secrets Revealed" on the WE channel, and wouldn't you know it? Good ol' Yoi was one of the featured women in search of a new bathing suit. Apparently Yoi is a media whore hopping from reality show to reality show. Damn, dirty Yoi!

What's worse? Giving more reality show rides than Greyhound OR watching enough stupid reality shows to actually realize the same chick is hopping from reality show to reality show?

So Healthy!

Vitamin Water is a sham. I'll just start right out with that and get it off my chest. Vitamin Water is a sham. I used to like Vitamin Water, and up until this afternoon, I used to love drinking a bottle of it after working out. But no more. I will swear off Vitamin Water as a lame excuse for being healthy, and consider it a diet gimmick.

I went to the gym this afternoon for a couple of hours (for real, I'm not trying to sound hard-core. I also drank three beers last night.) and when I was finished, I decided to drag myself to the grocery store for a few things. You know, healthy things one only thinks about after attending the gym for a couple of hours: Bananas. Salad-in-a-bag. Diet Dr. Pepper. And I decided I'd grab a bottle of Vitamin Water to drink on the way home, because come on, how could something called "Dragonfruit" not be healthy?

After reading the label, I threw down the Vitamin Water with utter disgust and I think I actually said, "What the hell?" under my breath. A bottle of very "healthy" Vitamin Water contains 50 calories per serving, with two-point-five servings in each bottle. Now, I'm no math major or anything, in fact, math nearly cost me my Bachelor's degree, but that totals to 125 calories a bottle. That's only 15 calories less than in regular Coke (which I would never drink because I've never been able to stand the aftertaste). That is the same amount of calories one would find in a can of Guinness. Healthy Vitamin Water, my ass!

In fact, straight to one's ass is where the Vitamin Water will go when you read more of the nutritional information and learn that your 125 calorie health drink also contains 13 grams of sugar per serving, or (again, me trying to do math) about eight teaspoons of sugar per bottle. Seems to me plain ol' water and a good multivitamin might just save those calories I worked so hard to lose! Leave the Vitamin Water alone, unless maybe you've got a raging hangover and need some electrolytes.

Once a Geek, Always a Geek

Darn you glasses! I started wearing you in first grade when I could no longer read the blackboard, even from the front row. I remember a classmate of mine, Jason Kelly, who dressed up like a robot for Halloween and I developed a crush on him until we went to different Jr. High schools, said, "You need glasses!" And my fate was sealed.

Wearing glasses wasn't ever a big deal in elementary school, then I got braces in fifth grade. Then I was forced to wear headgear to school in seventh grade and started playing in the band. Enough said.

Now, I embrace my geeky past, and was thrilled today when I saw that Comic-Con was happening in San Diego this week. Sigh, to one day be around fellow blog geeks, gazing into the eyes of Batman or Superman or Kevin Smith. So I present reasons why I want to go to Comic-Con next year:

5. My white pleather dress is wasting away on a hanger.
4. I am a pop culture whore who would clean up on Jeopardy!
3. Stan Lee, Kevin Smith and Yoda, oh my!
2. Spandex really is a right.
1. The force would be with me.

Until I try to go next time, I'm submitting to my glasses-and-headgear-ness and throwing myself head-first into my geeky past-- band practice. I've agreed to play the saxophone in a live-concert version of The Rocky Horror Show this Halloween. Not only does it satisfy my geek-ness, but also my previous Gothic-ness, complete with a dog collar, corset and fishnets. Hell, maybe I'll even wear lingerie one night.

Nowadays, who knew glasses could be so hot?

Nails on a Chalkboard

I never really minded when first-grade classmates would scratch their nails down the chalkboard. I never understood the "eeew" factor in chewing tin foil.

But if I ever see another Sharpie commercial again, I will go postal.

Have you seen them? You know, where the narrator of the commercial is writing a letter to "someone," presumably, their significant other, their kid's teacher, and then they get fed up with the wordiness of it all and whip out a Sharpie which spells out the real message of the thing? But there's the sort of squeaky markery sound that happens with the commercial, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

Sharpie commercials are also extremely painful. For instance, as I was watching "Who Wants to be a Superhero" this afternoon, my new favorite TV show, I had the Sharpie commercial forced on me. Frantic, I lunged for the remote to change the channel before the squeaky markery sound happened, ending up sprawled out on my ottoman screaming in pain from a stubbed toe. And I still caught wind of the squeaky markery sound.

Just when you thought there wasn't anything worse than "Who Wants to be a Superhero," there is; the Sharpie commercial.

So That's Why!

After Lindsay Blohan's latest run-in with the law, I wanted to know what she was thinking driving herself around while (allegedly) "under the influence." Like tens of Americans, I asked the same question as Harvey Levin (filling in for Larry King on CNN).

Harvey Levin: Why don't they get drivers? They can afford it. Why don't they get somebody to drive them around?
Billy Bush: They have them, but they let them go about ten... As soon as eleven or twelve [o'clock] roll around, they're gone. At night, they [the stars] don't want the drivers to see what's going on.

To which I say, "WHO CARES?!?" The drivers are their drivers, and it's not like they've never seen their client coked up during the day! What, just because it's dark outside, it makes their addictions that much worse? So, some star would rather risk losing their career and bank account just because they don't want their driver to "see what's going on?"

My respect for Billy Bush has hit rock bottom. No wonder he asks the questions, rather than giving the answers. Lame, Billy, laaaaame!

