We all need a personal slogan, right?

Hey there, you sexy beasts!  How's it going?  I'm sorry I've been MIA a lot this week, but I've been busier than a one-legged Riverdancer. Plus, I admit I've been in a bit of a blogging slump; when I sit down to try to write for my beloved OOBH I come up woefully blank. Don't worry though; much like the gas from the ill-advised bowl of Hormel chili I had for lunch yesterday, this too shall pass.

TMI? Sorry. I thought you were into that sort of thing. ;)

This has been an interesting week.  For starters, my youngest son (age 3) has become oddly fixated on a song from the Marmaduke soundtrack, which means I've been starting every morning jamming out to some Tupac.  That's right - the boys and I rock it out to California Love every morning - we roll up to the school with the base throbbing, heads bobbing, then we throw up gang signs to the para-professionals who greet the kids and go our separate ways. We pretty much rule that school, old-skool, but it does set an odd tone to the day.  Not bad, just a little different.  It makes me laugh, though, and mama likes to laugh.

Coitus.

Halloween is just around the corner!  Is anybody dressing up?  I was going to be a sexy witch but the other night I decided that I might look around for a Maude Lebowski wig.  It's probably not the most current costume idea, but it's a classic and I do love me some Maude!  I've already got Jim growing in some Dude-ish facial hair, too.

Speaking of Halloween, I shared this funny Elvira video on the OOBH Facebook page yesterday.  Btw, if you haven't become a fan of the OOBH yet, what are you waiting for?  Even on days when I don't have the energy to make a blog post I'm usually farting around over on Fecesbook, so come talk to me, why don'tcha? 

Okay, enough pandering.  Check out this hot bish:

This woman is 59 years old.  FML.

I love her!  When I was a kid I always wanted my dad to rent me one of her movies at the video store but he never would.  You see that?  Even as a child I was drawn to her snarky persona and enormous knockers like a moth to a flame.  In this quick video she is spoofing political laughing-stock Christine O'Donnell, and in so doing she has provided me with my new personal slogan.  Take a look - you'll know what I mean:



I'm you, 'cept with bigger tits.

Put that on my headstone and call it a day!  Could it BE any more perfect?  No, no it could not.  Hmm, this gives me an idea....  Maybe I'll ditch my Maude costume idea and just go for the gusto and be Elvira!  *wheels turning*

Okay, poopsies.  Gotta run.  Lots to do today and miles to go before I sleep.  Hope you all have a groovy weekend!
XOXO

Weekend Recapalooza

Happy Monday Tuesday morning! Is everyone all relaxed from their long weekend? I know I am; in fact if I were any more relaxed you'd have to check for a pulse!

The weekend was lovely. We had warm weather and blue skies, cold beer, and lots of swim-time. Here's the Cliff Notes version of what went down.

Friday night I met my Girl Posse for margs and apps, then we went to see Eclipse. I have to admit that I haven't loved either of the first two Twilight movies, in fact, I think they heartily sucked the big one. My expectations were therefore sufficiently low this time around, and I was pleasantly surprised. It was good!

I'm the only girl in the P-Posse who wore heels. Shorties.

After the movie we all headed downtown to a dive bar to meet up with some other friends and sing some karaoke. Unfortunately, on the way there the Southwestern Steak Egg Rolls (with a side of bacteria) Mala had for dinner kicked in and she got sick. I got to the bar but was worried about her. We were kind of freaking out, so I bid the girls farewell and booked it back to where she was camped out at the Circle K to make sure she wasn't, you know, dying of a stroke or something. :(

Within minutes Mala's rescue crew arrived. Her husband (with sleepy pj'ed kids in tow), mother, and step-dad showed up to drive her and her car home, and by then she was feeling better. Once she was bundled into her car and I was sure that she wasn't heading to the ER, I was able to relax again. I headed back to the bar and had some fun, though the whole ordeal was so sobering that it wasn't the wild night I'd anticipated.

Still, we had some cocktails and laughs, and before too long we were up there singing karaoke. This is when Meg and I made the most embarrassing song choice EVER. Worse than the time my friend Stacie and I sang about how we were born to be "Ramblin' Men." Worse than the Divinyl incident. Worse than other song I've ever selected to sing in public in my entire life.

For some reason, we saw the song "Gold-Digger" by Kanye West and thought it would be fun to sing. ***SMACKING FOREHEAD***

It was NOT fun to sing.

In fact, it was mortifying.

Apparently, we didn't know the song as well as we thought we did.
Apparently, we'd only heard the radio version.
Apparently, we had no idea what word Kanye says in the chorus, over and over again.

It's a word I've never said in my entire life, and I wasn't about to start then.

Hint: it rhymes with "digger."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Megan tried to salvage it, but about 30 seconds in I just stood there wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me. We eventually stumbled our way through it singing the clean radio version, "broke, broke," but it was humiliating, and I wasn't nearly drunk enough to just go with it!





