Friday, December 29, 2006
i dropped by my pop's house tonight to pick up something that i had left there the previous night. i walked in to find my 73 year old, sweet, cute as a button, polish grandfather lounging in his long johns, drinking a glass of milk and snacking on a plate of cookies. he looked adorable, like a little boy. he greeted me warmly and my heart was full of love for him.
when i asked him what he was up to, he gestured towards the t.v. and just smiled a big, excited smile.
i turned to the t.v. expecting to see either an old war movie, perhaps a football game or maybe even the lawrence welk show.
my sweet, little, innocent grandfather was watching the play by play execution of saddam hussein.
"they're finally hanging the bastard!" he said with sincere satisfaction.
aw, he's so cute.
For almost a week, I've been suffering from an annoying head cold. While I've been laying in bed, surrounded by discarded tissues, reaking of Vicks Vaporub & mindlessly watching television, I've noticed two odd cold commercials: 1) Robitussin 2) Happy Feet flu tips.
The Robitussin commercial struck me as being particularly odd because even as I've walked down the aisles of CVS in a cold medication/stuffy nose induced haze, never once has the medicine on the shelves spoke to me. Who thought this was a good idea? Considering the fact that some teenagers take Robitussin to get high, didn't the marketing people at the company think that this would be an odd commercial premise?
The other cold commerical that's a bit befuddling is the Happy Feet/flu facts. I have to admit that I'm a bit biased because I hate Happy Feet (just like I hate all kids movies), but I feel that Happy Feet has been used to promote way too much crap. I really don't get what dancing penguins & the flu have in common. But, this commercial tells you that the penguins are going to tell you something about the flu. Once again, I have to question how much medicine I've ingested 'cause its just is too surreal.
I guess the lesson is - kids, use meds to get high. That way, penguins will start dancing & stuff in the drugstore will start talking to you.
I don't want to get all Yoplait commercial on you and insinuate that a woman's life fulfillment relies on shoes, but I do have to tell of a pair of boots that I have been desiring for a few months now. Now, my desire for them is not shallow-- it's practical. They are flats, which is good for my feet and my back since I walk to work. That's one justification for them. Plus, they are just plain a-some.
They are also about $100 more than I would ever spend on shoes. Damn.
But, since I got a $100 gift card, I figured that would even me out. So, once I made the decision to bite the bullet and buy the damn things, the adrenaline starting pumping. I was psyched! I started my hunt. My local Kenneth Cole didn't have my size. Online was sold out in my size. Then I called customer service-- they found one remaining pair!! My adrenaline surged.
The remaining pair was in Los Angeles... so I finally got through. After navigating the LA store's loud music, accented store associate, learning how much shipping and tax cost, being bummed that UPS couldn't ship to my work, realizing I had to pay credit not debit... my enthusiasm and adrenaline waned. Plus, they ended up almost $50 more than I had planned to pay! But I was already in so deep.
I bought the boots, but now have major credit card guilt. I just hope when they are on my feet, I feel better.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Anyone who knows me knows the 3-month saga of my upstairs neighbors. 3 months ago, just as fall was coming into full force, I kept hearing a-rumbling from upstairs . There was the pitter-patter of tiny feet. There was scratching. I figured, the Goth dude upstairs got a dog! And then I realized Goth dude lives in the front of the building, and I am in the back with no upstairs neighbor. What the H??
Every morning and every evening, all I heard was "scratch, scratch" around the lights in my kitchen and "skitter-skitter"in the ceiling over my kitchen and my bathroom. One morning I awoke to the lights hanging from wires in my kitchen. Disgusting. What if the animal fell through and hurt my little Rubity Toopsdale?
All in all I made about 10 phone calls to my landlord--Green Zang Properties-- and 6 phone calls to the emergency maintenence service, and 5,788 emails to my landlord... all in a panic. The exterminator came three times and STILL didn't get it right.
I was so pissed with the exterminator, with my slow-ass landlord, and the fact that after 3effing months I STILL had an animal my ceiling, that I made one final call to my landlord and chewed her out for a good 7 minutes. Threats were involved. Exterminator came that night...
The next day I called the exterminator and he told me in 7-10 days the family of squirrels would all be gone. Excuse me? The family of squirrels? That's foul.
I think I should be compensated for three months of disgust and anxiety, don't you? My landlord is so unpretty. But now I kind of feel sorry for my upstairs neighbors, though. I hope they have nuts.
