One last thing...

I got new glasses.
Methinks the day-long vertigo is worth it. Apparently you're not supposed to go five years in between eye exams and now I feel like I have X-ray vision.

The postman stole my Free Panty.

There are few joys in life greater than getting something in the mail from Victoria's Secret, other than their monthly credit card bill. If you're a card-holder, occasionally they'll send you free stuff. Free panty here, $10-off a purchase there, all with the assumption you'll visit their store and spend five-times what you'd normally spend.

Today, I got home from yet another nerve-wracking day at work and saw a little glimmer of salvation: the Victoria's Secret mailer announcing "Free Panty." The Free Panty is a good one, and having acquired several of the little gems over the years, I was excited to redeem the coupon and perhaps spend actual money on a few well-deserved items for myself. Upon opening the poorly glued mailer, I discovered something so horrific, so mortifying, so heinous I was forced to check the mailbox several times out of desperation.

No Free Panty. None, no card-like coupon stuck to the inside of the card. The words echoed inside my head: No. Free. Panty. For. You. Holly.

The postman stole my Free Panty. That's the only logical explaination for it's disappearance. Isn't it just my luck today that I would look so forward to Free Panty and then have my hopes dashed?

Apparently you don't get something for nothing.

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?