Later, Laurie and I redeemed ourselves by kicking some ass on "Just Dance" by our girl Gaga, but still... ouch.

Those tequila shots were purely medicinal!

On Saturday Mala and I shot a bunch of funny video at her house, but then I got home and discovered that my camcorder won't talk to my laptop, and neither one of them wants anything to do with the Pinnacle editing software, either. FML! So today I'm off to Best Buy to try to spend my way out of this pickle. Hopefully we'll have something fun for you guys at some point.

Sunday we spent the day at the lake in Vermont with my mom and some extended family, and I'll spare you the details of that day with one exception. This photo was taken right after D splashed us right in the face, so please forgive the 'do and the bizarre expression on my face. What is more funny is the Photobomber behind us, yes?

Yup, I thought so too!

On Monday I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything I thought it could be, and more.

So that's my weekend in a nutshell (Help! I'm in a nutshell!). How was yours? Sing any embarrassing karaoke? Have any potential medical emergencies? Have a Shamu sighting? No? Just me then?

Figures.

TV Pimpery

Greetings, Earthlings. How goes it?

Okay here, just plugging along on another dreary Monday. The weekend was good but definitely nothing to write home about; my in-laws came to visit and by the time they left one of them was violently ill with a stomach bug and another was limping due to a sprained knee from skiing with the J. Two out of three left us in wheelchairs, essentially, which is no testament to my mad hostessing skillz, I assure you! I swear I washed my hands before serving the shrimp cocktail, I swear!

The super fun part of this equation is that in about three days I fully expect us all to be retching as well, so thanks for that lovely parting gift! E-Coli, the gift that keeps on giving. You really shouldn't have.

Other than that I have nothing exciting to report except for the return of a couple of my favorite shows this evening, so I'ma go ahead and talk them up so those of you with Showtime can join in the merriment.

U.S. of Tara and Nurse Jackie return tonight!

Both of these terrific shows are coming back for their second seasons tonight, and I adore them both. They are each extremely funny but also have a deeper vein of reality running through them as well. Nurse Jackie stars Edie Falco as a pill-popping RN who is juggling a high-pressure job, a family, and a pharmacist/boyfriend while trying to keep herself as numb as possible in the process. The show is smart and fast-paced, and I guarantee that you will fall in love with the character of Zoey pretty much immediately.


U.S. of Tara is written by Juno screenwriter Diablo Cody, and as such it has her usual flair for pop culture references and 100 mph dialogue. Toni Colette is brilliant as Tara, a wife and mother who battles multiple personality disorder.

Tara's family is as tolerant as you can expect them to be when one of the alters is a tough-talking MAN, another is a 1960's housewife type, and another is a sassy teenage girl. According to Entertainment Weekly, this season we'll be introduced to another alter, one who thinks she's a shrink.

Awesome, Blossom.

Again, the show takes a difficult subject-matter and somehow finds the humor in it all, the characters are likable and complex, and I guarantee that it will make you laugh AND think.

So, give 'em a look-see, won't you? If you don't get Showtime you can always catch up on the first seasons of both on DVD! And no, I didn't get paid to endorse these programs... but I wouldn't be opposed to that. Hint, hint....

One last thing. Twilight's New Moon came out this weekend and my ILs were interested in seeing it, so we watched it on Saturday night. As some of you may remember I saw this film in the theater with some girlfriends, but I, um... didn't quite remember much of it. *cough* Not sure why... perhaps it was the multiple cocktails or something, but at any rate I dozed through most of it.

After watching it again on Saturday night it's clear why I slept through it: BOOOOOOOORING. Damn, that movie sucked! They could have cut out about 30 minutes of moping and it would have been much better, IMO. Of course, New Moon was my least-favorite book in the series, so maybe that's why it did nothing for me. But still... major suckage.

See ya!

69, Dude! Plus, what is it about musicians...

that makes them so GD sexy?

I was watching SNL last weekend and the musical guest was Muse. I like Muse in small doses; I discovered them when I read the Twilight series because, as you may know, Twilight author Stephenie Meyer was inspired by the band while writing all four of her treacly vamp novels. She even goes so far as to thank them in the acknowledgement at the beginning of each book, which always cracks me up because here she is, this very proper Mormon mother of three, who loves somber, angsty Eurotrash music.

I remember going to iTunes and downloading their Black Holes And Revelations album right before we had a long car trip planned. Jim and I rocked it out in the car on the way to PA and found them to be enjoyable, albeit rather heavy for us at times. In fact, we dubbed them "Wyld Stallyns*," and you'd better believe there was a lot of air-guitaring and crazy-eyes going on in the car that day. What can I say? We commit.

I find some of their songs to be extremely sexy. I really love Supermassive Black Hole, Knights of Cyrdonia, and Uprising, for instance. They have a heavy bassline, keening vocals, and a sort of funky electronica element. I dig it.