Bean recently gave me a wonderful treat - a clementine. It had been so long since I had enjoyed the sweet goodness that I forgot how much I loved them. Seeing how my eyes lit up when she gave me the first treat, she placed another on my desk. I couldn't protest. You can't have just one. When I went home for Christmas, I saw that my mom had a whole box of "clems" (my mother likes to shorten words). So, I packed a small bag of them to take back to the Yunk. When I bite into the citrus bliss, I almost forget about my valdalized car, my lost wallet, my pending fraud charges, and the dog that pees in my house.
last night i saw two shows: "Dreamgirls" the movie, which was amazing. the second show was my 42 year old Uncle Kenny. watching him watch the movie was in and of itself, the real show.
it was quite a spectacle on the screen and in the seat right next to me. even before we entered the theater, i was given some previews. when i met him for a little pre-movie dinner he looked like a giddy little school girl, all buttoned up in his coat. he started off by saying that he really wasnt that excited to see the movie...which shocked me. this was the same man that proudly proclaims that he has seen the live show SEVEN times, right? after he successfully managed to hook me into believing that he wasnt that excited to see the movie, he unbuttoned his coat to reveal his DREAMGIRLS TEE SHIRT.
me: "oh my god, ken! you've got to be kidding?!"
ken: "you like it? i know! i have been waiting for this for 25 years!"
me: "where the hell did you get that?"
ken: "best buys in Jersey" [the "s" on buy is not a mistake, he does that on purpose to annoy me]...they gave a free Dreamgirls shirt to the first five people in line to buy the soundtrack the day it came out...and i just happened to be there"
me: "you just happened to be there, huh? what time was it?"
ken: "uh, 5:00 a.m."
me: "jesus christ! what time did you have to get up to get there?"
ken: "oh, it was easy. i slept in the car."
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
R.I.P. President Gerald Ford (1913-2006)
you were the only president to serve in the white house and did so without having been elected by the people.
sort of like our current prez, G-DubYa (who was not elected by people, but elected by brainwashed, bible-belt, cousin-lovin', developed by evil scientists on area 54 zombies.)
peace out Gerry.
p.s. love the hat.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
i don't know what would! trump is out of fucking control in this interview. you just got to hear it to believe it.
total times he calls her fat, fat ass, loser in a minute and 54 seconds: 13
total number times he threatens to sue her "for fun": 5
total times he looks like a deranged lunatic: 63
the good lord called home one of his favorite soul singers Christmas morn'. yesterday, James Brown (age 73) died of pneumonia.
thanks JB for many things, including decades of funk, crazy fashion choices, hysterical mug shots and that unforgettable 1986 cameo in Rocky IV...oh and also for instilling national pride in all of us with the theme song for said movie, "Living in America."
to learn more about james brown and why we should be sad, visit this slightly insane website dedicated to him:
p.s. and if that didnt make your sad bone twinge, here's an extra scoop for you: apparently, his wife was came home from a vacation to discover that not only had her husband died, but also that she was now homeless. for whatever reason, family members locked her out of the Brown home and she informed reporters that she was now homeless. merry christmas mrs. brown.
i met a friend of flip flop girl's today and much to my dismay, she was wearing an eye patch.
no, she was not auditioning for Pirates of the Caribbean 3. no, she was not crazy or high.
she was going on a job interview.
the patch was not a fashion choice or an original way to impress her potential new boss...she has had to wear an eye patch since having cornea surgery a few weeks ago.
i give this girl all the credit in the world, because i am not sure i would be able to face the world with not only one eye, but with an eye patch over the other. i know that sounds immature and shallow, but its the truth.
i think i would have told the doctor to just replace my bad eye with a glass eye or a jawbreaker.
props to all you bad asses who disagree and think they could do it.
you have probably heard a horrible rendition of this song about 4 million times before on shows like american idol, etc. but i promise none of those squeaky, heartless attempts come close the powerful voice of Jennifer Holiday, the person who originated the role and legendary performance in Dreamgirls.
Another Jennifer (and ironically, its Jennifer Hudson from American Idol fame) is taking a wack at it in the new version and rumor has it that she did an amazing job.
i know its long, but try to watch this video all the way through so that you can catch the last five seconds. holiday practically sucks in the first three rows of the audience with her last gasp of breath to belt out the final lyrics. its genious.
While you nurse your eggnogg hangover and bind your wrapping-paper cuts, just remember: Bonny Boxing Day!
Boxing Day supposedly started in a few select countires because it was the day tradesmen (your garbage men, postal men, etc) recieved gifts in return for all their work. Also, people "boxed up" extra food for the needy. Or, if you are part of the VO clan, you gather 'round all 40+ family members for marinated mushrooms, nasi goreng and beer to extend Christmas just a little longer.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
So this Christmas, we went to Episcopalian service. And there were women on the altar!! And there were jokes about text messages! And people were friendly and chatted about normal things-- we weren't guilt-ridden automatons, we were our real selves, just there to go to Church. I felt our real humanity was preserved... we didn't have to pretend to be sinless to get the Eucharist. We didn't have to feel like jerks for voting democrat. Although everyone knew we were sore thumbs... everyone kept asking if we were visiting, and when I whispered to my pops to dip the bread in the wine rather than drink the wine, a man turned around and said "you can do either."
Anyway, try it sometime.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
now prepare to be dazzled by the vocal stylings of Ms. Beanorama, with her rendition of Billy Joel's "Only the Good Die Young"
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
For those hard core Unpretty readers, you know that I moved within city borders earlier this year. In an effort to beef up my criminal record, I decided not to tell my insurance company that I was moving so I could keep some of my pathetic paycheck. "What could possibly go wrong?" I thought. Well, since I moved in July, I have had three car "incidents."