In Search of SLC "Bear Guy"

I feel like I'm hunting Yeti.

For the second time this month, I have spotted the "Bear Guy" and have yet to photograph him in his natural environment.

"But who, or what, is 'Bear Guy?'" you ask? The first time I spotted "Bear Guy," I caught sight of him in my rear view window as I was headed East on 1700 South. First I saw his horrible grey 1950s truck, what caught my attention were the peeling flame stickers emblazoned on the side. What furthered my staring was the fact that the old guy driving looked exactly like "Blue" from Old School. Exactly. You're my boy, Blue! It's true folks, Patrick Crenshaw did not die last January, he's driving a weird-looking truck around the streets of Salt Lake.

Finally, the thing more disturbing than Blue driving a truck around Salt Lake? The passenger. Strapped in next to Blue was a human-sized teddy bear, wearing a polo shirt! I rubbed my eyes, but it was true, Blue is trafficking stuffed animals through the Wasatch Front. At that time, he continued Eastbound on 1700 south.

Sunday afternoon, it happened again. Only this time I was behind Blue and his truck, and the sight of it all was even more ghastly! Not only was there a human-sized passenger bear, but there were also two riding without seat-belts backward-facing in the bed of the truck. One wore a sombrero, Hawiian shirt and khaki shorts, the other was wearing a green polo shirt and jeans.

Frantic, I followed him through several lights... then Blue caught onto me. He actually pulled over to let me by. I turned the corner to try and get behind him once again, and he was gone, in a flash, without warning.

Who is this mysterious Bear Guy? Where does he go? And just why does he take his furry friends with him? I'm in search, and never leaving the house without my camera again.

The Trifecta is Complete

In possibly one of the most brilliant moves of this week, this morning LA police have arrested Lindsay Lohan for another DUI, this time topped off with cocaine possession.

Now, dontcha' think if you had millions of Disney dollars in your savings account you'd spring for a cab after a hard night of partying? Not only would you save the $25,000 bail money, but you might also save yourself from facing a possible six-years in jail for felony drug possession.

Here's this girl who just turned 21 this month, who has already been in and out of rehab and is now facing hard time. Sweetheart, you've got many more years ahead of you to smoke and drink your way to the grave, why blow it all right now?

My World is Infested

With so much going on in my world right now, the title of this posting has far too many meanings. I'd love to go into the inner-workings of creepiness crawling into my brain right now, but it's impossible when there is creepiness crawling all over my apartment.

In droves by the hundreds of millions.

Literally dying in piles both upstairs and down.

Box elder bugs; and they're sucking my will to live.

When I first found my disco-fabulous apartment last March, I was thrilled at the prospect of a funky place with a loft. It's in a great area, and there's actually room for my boatloads of kitsch I can't seem to live without. When I found the apartment, it was snowing outside, and the whole place looked pest-free.

Then it warmed up, and I realized that box elder bugs lived inside my apartment's every nook and cranny. I had to vacuum several times a week to keep up with the piles that would die on all the windowsills and corners. It was a nuisance, but for some reason last summer it wasn't that bad. Last summer I had a few other things to worry about-- big things like the air conditioner that conked out for the whole month of July.

Fast forward to this summer where the box elder bug piles are so high, I'm four-wheeling over them with my vacuum on a twice-daily basis. And the keep flying at my head. As I sit in bed, they're flying toward the lit computer screen and every few minutes I feel that familiar tickle on my arm. Ever see the cockroach guy in Creepshow? Pales in comparison to the pets I've inherited.

Besides wash them down the drain, vacuum them up and light them on fire, what's a girl to do with box elder bugs? Tonight after flicking one so hard across the room I nearly broke my pinky finger when I misjudged the placement of my dresser and smashed into it, I finally turned to my old friend Google. Okay, first step is to learn about my adopted pests, Hemiptera: Rhopalidae, Leptocoris trivittatus, the box elder bug. Description, yep, got that... can see the black and red thorax because it's currently crawling down my leg... yeah, definitely box elder bug which can "number into the thousands." You think?

"They are primarily a nuisance as they crawl or fly about the room." This is an understatement, I consider it more than just a "nuisance" when you get them caught in your hair and fall down the stairs while flailing one's arms screaming, "Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!" Having to go to the grocery store is something I consider a "nuisance" seeing the crawling silhouettes of several freaky-looking bugs all over your laptop screen while you sit in bed is a major freak-out.

"The box elder bug becomes a pest in many houses each year in fall and spring." And we'll just go ahead and throw in Winter and Summer right here. "They do no damage by feeding, but their excrement spots on draperies are difficult to remove." It's true. Just like Alli on a good pair of khaki pants, the box elder bugs have actually left spots on my 900 thread-count sheets. "The bugs cause little damage to trees." Oh good, because the trees are paying rent to live in this shithole. Great. Maybe the trees could pay my car payment, take out the trash and float me a loan while they're at it.

What this article doesn't mention is you will also find bits of legs and antennae laying around on every counter and smooth surface after you have tried vacuuming up the carcasses.

What's a girl to do? According to doyourownpestcontrol.com, not a damn thing. Not that I put much faith in a "Do your own pest control" Web site, but according to them, " Once boxelder bugs have become established in the home, there aren't a lot of treatment options. There are not a lot of recommended chemical measures at this point." You're screwed. Pack your bags. Head for the hills. Make sure you don't bring the suckers with you because they'll infest your next place and you won't be rid of them until they drive you to a nice padded cell where you sleep in your slippers.