The band, however, is kind of fug. Bad teeth. Skinny. Pale. Not my cup o' tea, looks-wise.



Yet, when I see them play like I did on SNL the other night I think they're sexy as hell. Why is that? What is it about musicians that makes my heart race and my knees part weak? Part of it is talent, yes; I have a thing for talented men, and I always have. But there is more to it than that.

Is it that they have rhythm? Does that fact somehow translate to some sort of carnal knowledge that they will be good in the sack? Is it that they're great showmen who can work a crowd, AKA: they've got confidence? Yes and yes. Is it the fact that they could, ostensibly, have any woman that they want? Yes.

So they're fug. I still think they're hot for some odd reason.

My husband is not a musician but he is a massive music lover. He plays no instruments but is a music collector and kindly gives my very different musical tastes a fair listen. He doesn't criticize me for liking alternative music and Lady Gaga and I don't criticize him for being a die-hard Dead Head.

Every other guy I have ever dated was a musician. I've even fallen for guys before I knew they were musically-inclined. I'm a band groupie from way back, apparently.

So, there's that.

* In other news, today a lovely reader named Anne became follower #69, DUDES!



Thanks for making my Festivus dream come true, Anne!! Welcome to the OOBH. We've been expecting you....

In about an hour I'll be enduring our annual Yankee Swap and potluck lunch here at My Crap Job. You may remember me griping about it last December in my Schweddy Balls post. Some things never change. I requested that S. make her Schweddy Balls again this year and she obliged, so at least I can pop a couple of those rum-soaked bad boys and get my buzz on. My motto regarding my cow-workers this year has been a simple one: Fuck 'em! I've been so much happier ever since I decided not to give a crap.

Hasta la vista, babies!

Ding dong, you messed with the wrong chick!

Happy Monday, folks! Did you all have a nice weekend? I did! On Saturday I gathered my fellow immature Twilight-loving friends and we saw New Moon. It was great! Of course, before the movie we had dinner and many, many Cosmos, so I'm pretty sure any movie we saw would have been great in that frame of mind, but whatever. I loved it and can't wait to see it again when I can remember it all.

I'll throw up a couple of photos, but that's really not what this post is about, so I'll make it quick:



Oh, and we had so much fun cruising in Laurie's Mini Cooper with the top down (in November - love this warm weather!) that we all felt like teenagers again. Good times....


Okay, moving on. I have to share an inspirational work story on this Monday morning when many of us are working and perhaps subsequently hatin' life. I think it's safe to say that we've all worked with a certifiable bitch before, right? I mean, there are so many bitchy & mean people in the world, you're just bound to run into one at some point in your career. In my case, I work with lots of 'em - both male and female - but you all know that Nasty Bitch Nancy gets under my skin more than most. She's the coffee Nazi who acts like I cut off a body part if I allow the creamer to run low? The one who leaves me passive-aggressive notes about mysterious rodent-related odors? Yeah, her.

Anyway, this post isn't about her, it's about someone my good friend Dorothy* encountered recently.

Dorothy works for a medium-sized company and is pretty high up the chain of command, just under the VP-level. She works hard and keeps her head down, doesn't cause trouble, and is well-liked by everyone and well-respected by her superiors. Recently Dorothy had a run-in with Evilene, a woman who worked in a lateral position and who had a reputation of being difficult and vulgar at work. Evilene had worked there for 12+ years and therefore felt entitled to curse openly and berate people on a daily basis. Several VP's had been told not to deal with Evilene anymore, but to go through Dorothy instead. People feared Evilene's wrath and avoided her, yet her job was safe for some odd reason. It was as if no one could touch her, and with every day her unchecked vindictiveness grew until the very air around her seemed to glow with aggression and rage.

One day last week, Evilene made a mistake at work that directly affected Dorothy. Dorothy, ever the dutiful worker, approached her on a quiet day in the office when many people were out at a meeting. When our friend Dot showed Evilene the email from last August that backed her up and incriminated Evilene, Evilene told her she didn't care about "her fucking email" and then called her a "fucking backstabber." Dorothy, ever the composed and intelligent worker, quietly retreated to the bathroom to wash her face and try to get her blood pressure back down to a normal level.

Later, she sent an email to Evilene's boss and HR, telling them what had happened. When they asked Evilene about it, Evilene denied it ever happened and since the office was nearly-empty and those people who were close to the scene work directly for Evilene, no one came forward to back up poor Dorothy. Several people, however, admitted that Evilene had it out for Dorothy and had been heard loudly calling her vulgar obscenities that very day.

Alas, with no proof and no witnesses, it seemed that Dorothy would just become yet another casualty of Evilene's cruelty.

BUT WAIT, there's more!

The following Monday morning, a day just like this one, Dorothy went to work to find that HR and the boss had decided that Evilene had gone too far at last. Apparently, Dorothy's stellar record of not being a horrible gossiping lying hag was all the proof that they needed; it was the last straw for that camel's back. The company decided that Dorothy was too important to be treated in such a manner, so they did the unthinkable - they fired Evilene! She was gone, gone, gone by the time Dorothy took off her coat on Monday morning! Sometimes nice guys DO finish first!

Throughout the day that day, Dorothy saw several people who had worked under Evilene who looked like they'd been crying. She felt badly that she had essentially caused the termination of someone so beloved; Dorothy is not one to cause turmoil, after all. Yet later that day one of them approached her with something like reverence in her eyes, and Dorothy asked her if she was okay.

Turns out, the munchkins were not weeping tears of sorrow; they were rejoicing because Dorothy had killed The Wicked Witch!



Ding dong, the witch is dead! They immediately started planning a parade in her honor and have assured Dorothy that the ruby slippers are forthcoming. She is a working class hero, and all is well in the Land of Oz once more.



A day later, the brakes on Dorothy's car suddenly went out, but we're sure that was just a coincidence.

So, you see? Good things can happen at work. Sometimes karma gets it right.


* Names changed to protect the livelihood of the innocent.

Embarrassing Fan Girl Blatherings

Since you all know that have no shame when it comes to pop culture, I'm going to talk about two things today that I love despite the fact that my gushing makes me feel deeply ashamed down to the bottom of my boogedy-boogedy shoes. On one hand, I'm embarrassed about loving Twilight and a certain cheesy pop chanteuse, but on the other hand, I like what I like so I really don't give a fuck. It's a delicate conundrum, but life can be complicated sometimes and who am I to argue with what floats my (little man in a) boat?

Heh heh.

Anywho, New Moon opens this weekend, and like everyone else who devoured the Twilight series in a matter of hours a couple of years ago, I'm excited to see it.



I'm gathering the same girl posse who saw the original cheesetastic flick with me last Fall, and we're going to the same Mexican restaurant beforehand. It's a tradition, you see, as is having two gargantuan margaritas bigger than my head before heading next door to the theatre. No WONDER we liked the movie, huh? They're buzzzzzzz-worthy.

Now, New Moon was my least-favorite book in the four-book Twilight series, largely because there was just not enough hunky Edward to make it worth my while. The whole flirtation with Jacob did nothing but piss me off, to be perfectly honest. Also, I don't care how much that actor boy works out, he still looks 12 years old to me. PASS.

Yet will I mind sitting through a 2 hour movie in which he gets semi-nude a lot while transforming into a wolf? Naaaaah, I can grin and bear it. I'm strong like that.

Ok, moving on. Lady Gaga has a new song and video out and I'm borderline obsessed with them both. I know some people think she's just a freaky attention-seeker but I honestly think she is an artist. Sure, she makes pop music, but she writes her own shit, doesn't lip synq, and her crazy outfits and videos are by-God performance art in my eyes. I have said it before and I'll say it again -- I love theatre, I love spectacle, I love to be wowed and I love to say, "What the frickin-frack did I just see?"

So of course I love the Gaga. How could I not? She's the real deal. Also, it's got a good beat and I can dance to it, Casey.

Here's her weird-as-funk video for Bad Romance. Behold, my favorite crazy bitch:



Here's one I just came across on Dlisted today. It's Beyonce & Gaga wearing lots of crazy wigs and stuff. LIKE. I so want a Bettie Page wig now. What?



So that's that. I know you're judging me, but I don't care. I judge people when they use bad grammar, listen to Nickelback, or tuck sweaters into jeans, so I get it. We all have our "things."

Do you Drew?

I do.

Drew Barrymore, that is. I've always had a fondness for this slightly ditsy blonde actress, maybe because we are the same age and I grew up watching her grow up on screen. I know it sounds weird, but as a kid I used to like to watch a movie called Irreconcilable Differences, a film in which Ryan O'Neil and Shelley Long fight a lot and eventually get a divorce.

Yeah, I know - I was a strange child. Anyway, Ms. Barrymore was in it, and of course she was also in E.T., which was one of the first movies I ever saw in the cinema, so I feel like I've "known" her forever.

When I was about 14 I entered my "no one understands me/textbook teen angst" phase, so I rebelled by wearing head-to-toe black every day, listening to moody pre-goth music like The Cure, The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Depeche Mode, and the like, and generally acting mopey and depressed like doing so was my job. My parents were strict, a fact which both added to my melancholy and kept me from doing anything truly stupid like tattooing Sinead O'Connor lyrics onto my ankle or going to 3rd base with a senior named Simon.

While I was breaking my parents' hearts, Drew was in and out of rehab and making movies like the craptastic Poison Ivy. Like me, Drew was going through a bad girl phase and was rebelling whenever possible. Unlike me, Drew had no parental supervision.