It's time to call in the big guns-- a product called "Buggslayer." I will be Buggslayer! But after reading further, this stuff is like Satan in a jug and will apparently burn my nose, eyes and skin. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

After reading Beware of Box Elder Bugs, I'm going to sleep.

In a hotel.

In Guam.

Bod by Zod

Thanks to Joost, I've been really catching up on my Robot Chicken. If you'd like to check out Joost, just leave me your email addy for an invite.

British Invasion

As I sit here watching Victoria Beckham: Coming to America, I am ashamed that I am not only starting to like her, but that I am actually sitting here watching Victoria Beckham: Coming to America.

For some reason, it's not nearly the trainwreck that Hey Paula has turned out to be, and I think I'll actually tune in next week.

For a little bit.

If I'm house-bound.

Posh Spice actually has a bit of a personality, which one would never know by the pouty-faced paparazzi look. Dare I even add that she might also actually have a sense of humor? I'm slightly sick, but that has more to do with eating three hours' worth of kettle corn this morning than Victoria Beckham: Coming to America.

Who knew? At least I'm off to dance.

Geek Chic Radio is ON!

It's been a long time in the making, but it's finally here!!

Geek Chic Radio

Love it. Live it.

Apparently she didn't do it...

Reality Show GAG (tag) lines

Top Design head judge, Jonathan Adler

Ever since the days of Survivor's first "the tribe has spoken," reality shows have taken off-- each one with a hokier goodbye line than the previous.

Heidi Klum's Project Runway, "Either you're in, or you're out!"
Ryan Seacrest's American Idol, "Seacrest OUT!"

They run the gamut from mysterious to catchy, and while I appreciate the efforts these show's creators, I have to put down my foot. Your efforts are now futile.

Riding on the coattails of Top Chef, Bravo created a new "Top" show, Top Design , where a handful of interior decorators vie for the position of Top Designer. (Incidentally, Top Chef's tagline is, "Please pack your knives and go," uttered by hostess Padma Lasaldkfjweoirwelrkndfgjwrjwermnwemrnodifuermnewk...)

I have felt extremely under the weather this week, and by "under the weather" I mean, "sinus pain harsh enough to smoke out Bin Laden,"and have spent many perfectly good nights in front of the TV watching bad reality shows. Last night, I had the unfortunate privilege of watching a Top Design marathon which enabled me to catch up on all those preliminary Top Design episodes I've missed. (That reminds me, I need to schedule that pesky wisdom-tooth extraction.) Sure, host Todd Oldham is a Target store design legend, but he is probably the only good thing about this particular reality show.

Yet I sat through several episodes for one, little phrase.

Whenever a designer is booted off the show, head judge dsigner Jonathan Adler tells them, "See you later, decorator!" And with a little wave and wiggle of his fingers, the contestant is bid adieu.

Who comes up with these reality show taglines? And what's worse, what does the future hold for reality television? Reality shows aren't going anywhere, which means there is plenty of tiem for lame taglines. SEE YOU LATER, DECORATOR? Reality shows get a bad enough rap! Now that they've been classified as "crap TV" and people are actually asking for more courtroom dramas, shouldn't it be the time to attempt to make reality shows better?

If I weren't pathetic, I'd take a stand and vow never to watch reality TV again! I would hang up my remote for most of the week, only taking time to watch Grey's Anatomy and the occasional movie on the 24/7 Chiller Channel. But I can't give up my reality television-- Dancing with the Stars starts next week, and I have this sick desire to watch Heather Mills do the cha cha.

See you later, decorator!!

Something Highly Addictive...

Just what I need when my brain needs a break:

Have you no shame?

Can't a girl go crazy and shave her head in a hazy fit of freakiness without it showing up on eBay? For nearly sixteen-thousand dollars?

What is this world coming to?

Meantime, E!Online reports Britney Shears is wigging out. (get it?)

The newly bald Brit covered her self-shaved head this afternoon with a short blonde wig, a source tells me. My insider spotted the dethroned pop princess lounging at the pool at the Mondrian hotel with a group of “dancer-looking types.”

Spears was wearing a green cap and what looked like the dancer’s multicolored bikini top into which she infamously changed during a night of partying last weekend in NYC. “The bottom didn’t match,” my source said. “It was pinkish.”

At one point, Spears left her group and returned wearing an orange bikini. “It didn’t look so hot, and she was smoking cigarette after cigarette,” my source says. “At first, I couldn’t believe it was her—but then I heard her speak.”

Meanwhile, sources close to Spears tell me they’re worried she’s alienating everyone around her. “She’s going to have no one who cares about her,” one said. “Even her security is getting fed up. She keeps running them around town until 4:30 in the morning.”

Spears’ rep declined to comment. “There is no statement,” the rep said in an email earlier this evening. “If and when there is, you will be copied.”

Britney, Britney, Britney

I've been a little under the weather for the past couple of days. Today I slept in, and when I awoke I decided to ease into the day by reading my usual fare of pop culture/Hollywood gossip sites. When what to my wandering eyes should appear? A nervous breakdown suffered by one Britney Spears. (Read that out loud. It rhymes. I'm still funny even when I'm sick.) What is this girl thinking?

Apparently, Brits returned to California after a one-day stint in a Florida rehab clinic, headed to the first trashy barber shop and demanded they shave her head. When they refused, she told them she'd do it herself, grabbed some clippers, and went to town! She claims her hair extensions were "tight and uncomfortable" and she no longer wanted "people to touch her." At which point, she encouraged more people to touch her by walking into a neighboring tattoo parlor and getting two new tattoos.

Why, Britney, why? What will she do next? Become a musical guest on Saturday Night Live and rip up a picture of the Pope?



"Well 'Sinead O'Rebellion.'
Shock me shock me shock me with that deviant behavior."

Another photographer's shot of Britney, just after she shaved her own head:

Happy Valentine's Eve

It's Tuesday, and as I sit here watching my buddy, Ambassador Joe, on Frontline, I'm vaguely aware that tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

I've never been a big fan of the vile holiday, and since I will probably be heading to see Hannibal Rising, I am reminded to pass along to my loyal readers this little bit of potentially life-saving advice:

Don’t marry a guy that has Satan Worshippers as friends. They will just inevitably want you to birth the new Anti-Christ.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Guitar Malfunction?

This past weekend was fantastic even if I was subjected to watching the Super Bowl. Not being a fan of the sport, I settled in to drink some beer and be a part of the festivities. The commercials were mediocre at best-- a few were memorable, most were forgettable. This year, I was fairly unimpressed at the creativity of the ad spots.

Then came the halftime show.

I should begin by saying I am a huge Prince fan. I'm hoping to catch his show at The Rio in Vegas sometime soon. I love him, and I am even proud to admit that yes, I do have his rare 3-album set and yes, I DID party like it was 1999.

It is for these reasons I am totally beside myself at the various groups who are now complaining of the alleged phallic-looking guitar when Prince was shadowed behind a screen. I present, exhibit A:

Anybody (in their right mind) is going to realize this is a guitar. This could be nothing else. This is not a shape occurring in nature. This is Prince's famous guitar. Get over it, get on with it, find a hobby. From MSNBC, "A number of bloggers have decried “Malfunction!” — including Sam Anderson at New York magazine’s Daily Intelligencer. Daily News television critic David Bianculli called it 'a rude-looking shadow show' that 'looked embarrassingly rude, crude and unfortunately placed.'" Maybe, but perhaps they were wanting it to look like "a rude-looking shadow." If these folks have the idea in their head that it's going to look like Prince's "crown," it's going to look like that! These are the same people who have watched "Robin Hood, Men in Tights" too many times and they're hung up on the sword gag.

Ever since Boobgate 2004, the masses have been overly sensitive to everything. Can't we all get along? Can't we just sit back and watch a musical icon without finding something to complain about? Lest we forget Prince's early days of butt-free pants and raunchy lyrics (insert song "Sexy M-F" here). The nearly 50-year-old Prince has toned things down quite a bit since becoming a Jehovah's Witness.

It's football, that's offensive enough. Is it absolutely necessary getting all upset about something actually entertaining?

Now, about those folks who are mad over the Snickers commercials... (at the time of this post, the ad spots have been pulled from Snickerssatisfies.com but see if this Google cache works)

Who Says Nobody Wins in Wendover?

Last weekend, a bunch of us decided to head to Wendover-- just to get out of town for a bit. The gals thought it might be fun to hit some gaming tables, and the guys were definitely all about the sports book. Besides, the kitsch factor of Wendover is worth the price of admission.

Me? I just like watching everyone play and taking all of their free drinks. Sometimes I like Hold 'em, but I just wasn't about getting on a massive waiting list to lose all of the money I didn't have.

Johnny and I decided to hit up the bar, and as we walked past the line of video slot machines, we laughed at all of the titles and thought, "Who are the guys who sit around and think up all of these?" Then we saw it, the mother of all machines-- Super Sally's Shrimp Mania. Super Sally is a shrimper, who gives you buckets of shrimp when you hit the bonus round. Super Sally is in your favor. Super Sally can do you no wrong.

Who needs to sit at a blackjack table where the odds are against you when Super Sally's Shrimp Mania smiles at you from afar? Johnny said, "We are playing that" and with the blink of an eye had stuck a single dollar into the beautiful machine. You see, Super Sally's Shrimp Mania is a penny slot, and you can get hours of fun with just a buck.

Oh the joy that Super Sally's Shrimp Mania brought us. Not only did we laugh every time we got to try for the Sea Monkey Bonus Round, but it also made us look very busy with playing and we got many free drinks. And then the unthinkable happened, we hit the bonus shrimp round and mega-scored. Before we knew it, we had turned one dollar into ten, and then we decided to cash out before we lost it all.

So, we won ten bucks. We won ten bucks at a game called Super Sally's Shrimp Mania. Everybody else on the trip either broke even or lost. We ended up blowing our winnings on a round of cheap drinks for everyone, so in the end, everybody ended up winning with Super Sally.

I'm Not Dead Yet!

...and neither is my blog.

Soon, lambs, soon will I begin writing again of all my fabulous adventures!

I start a new job a week from Monday, but before that I have a hiking trip to Southern Utah. Until then, thank you to everyone who has emailed me and left comments making sure I'm alive and well.

I am alive, and on the road to well.

I feel happy! I feel happy!

Burning Down the House!

Another thrilling night, another thrilling weekend at the old homestead. Actually, tonight I’m at Cocoa Café on 9th South and 3rd East, and I have to say it’s one of the better places to sit with the iBook and write. Their coffee is by far the best I've had as of late.