By the time I was 18 and in college I had snapped out of my morose woe-is-me phase and settled into the culture of my university. I grew my hair even longer and even straighter, I wore hemp jewelry and had flower patches on my jeans. I celebrated 4:20 at every opportunity and devoted myself to being a "nouveau hippy." Photos of me from this era show me flashing the peace sign with red-rimmed eyes surrounded by a similar band of comfortably-suburban kids who always managed to make it to their classes and earn decent grades even while being blitzed out of their skulls day and night.

Drew, meanwhile, was deep into her bubbly flower girl phase, and had by then posed for Playboy. You all know I have always been a big Playboy fan, so I am not ashamed to admit that I greedily peeked at Drew's goods one drunken night. I found myself and a few girlfriends in the dingy bathroom of a houseful of our male friends, and there it was, just lying there. Girlfriend looked pretty damn good, I must say, and we all ooh'ed and ahh'ed appreciatively until the guys started to wonder what was keeping us in there.

Embarrassingly enough, in our late twenties and early thirties Drew and I both put on a few pounds. In my defense, I had some health troubles and then I gave birth to two rather large babies. Regardless of our respective reasons, Drew's melons became the sag heard round the world when she (regrettably) went bra-less to the Golden Globes (!) one year. I was never happier to be a nobody than when the whole world made fun of her jugs.

The good news is that Drew is wealthy and could enlist the help of a personal trainer and nutritionist (and possibly a plastic surgeon), because soon she was back to her pert and svelte self. In my case it took a bit longer, but I'm happy to report that I'm back in my old jeans and I don't feel like a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade... most days. Of course, La Bev at her smallest is still quite a bit bigger than La Drew, I'm sure, but so be it.

Last weekend Drew was on SNL and she announced that she has hosted the show more times than any other woman in the show's history. I felt undeniably and a little perversely proud of her, as if I too could share in her achievement. She has lampooned herself on the show often enough, including appearing with comically pendulous breasts in the same green dress that caused all the ruckus, that I think we'd probably get along pretty well IRL. I do so appreciate a self-deprecating wit, after all.

This week's opening clip showed her poking fun at her family's long history in show business and I laughed, and then I marvelled at the fact that she's famous even though she has a speech impediment and is relatively average-looking. Sure, part of her fame came by virtue of her last name, but how to explain her staying power over the years? Talent, that's how, and kindness. Something tells me that she's simply a nice person and people like working with her, which is kind of rad.



Hulu only has the whole episode. Go to the 5:30 mark to see the opening clip I just mentioned.

So there it is. I'm a fan, and Drew is one of the few celebs who I'm rooting for to succeed and for whom I wish good things. Even if she did once marry Tom Greene... we'll give her a mulligan on that one.

Pop Icon Friday

Yaaaaay, it's Friday! *happy sigh* We made it through another week, and what a week! In keeping with the fact that I see death everywhere I look, three big celebs died this week, and no, I'm not still talking about my dog. Last night my Facebook feed was nothing but status reports concerning Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. So, of course, rather than just ignoring it as I probably should, I need to dwell on it for just a mo' because they were important members of the pop culture lexicon, and dwelling is what I do. Bear with me.

Oh, and btw, I have nothing to say about Ed McMahon. He was old. He was on Late Night with Johnny Carson and Star Search. Recently, he wore a neck brace and had money troubles. That's really all I got. NEXT!

First of all, when I was a kid I LOVED Michael Jackson. Like, really, honestly loved him & wanted to have his babies and move to Neverland. Little did I know that at age 8 I was already too old for him and (allegedly!) the wrong gender. But, let's put the fact notion that he was a pedophile wackjob out of our heads for just a bit & focus on the muzak, ok?


The Michael I loved was the Michael from the Jackson Five, the Michael whose "Off The Wall" album was in constant rotation on my portable denim-covered record player. On Saturday mornings when I was really young, I'd slip downstairs super early to catch The Jackson 5 Cartoon. Yes, it existed, and I loved it! Hey, don't judge me. I also watched Hee-Haw, so WTF did I know?

To this day, if I'm at a wedding or out on the town (which admittedly isn't all that often now that I'm a boring old mom-type person), if somebody plays Don't Stop Til' You Get Enough, watch the fuck out, because Bev will work it. And if they play Thriller, expect to see some zombie hands.

Speaking of "Thriller", here's a confession I've never shared with anyone that I think you'll find both humorous and mortifying. My sister Debbie will remember this, because she was the only witness to it. I was maybe 8 or so when this happened, and it was Debbie's album, not mine. So I was in her room snooping around, which was something I did a lot back then (sorry, Deebs, you were interesting and I had no sense of personal space!), and I got out her "Thriller" album and put it on. Then I decided to have some fun with Michael, my big crush (shhhhh), so I got in her bed and opened up the fold-out picture of him in the white suit. You know, this one:

I swear to God, nothing happened. We were totally just talking! No funny business. BUT, Debbie walked in and caught me in bed with Michael Jackson, and I don't think she has ever looked at me the same way since.

I could go on and on and on about how much I liked "Bad" and how many MJ pins I had on my corduroy jacket, or how much I envied that trashy girl on the bus who actually had a red vinyl jacket with zippers just like Michael's. Bitch. But I'll stop now, because I've already over-shared and I'm afraid you're all gonna start looking at me funny, like Debbie still does.


Moving on... Farrah. What's to say about Farrah? She seemed like a nice lady, and she was incredibly beautiful, and I loved her on Charlie's Angels. I can't say that she was my favorite, because that honor went to Jaclyn Smith. Btw, I still love Jaclyn Smith, and I even watched that terrible Bravo show about hairdressers because she was on it.

I remember when I was young and my parents had some friends over for dinner, so I was left to entertain myself in the living room with my good friend, Television. What did 9-year-old Beverly Anne choose to watch? Why, The Burning Bed, of course!

Yep, a TV movie about an abused wife who can't get anyone to help her. SPOILER ALERT: After her disgusting drunk dick of a husband rapes her one night, she sets the bed on fire... with him in it. Rock the fuck on, Farrah! HELL YES. Also, Farrah was terrific in the movie, so don't let me hear you say she couldn't act.

So, there you have it: way more information than you needed (or probably wanted!) about me and why I am the way I am. Pop Culture junkies aren't born, they're made; usually out of too much free time, too much extreme weather, and too much access to movies, cable and satellite. I mean, it was northern Vermont, where the winters last 9+ months of the year! What else was there to do but read like a fiend and watch the same 80's comedies over and over again?

Ok, that'll do. Have yourselves a lovely Friday and weekend! I'll be out eating sushi and drinking dirty martinis with some girlfriends tonight. I will raise a glass to fallen icons and that will be that. Death sucks, and I've had about enough of it for quite a while.
Ciao, bella!
oxoxoxo

Randomnicity

Since I am too burned out on this Friday morning to make a post containing any real substance, I will bore you with the fleeting thoughts of my rain-addled brain. And you will like it, by God. Don't make me come over there.

Let's see. I need to remember to call the cable company and order HBO today. True Blood starts up again on Sunday night and I. AM. PUMPED. I have no idea why I'm such a freak about vampire stuff; I never was before the whole Twilight/Dead Until Dark phenomenon took hold of me, but I am pretty sure it has something to do with the sex aspect of it all. Sigh. I am such a perv, you guys. Sometimes I surprise even myself. Also, I think it's getting worse as I get older! Is that normal? Do I care? Probably no on both counts.... At any rate, True Blood is a sexy-ass show with sexy-ass vamps who like to screw and bite people, and I am all about it. Oh, and now we know that Anna Paquin (Sookie) and Stephen Moyer (Bill) are totally doing it IRL, so that's kind of hot, right? Buh-RING IT!

Next: Some celebrities should not speak. Every time I turn around I am reading some terrible quote from Shia Labeouf, for instance. Now, I had no real opinion about him before; he's not hot, so he was kind off my radar. But now that we know certain things about him, he creeps me right out. For instance, we know:

- He is poorly endowed
- He wants to have sex with his mother
- His parents used to smoke weed & get it on right in front of him, events for which he now credits his "R-rated sense of humor."

I am too lazy to validate all of these stories with links, so you're gonna have to take my word for 'em. You can also look at the "Shia LaDouche" category over at Dlisted since I'm pretty sure I read it all there.

What else? The weekend looks like it'll be decent. Tomorrow we've got a b-day party for one of Danny's classmates, and we're friends with her parents so hopefully it'll be a good time for all involved. D's excited to wear his Power Ranger costume because it's a Super Heroes party. I can't stop calling it a Pooper Heroes party, because I have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old boy, but you knew that.

Speaking of that, I took one of those silly Facebook quizzes last night and it told me I have a 100% dirty mind. Ha. Like that's news! Duuuuuhhhh. But honestly, how dirty do you have to be to see a woman's crotch in this picture? It SO does not look like a lamp until you squint and slap yourself in the head for being such a dirty birdy. RIGHT?

Sunday we're going up to my mom's house and I will be digging through her piles of disorganized photos so you can all see what a freak show I was during the 70's and 80's. You're welcome. Oh, and I clearly gained my mad organizational skillz from my mom, since I too have drawers full of disorganized, non-scrapbooked pictures. It's a proud tradition, really. I take my slackerdom very seriously. Ok, no I don't. Whatever. What was I talking about?

I'm so sick of my job and my boss that I just might hurt someone today. Honestly, if my boss uses the "royal we" one more time this morning, I might haul off and punch him. On edge? Moi? I don't know what you're talking about! I'm just not in the mood for his crap today, is all, and he's going 1000 mph and is all up in my bidness! Back off, yo, or taste my wrath. FYI, it does not taste like chicken.

On a happier note, Mala and I are planning our next get-away for July. WOOT! I am always happiest when I have something fun to look forward to, and this looks to be a good time. I'll tell you all about it another time. Right now I am hungry, and I need to go enjoy a Diet Coke and smile.