Yesterday I sat at a four-way stop and waited for the light to turn green. That’s me, obeying the traffic laws, but there was one little problem. There was no light. It was just a four-way stop, you know, the stop sign kind of intersection. I sat there for a good ten minutes, completely lost in my head, wondering why it was one of the longest lights at which I’ve ever sat. Then it dawned on me there was no light, and that light was never going to turn green.

I pulled over for a bit and decided the whole incident was a metaphor for my life right now. Right now, I’m stopped at a four-way stop waiting for a nonexistent light that will never turn green. For a rainy weekend, this is decidedly somber. I needed something to boost my motivation, though despite everything my motivation has been somewhat decent. And what does one do when they need to clear out the demons and start anew?

Sage my apartment, boost my karma.

I finally went home last night, rejuvenated, as only five pints of Guinness can rejuvenate someone! I went straight to the fireplace where I stashed the sage I used when I first moved into my apartment. (For those who are New Age challenged, burning sage in one’s living space is supposed to change up the energy, and get rid of all the bad vibes. Sort of an exorcism, but without Linda Blair’s spinning head spewing pea soup.) You might be thinking, “Crazy little girl’s just got all that stuff hanging around?” I say, “Yep, right now is NOT the time to tempt karma.”

Except after a few beers equaling the consistency of motor oil, perhaps crazy girl shouldn’t be lighting dried bundles of weeds on fire. (“WeedS,” not “weed,” though right now anything might be helpful) True to form of being the most graceful klutz I know, I lit my hand on fire and proceeded to drop the flaming stuff onto my favorite Hello Kitty blanket. Remember in the 70s how acrylic bedding was a fire hazard? Apparently it’s still a fire hazard in the year 2006. In a flash, I threw open the patio door and tossed Burning Kitty outside and like a drunk idiot jumped on it—all while wearing slippers.

I managed to survive the incident without any burned bits, however I’m wondering if I’ve really messed up my karma by setting the whole sage bundle/blanket ablaze. I think my luck could’ve been worse—I had the blanket on a highly flammable, circa 1965 Naugahyde couch, and could’ve died in a flaming puddle of plastic. So what did I do?

I cried.

Last night I didn’t exorcise the demons, I created more, and only wondered further about being stopped at that four-way stop, waiting for the light to turn green. Like so many things right now, the situation could’ve been worse, but it’s certainly not great. I've had my dad my whole life to jump start me whenever I was stuck, but now I've got to hit the gas pedal on my own. I guess the scariest part is when I learn to do that, I can go in any direction. I just need to figure out how to do it on my own.

Check Engine Light

On the upshot today, my check engine light miraculously turned off.

From now on I vow to get the oil in the Jeep changed every three months, or every three-thousand miles, whichever comes first.

Radio Rumor Boards

For those of you who live and die by all those lovely radio message boards, be advised that everything posted isn't necessarily true. I am speaking directly to my situation right now, and feel it is laughable to read what is being posted.

Can't a girl just deal with a family death and getting fired all in the same month in peace? It's hard to be sleeping in until four in the afternoon after binge drinking and doing lines of blow off of circus midgets when people are making my inbox ring with emails asking about some alleged "scandal." Okay, so I actually was up and at the gym extremely early today, and I've never done blow in my life, but if I'm involved in some kind of "scandal," then I want to certainly be scandalous!

To all of that, I quote Hamlet, "Get thee to a nunnery! Get thee to a nunnery!" It's like some people in the world are vicious rumor-sluts who can't seem to worry enough about themselves because they are overly-concerned about what's going on with people they don't even know. It's nearly Thanksgiving... why not channel some of that extra time and obviously pent-up energy by donating to the Food Bank or serving at the Road Home? Also, you're certainly "in the know" with what's going on with others, maybe you could use those Nancy Drew skills and locate missing children?

It Puts the Lotion in the Basket...

Yep, the title is my failed attempt at laughing at my day. When I think of getting the oil changed in the Jeep, and the mechanics putting the oil into the Jeep, well it all took me to a Silence of the Lambs place in my brain.

Trust me, getting ones' skin pulled off and turned into pants by Buffalo Bill would've been a welcome change to my afternoon.

I got up today with renewed energy. After watching Brokeback Mountain last night and realizing that my life will never be as repressed as a gay Wyoming cowboy, I was excited to look forward to all the amazing job prospects I was bound to find. I was glad for this breakthrough, as I was about to head to my therapist and tell him all about losing my job, but still be able to say "I was excited to look forward to all the amazing job prospects I was bound to find." I started the Jeep... no start.

I turned the key again... no startie.

Finally after a colorful monologue in a heated tone (again, looking on the bright side of yelling "fuck" multiple times into the steering wheel), Jeep starts up in a cloud of smoke. Rather than heading to my appointment, I drove to the nearest Jiffy Lube and prepared to get scolded. Yes, I say that because I knew I was a little overdue for an oil change. When I say a little, I mean three-thousand miles over, and I haven't had it done since March.

Could the oil really have gone unchanged since March? Yep, the sticker said I should've had it done sometime in mid-June and here it is... November? Shit.

When you go for as long as I have to the point where your engine is eating its own stomach, they do this thing called a "Gum-out," which doesn't sound at all appealing. They gummed it out, changed the oil and looked at me with this judgmental gaze after they said I was "two quarts low." I wanted to reply, "Honey, I'm more than two quarts low this month," but I shamefully handed over my debit card. $100 dollars I don't have later, the Jeep now starts without hesitation.

Still, the check engine light won't turn off. I'm hoping this is one of those things where I didn't tighten the gas tank cap well enough like the last time the check engine light wouldn't turn off. That's my story I'm just going to hold onto it for the next few weeks.

Can people email requests to Buffalo Bill to be turned into skin pants to put them out of their misery?

Prophetic Graffiti

Remember when you used to see graffiti and it was to either slam some hoochie ("For a good time call...") or tag out the other crew (not sure what that means, but homies will know what it does)? Now, graffiti has a message-- and it is somewhat profound.

Now going into a coffee shop bathroom has meaning.

Kick Start your Day

Jack Daniels coffee... the perfect way to kick off Day Drinking.

Random Generation, Pt. 1

My latest project...

Sunday November 5, 2006…
Salt Lake Coffee Break- Wireless connection sucks.
I’m not exactly sure if it’s password-protected, but I’m feeling too sorry for myself today to get up and ask the slightly rude counter-girl if I need any kind of a WEP Key. Information that might’ve been nice to know before I got my semi-decent coffee and found a table. My airport says I’m connected, my browser says otherwise.
Battery life- 45 minutes, couldn’t find a table near an outlet so we’re all spared from rambling. Sort of. Rambling will be kept to 45 minutes, I guess.
Outfit- Cute
Hair- Marginal

It’s been an interesting week in the life of a 30-year-old unemployed semi-orphan. Most people have a crappy childhood on which to blame their entire crappy adulthood. I have a crappy adulthood with a string of drama and mis-steps on which to blame mine. In just the past week, I lost my illustrious radio job, got dumped by my long-distance not-quite-sure-what-it’s-been-on-and-off-since-April “acquaintance,” felt every emotion between helplessness and poverty and elation to not be pigeonholed into a position where the “man kept me down,” ordered a bad chicken bowl and threw up. Add that to the beginning of the month where my father passed away, or even the previous two years when I had to watch him die—maybe the throwing up was finally a culmination of everything and not just a product of said bad chicken bowl. Nonetheless, all of these events were, quite literally, out of my control.

I’m trying to figure out what exactly right now is in my control. I could get the oil changed in my car, I believe I should’ve done that sometime in June, and I guess that would be in my control. But I don’t feel like it. I took control and got out of bed today. I got in the shower, and I even accessorized. It seems that’s what is most important right now, accessories. I should add that to the list above:
Accessories- Fabulous

Right now is a time where everyone’s told me, “You can do whatever you want.” I’m not totally sure what I want to do right now. But what if what I want right now is completely unrealistic? What if selling all my possessions and opening a burlesque showhouse in Aruba isn’t completely realistic? What is reality? Burlesque is to body-glitter, body-glitter is to my ultimate happiness, therefore a burlesque showhouse in Aruba is to my ultimate well-being. Some might say this isn’t necessarily realistic. Do we see the conundrum? Do we see I never did well in Geometry because my way of proving things doesn’t coincide with what makes sense for the rest of the planet, much less the teacher who never seemed to like me very well?

Maybe this is all just the after-effects of the bad chicken bowl. I would consult Web MD and diagnose myself, but as I said before, the connection at this particular coffeehouse sucks. My comment about self-diagnosis might seem flip, but I say it’s funny because it’s true. Rather than actually going to the doctor or staying home or even trying one of grandma’s home remedies, we will take our lives into our own hands because we have a wealth of information at our fingertips.

Speaking of, I just found a table with an actual electrical outlet nearby. Now we’ve got more than just 45 minutes. Now we’re captive to my brain’s ramblings. So, to recap:

Sunday November 5, 2006…
Salt Lake Coffee Break- Wireless connection still sucks.
I’ve given up on trying to fuck with the settings to see why exactly the wireless isn’t happening.
Battery life- I found a plug, the possibilities are now endless
Outfit- Still cute
Hair- Still marginal, and now I’m wondering if I look like a conehead.
Accessories- Fabulous. For real.

I’ve also just switched my phone to vibrate because I just realized my ringtone was New Kids on the Block, “Hangin’ Tough.” Yesterday morning I thought it might be inspirational. Today, here, I thought it might be really lame.

So where was I? I was lamenting about how I’m an unemployed, adult (no need to mention the age again, I’ve said it once), semi-orphan (still have a mom). I was thinking about my reality. I delved into how we’re totally funky for thinking we can log onto some Web site and feed into our hypochondriac tendencies. But we do it, we submit to the masochistic joy that comes through thinking we might have the germs, and we get attention from those around us just trying to make us feel better. Meanwhile, someone who is very sick, terminal, says nothing. Someone who I’ve allowed to dictate my entire life said nothing to indicate he might not be here through Christmas, and now I’m left alone; because to him, the boyfriends I always brought home were never “good enough.”

It's time to blow this popscicle stand.

Getting Back on Track, The Saga Continues...

Remember that "getting back on track" post I wrote about last week?

Scratch that. Just when you think things already feel sucky, someone has to go and kick you in the proverbial nuts.

If you know of anyone hiring, and it's in media... or at this point even Taco Time, please shoot me an email. I'd appreciate it. holly.braithwaite@gmail.com My resume and MP3 demo is also available on my Web site.

I am officially over 2006 and can't wait to finish the year.