Have a lovely day, TGIF, and TTYL!

Come to mama!

The new poster for New Moon is making the rounds, and HELLO. Photoshopped? Sure, but who cares?

Even though I pretty much hated that book, I hope you know that I'll be front & center next November, elbowing annoying tweens out of my way as need be. I will cut a bitch for blocking my view of the hotness! Not even kidding. Ok, maybe a little.


Ugh... today is dragging. I don't want to be at work, and my boss is being annoying as hell. I mean, he expects me to do work and shit. The nerve! What I want to do is go home and do laundry, because I'm wild and crazy like that. Ok, not really. Mostly I just want to avoid having to hunt high and low for a clean pair of Toy Story underwear tomorrow morning at 7 AM, like I did today.

What? All of my Barbie undies were dirty!

Oh, and while I'm wallowing in my immaturity, I have to mention that Charlaine Harris's next installment of the Sookie Stackhouse novels comes out in early May, and the next season of True Blood starts up in June on HBO. Looks like I'm going back to the 'BO, cause I can't miss it. I just can't. I won't!

Anywhoooo.... Better get back to it. These Share Class Analyzers aren't gonna analyze themselves, people! Good thing, too, 'cause then I'd be out of a job. Latah!

I saw it!

The Twilight movie, that is.

I decided to have a "me date" today. Go ahead, laugh, but it was very tranquil and therapeutic, so there! I went to the movie alone and had buttered popcorn for breakfast/lunch, and got a huge soda. For a while, I was the only person in the entire stadium, so I chose the perfect seat, front and center. Eventually I was joined by an adult mother/daughter duo who sat way behind me, and I think another single woman about my age slipped in during the previews (new Harry Potter movie preview, btw! Looks excellent!!). Anyway, I very much felt like I had the place to myself, so that was cool.

The movie itself... hmmmm. It was... okay. I think it's kind of like that old saying about chocolate (and sex), that even when it's bad, it's still kind of good. I enjoyed watching it and found myself grinning quite a bit at parts that were just like the book. However, the script wasn't the greatest, and I felt like they randomly chose to rearrange certain sequences that didn't need rearranging. I also didn't like most of the added scenes/material that weren't in the book, and the small details like the diner. When did Charlie & Bella ever eat in a diner every night? Ok, so frankly, at times... as much as I was into it... I got a little bored.

The casting irked me. I did not like Kristen Stewart as Bella at all. It's funny, because I thought I would like her understated performance, based on the previews I'd seen. But frankly, and this sounds awful, but she just isn't pretty enough to be the Bella I'd imagined. She's pretty, but there was something about her face that didn't do it for me.
Ok, and Edward. You know I've got a total couger crush on 22-year old Robert Pattinson, and again, I thought I was going to swoon over his performance in the movie... but most of the time, I found him to be kind of creepy as Edward. Maybe it was the extreme close-ups on a humungous movie screen, his plastic-looking and pasty face, with wierd teeth & red lips, or maybe it was his really wierd accent, which I found to be very distracting. I know in real life, he has a gorgeous British accent (to be honest, I kind of hear Edward's voice as slightly British, too), but in this movie he kept reminding me of Anakin Sykwalker (Hayden Christianson) in Star Wars, episodes II and III. Not...uh...not good.

So, don't get me wrong, Edward still looked amazing for most of the movie, but I guess there is just no way to depict someone who is supposed to be the most charming, gorgeous, thrilling, stunning, mesmerizing immortal ever. A for effort, though. Go Pattz. :)

None of the siblings were as good looking as they should have been, IMO. Jasper was actually kind of fug.

Anyway, the script hit the high points, and I loved the action sequences. James, Laurent, and Victoria are very cool bad guys. Oddly enough, the part of the book that I thought was kind of dumb turned out to be my favorite part of the whole film. The baseball scene. I'm sure it's partially because the song that plays during that scene is my favorite song from Muse, a band which I just got into. It's a super sexy song ("Supermassive Black Hole"), and suited the slo-mo uber baseball game nicely.

So, there you have it. Like the buttered popcorn that I had so covetted and skipped two meals to consume, it was not as good as I'd built it up to be in my head. My popcorn was slightly burnt, and this movie was like two hours of disjointed snapshots of pretty (and slightly creepy) people doing lots of talking and not enough macking out. Hrmph.

But I still can't wait to see it again. :)

Because, when it comes right down to it,

I am a 14 year old girl at heart.

*sigh*

I was bitten last Sunday by the worst kind of venomous creature: the Twilight phenomenon.


To the detriment of most other things, including housework, television, computer time, and even any kind of mothering beyond the absolute necessities, I read the entire Twilight series in one week. Four books. Sunday to Sunday. That's 2,379 pages, according to Wiki Answers. Sheesh.