Getting Back on Track

So, after an extremely crappy month, I feel like I'm getting back on track with things and will be posting again soon.

Like June Allyson's Depends, I'm "getting back into life." Not that I'm currently wearing paper underwear or that I wear paper underwear on a regular basis... or even that I'm incontinent in any way.

Nevermind.

The point is, I have a new outlook on things and am trying to get back into the swing of things. Keep watching for posts!

Grammar Watch, Pt. 2

I won't say at which grocery establishment I spotted this little gem, but it's subtle.

Subtle, but not surprising, as the establishment isn't known for its highbrow clientele.

Stress Dreams?

Because of a string of consistant, heinous crap unfolding in my personal life, I've had messed up dreams every night. What does it all mean?

Monday night: I'm driving my Jeep and the brakes go out, and the gas doesn't work, yet I'm still able to drive up hills and all over neighborhoods. It isn't until I go over a cliff and throw the Jeep into reverse that I keep from falling over the edge... then my Jeep is stuck in reverse, with the brakes out and no gas, but still going up hills and all over neighborhoods.

Tuesday night: I literally dreamt that I couldn't wake up, and I got freaked out that I couldn't wake up, and then when I woke up this morning, I thought it was a dream and thought I had missed work. Funny thing is, I don't go to work until four o'clock in the afternoon.

Am I a headcase?

My Election Season Campaign

It's that time of year when we all try to be more socially aware and make voting choices which we hope will ultimately benefit all mankind... blah blah blah. It's like Christmas for issues-zealots, where we normally wouldn't get involved, but we do because it's "that time of year."

I would rather stick a hot letter opener into my nasal cavity than ever run for public office, which is good since my job is technically a conflict of interest. Still, I feel since it's "that time of year," I need to start some kind of campaign and my campaign is as follows:

'06 Campaign to Make McDreamy Single
Ah yes, Grey's Anatomy's Derek Shepherd, a.k.a. McDreamy, is going to be my personal plight for the season.



I was obsessed with Grey's Anatomy from the first time I saw it as a mid-season replacement on ABC 'lo just a year and a half ago. McDreamy's eyes... McDreamy's hair... the fact that McDreamy didn't roll in on a riding lawnmower a la "Can't Buy Me Love." But it wasn't until I set my VCR for the wrong time and missed last week's Season Three premiere and spent two days scouring the Internet and iTunes TV show store that I realized how sickly obsessed I was.

This season, let's Make McDreamy Single. I can't stand another season of unrequited love and untamed sexual tension between Meredith and McDreamy. I can't stand the fact that McDreamy keeps ripping out Meredith's skinny, little heart and doing the Mexican Hat Dance on it. I can't stand McDreamy's wife Addison who had to sneak her way back into his life after doing the Mexican Hat Dance on his heart.

It's the Ross and Rachel cycle of get together, introduce conflict, break up, pine away, get together, break up... you get the picture. Ross and Rachel finally got together after nine painful years and I simply won't stand to wait until I'm nearly 40 years old to finally see Meredith and McDreamy happy.

Now, I'm not sure what measures I must take in the campaign to Make McDreamy Single, I'll have to consult my political pals for direction. However, I can assure you that from now until the first Tuesday in November, I will have set out a course of action for all of you to jump on my bandwagon and Make McDreamy Single.

This has been a paid announcement by the friends of Make McDreamy Single and the twisted minds who are actually sad enough to care.

Track Stars!!!

So, every week in the City Weekly, they get "local celebs" to pick their favorite songs and/or what they're listening to on the iPods right now.
This week, they chose some of the folks of Nightside, including Yours Truly.

Check it out here:
City Weekly

Thanks, Bill Frost!

What's Yer Pirate Name?

I've always loved pirates. I want to be one... or a mermaid.
Either one is pretty cool. From now on, call me Black Jenny Cash.

My pirate name is:

Black Jenny Cash

Like anyone confronted with the harshness of robbery on the high seas, you can be pessimistic at times. You're musical, and you've got a certain style if not flair. You'll do just fine. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

A Thousand Different Ways...

...to laugh your butt off and/or throw up from laughter.

Yes, cutie pie little Clay Aiken has released his second album to "Measure of a Man" today, and I have to say that it was bad enough that the thing starts out with his version of that popular Richard Marx classic "Right Here Waiting." But when the thing actually got to "Everything I do" and "Broken Wings" I had to shut the thing off.

I was in tears. It's because I was laughing.

So nevermind Clay has that little twinkle in his eye... skip the CD and read an issue of Tiger Beat.

Coincidence, or No?

Here's a poster, circa 1979, used to promote Pakistan Airlines.

Creepy.

Oxygen Spa Night

Jeff from the O2 Oxygen Spa in Salt Lake came in tonight and juiced us up. I chose "Serenity," a combination of lavendar and I believe eucalyptus. I feel mellow. I also would like a pizza, a bag of Doritos and maybe a Slim Jim...

...I am serene.

Try this stuff!!! The O2 Oxygen Spa it freaking rocks! They also have facials, massages and all kinds of things!

A Showdown I'd Like to See

Just a little quickie I was thinking about...

Whose baby is better?
Brangelina?
TomKat?

Let's put Suri and Shiloh together in a ring full of Jell-O and let them duke it out;

...because Tom versus Angelina would just be too easy.

Suri is an Adopted Chinese Baby in a Toupee

I believe the title of this post says it all.