As many of you know, I'm a bit of a manic-depressive kind of reader. I go for months without reading much of anything beyond Entertainment Weekly, then I find a couple of good novels and read fanatically for a couple of weeks, then go back to my "dormant" phase. I'm not one of those readers who can read a chapter, feel satisfied, and put it down for a day or two until I feel like reading again. Nope. I get obsessive and MUST know how it will end. I find myself pulling it out at stop lights, at lunch time at work, and while cooking dinner. It's kind of a problem.

Anyway, now I can't get my head out of the soapy, melodramatic world of Edward (swoon!) and Bella. Dude. I am officially immature. I couldn't feel more than mild annoyance over Bella's "frail", relatively helpless demeanor, or Edward being a bit of a control freak, or Jacob and Edward both having those "Bella is mine!" thoughts. I couldn't even get annoyed that the author uses the same stupid words over and over and over again to describe the characters and events. I don't get it - I don't usually go for sappy love stories. I've never even watched soap operas! I guess maybe it was the supernatural aspect that hooked me, because I've never met a supernatural thriller kind of thing that I didn't like.

And so, even though the movie is getting so-so (at best) reviews, and even though I heard it described as "a 1 hour and 45 minute Abercrombie and Fitch ad", I will go see the movie. I will go by myself if I cannot convince someone to put their dignity aside and come with me to a movie about teenage vampire love. Worse yet, I'm eagerly looking forward to it!

Ok, a small part of the reason I picked it up was because of an article in EW about the author, Stephenie Meyer. What appeals to me about her story is that she never set out to be a writer - she just had a vivid dream one night and then sat down and started doing it. Writing. After her three young sons were in bed, she wrote a novel. Then, she joined a small writer's group and got feedback, and then she Googled how to get published. And now she's a superstar with multiple book deals, a killer agent, a finished motion picture, and potentially another in the works....

Why can't I do that?? Where is the discipline I need to sit for hours, letting the imagination I've always prided myself on spill out into something people might actually want to read? Where is my drive to do something I enjoy rather than something that pays the bills?

Anyway, enough of me whining! Loved the books, despite their frothiness and "no mental heavy lifting" status. Loved 'em! Can't wait to see the film, no matter how mindless it may be. Oh, and Robert Pattinson is totally dreamy as Edward. Meow!

Why the M. Night hate?

Last night, for the first time in years, I had a nightmare. I'm usually such a deep sleeper that I don't even remember my dreams, and since having my second son a year ago it has been worse than ever because I am constantly sleep-deprived. When I lay my head down at night, it's curtains until his sonorous cry beckons me from the next room, which is usually way earlier than any human should be awakened.... :-/

But last night I found myself in one of those half-awake dreams where you are aware that you're dreaming, but can't seem to stop the dream from proceeding. Wierder still was the dream's content, which had me and my family starring in a movie that we watched several weeks ago. Now, let it be known, DH and I are in that minority of movie viewers who think that M. Night Shyamalan's movies are totally under-rated. Well, except for Lady In The Water. That one really did kinda suck. But aside from that one, we have appreciated all of his other offerings and legitimately got the chills from each one in turn. I mean, c'mon! Who can watch the basement scene in Signs without freaking out just a little bit?? What am I - made of stone?


The Happening was no different, but I don't know why I had such a delayed reaction to it! The critics said it was no good because we never find out what the happening is. Well, folks, some of us have imagination and can draw our own conclusions. Some of us also have similar opinions about the whole "humans effing up the planet and the planet reacting in its own inexplicable way" as Night, apparently, because we totally "got" it. And what the planet did to the humans totally freaked me right the fuck out, as evidenced by my dream some 3 weeks later.

Now, this movie didn't scare me as badly as The Descent, or even the somewhat craptastic Cabin Fever. Those two are on a whole 'nother level, IMO. However, there was something about this one - maybe the fact that there is no resolution, no cure, no epiphany, that really got to me.

Plus, I just really, really like Zooey Deschanel. She makes any movie awesome. :)

So, my point is (if I have one... not sure) that people need to cut my man M. Night some slack. Not every movie is gonna be The Sixth Sense, but they're all good in their own right. It's not like he's Zach Braff and has already peaked with his first movie. D'oh!

I'm a convert!

DH and I saw Hot Tuna tonight, and MAN, what a great show! I'm definitely converted. Turns out, these two dudes were the bass player and guitar player for the Jefferson Airplane way back when. They are incredibly talented, and I thoroughly enjoyed the show. I even had one of those rare epiphony moments when I realized what the "hype" was all about; the last time I had one of those moments was the only time I saw the Dead perform back at Highgate, VT, in 1995. Truly awesome! It was an all acoustic show, and I was blown away by their sheer talent!

The venue was incredible - small, BYOB, with a fantastic older crowd that made me think about DH and myself seeing a show like this in 20 years time, God willing.

Excellent music, excellent company... I can't think of a better way to spend an evening.



For more on Hot Tuna, visit http://www.hottuna.com/