For months now I have been skeptical as to the existence of TomKat's Suri Cruise, and now after tonight's showing on Katie Couric's debut night on CBS Evening News, I am wondering if this child was lab-created.

Isn't there some law that states you're not allowed to wig your newly adopted Chinese baby?
With a bad rug at that?

Alert the authorities!!!

Jo Jo's Munch House

You can't see it very well, but it's true, there is a place called "Jo Jo's Munch House" on State Street in Salt Lake City.

They had a fish sandwich special advertised by writing with what looked like White Out on the window.

Jo Jo's Munch House.

Creepy Guy Comparison of the Week

Remember the Heaven's Gate guy, Marshall Applewhite who led his cult to kill themselves in San Deigo so they could eventually return to the Mother Ship?



Just an older version of current freakshow John Mark Karr.

I *Heart* the Internet

Blogs and comment postings are becoming like buttholes, everyone's got 'em. I ran across this little tidbit of internet gold today and couldn't let it pass! ("pass": refer in the sense of "buttholes," mentioned above) And if you'd like the direct link, please click over to here

"Holly is outright annoying. Her interview skills aren't good. Her voice is one of the worst I've heard on the radio. Her questions for guests seemed scripted - which makes their shallow triteness even worse.

And, for the record, Holly was never a news reporter as she claimed once during the Destiny search. Reading pre-written news scripts on ZHT do not make a news reporter.

But we know now that if you want to shut her up, all you have to do is point out that she is single on air. I could feel the discomfort.

I've listened only a few times since the show started. It is getting more polished but I still don't enjoy it.

I hope this feedback is a little more helpful than the smartass comment I left earlier.

Posted by Anonymous | August 04, 2006 10:46 AM"

Anonymous? You need a hug? Did I steal your boyfriend because I'm cuter than you? Come on, what's the skinny? Me? Thank you very much!

I look at this stuff and I laugh out loud, or LOL for someone obviously so posting-savvy. There's so much I could say to this, but why waste the effort on something so stupid? However, I do appreciate that you're taking the time to keep up on Utah radio and where I've been and what I've allegedly done! It actually shows, Anonymous, that you're a true fan! Thanks for listening!

Grammar Watch pt. 1

Today I decided to look for all the bad grammar in the world. Lo' and behold, I found this little gem on the way home from the gym. A Oreo shake? Hmmm...

The Incredible Shrinking Richie

This week's US Weekly is off the chain, as it goes into the incredible shrinking Nicole Richie. Homegirl is just too small and needs to eat a sandwich, I actually feel bad for the girl. What's more, she's damned if she do and damned if she don't-- if she's too fat, she hears about it. If she's too skinny, she hears about it. In fact, one member of the paparazzi yelled at her that she was too f***ing skinny. She actually got up in his face and told him that he wouldn't be yelling at her if she were fat.

To this, I say amen.

Sure, she looks horrible, but it's something she's dealing with and obviously knows that she's able to double as an anatomy class skeleton. My point? Stop hating! Let's hate Tom Cruise some more if we want to hate someone...

Anyway, judge it for yourself-- just don't yell it out at Nicole.

Holy Shrimp, Batman!

I'm not a religious person, but I do have to admire this shrimp's ability to channel a special spirit. This shrimp tail was originally discarded by a California man, but on second look he saw the face of Jesus. He believed it was a sign-- he just went through a nasty divorce with his wife.

Happy Fourth of July!!

Up yours, Kim Jong Il!!!

What Ever Happened to... ?

Thursday nights in the 80s were great because I knew I could always look forward to the wacky antics on Bill Cosby and his crazy television kids. Apparently, I was feeling a bit nostalgic tonight, and since it is Thursday, I was thinking to myself... Whatever happened to the folks on The Cosby Show?

Let's begin with when Cosby jumped the shark. Little Rudy had gotten to be bigger Rudy and so the show needed to add a different cute and precocious little girl to warm the hearts of America's viewers. Hence, Raven Symone.

In this picture, Raven Symone is wearing a haute couture trash bag to some sort of event.


Moving onto to the above-mentioned Rudy... Kiesha Knight Pullam decided to edumacate herself and get a Sociology degree from some college in Atlanta. More importantly, this picture shows that she is an intelligent 25-year-old and doesn't need to do anything like pose in her underwear to prove stuff.


Tempestt Bledsoe has grown up as well. She went from playing the Jan Brady-esque Vanessa Huxtable to current body-double for former American Idol winner Fantasia Barrino.


Probably the Cosby kid who aged the best is Malcom Jamal Warner who played the wry brother/dyslexic student Theo. Warner is a musician and music video director now, who started his own label called "Miles Long;" which I think is a bit presumptious. Still, he's hot.


The very cool and slightly edgy Denise Huxtible was played by Lenny Kravitz's ex-wife Lisa Bonet who I believe was a porn star before showing up and the über-cool singer in High Fidelity. But before that, she was on a Different World and was hospitalized for smoking Dwayne Wayne's flip-up sunglasses.


So there's the Thursday night tribute, makes you wish there was a little less reality TV in the world, no?

Oh. My. God.

It's been awhile, kiddies. I've had some family stuff going on, I've had some long-distance stuff going on, I've had some job stuff going on; but I'm trying to regroup and reboot and get through it all.

It's like a rebirth, right?

And with that, I give you White Trash Barbie on the cover of next month's Bazaar Magazine.

Fun with Mentos and Diet Coke

New hair picture on demand!