First, someone hit my car while it was parked right in front of my house and caused $3,000 worth of damage. Because this is the first time I have ever not been at fault for a car accident, I was very confused when I spoke to my insurance agent. Why do I have to pay $500 when I didn't do anything wrong? After about 15 minutes of explaining Deductibles 101 to me, I finally conceded and agreed to pay (as if I had a choice). My car was in the shop for two weeks.
Three days after I got it back, someone stole my driver's side mirror. No, they didn't smash it with their car. They literally removed it with a screwdriver (I assume) to sell it illegally. Who the hell does that? What kind of people am I living around?
Most recent on the hit list occurred about a week and a half ago. Someone scraped the side of my car. My theory is that this idiot was attempting a three-point turn and misjudged. Of course, like the previous two, no note. I decided not to play the deductible game with this one, so the scratches and dents are now a part of Blue's character. (Blue is my car, and yes I named him before Old School came out).
I parked my car one week ago and have not needed it since. I am nervous to go grocery shopping and find only its frame left in the spot.
This is fucking a-some and i can't stop singing it. be warned-you may not be able to get it out of your head either.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Last night I had the good fortune of getting tickets to the Philadelphia premiere of Rocky Balboa, aka, Rocky 6. Yes, I saw Sly. Yes I saw his kid, Milo. Jimmy Binns, some ESPN guy, Burt Young, etc, etc. Not to sound jaded, but I wasn't really into them, possibly because I have never seen Rocky 1-5. *blush*
Without spoiling it, here are a few deets on the movie. Rocky might be a prizefighter, but this movie ain't no prizewinner, in terms of credible acting. HOWEVER, I guarantee it will be a (wait for it) smasheroo at the Box Office because people love this sort of shit! Now, I did see it in Philly, yes, but the crowd went wild. At the first skyline shot, someone yelled out "It looks good!" After every impassioned speech, I heard rounds of applause. During training scenes, people chanted "Rocky! Rocky!" During fight scenes, I almost lost an eye because the business-suit wearing guy next to me was fake punching the air so hard (yelling, "It ain't bad, it ain't bad!')
The dialogue was brutal, the actors spoke like they were reading, but the fights and training and soundtrack rocked the mother-effing house. And Philly looked great! They did a good job of showing that South Philly is now not just Italians, but African Americans, Mexicans, and Asians as well. That was interesting. Though I doubt many old Italian men in South Philly have as much botox as Rocky. His eyebrows were a little distracting.
Go see it. And, I implore you, see it in a Philly theater if you can... it will be so much better.
Met my old lover in the grocery store
The snow was falling Christmas Eve
I stole behind her in the frozen foods...
[the word "frozen foods" in a romance dramedy Christmas song doesn't fly. I'm supposed to be thinking about Baby Jesus laying in a manger, and all I can picture is Ore Ida Pre-Cut French Fries.]
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried...
[You laughed until cried? Was it really that funny?]
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car
[Real responsible, Dan. Drinking and driving-- in the snow, no less.]
She said she'd married her an architect
Who kept her warm and safe and dry
She would have liked to say she loved the man
But she didn't like to lie
[Of course she's in an unhappy marriage. Of course! But her husband is a good man.]
And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned in to rain...
Monday, December 18, 2006
so, my mom tells me tonight that her next door neighbor, Brian (a single, attractive and very kind man who she's not sure if he is gay or straight) gave her a christmas card.
Mom: "Oh it was so cute...it was picture of him with his two dogs!"
Me: "...And you're not sure if he's gay?" (with sarcasm)
Mom: "Well, no. You never know. Just because he doesn't have a girl-"
Me (cutting my mother off): "Does it have a signature from him and the two dogs?"
Mom: "Uh...yeah. Why?"
Me: "And what are the names of the dogs?"
Mom: "Oh, its so sweet-their names are Jasmin and Milan."
WATCH THIS IMMEDIATELY and be prepared to love JT more than you ever have.
Every so often you have an idea for a blog post, but accidently the idea dissappears, like water flushed down the toilet bowl. I had one such idea, but promptly forgot it until Smedelicious told me I just HAD to post about it. And it goes a little something like this:
There is a sign in my second-favorite stall in the ladies room at work that says something to the effect of:
Ladies: Please Be Kind
And remember to flush the toilet.
The sign is so redic and annoying. First of all... average age of the lady that uses those stalls is probably 43. I am willing to bet we are ALL potty trained. I have a feeling if there is leftover doo-doo in the toilet, it's probably the TOILET'S fault, not the doo-doo-doer's fault.
I just picture some good-intentioned lady printing this sign and congratulating herself on how polite and responsible it is. But I suggest a little wite-out and black marker to say:
Ladies: Please pay attention.
Make sure the toilets flush before pulling on your control-top panties and heading back to your desk to play solitaire.
And it's not my second-favorite stall anymore. Goodbye.
My second-most-loseriest Christmas song that I can't turn off: Christmas Shoes by Bob Carlisle. I mean, don't get me started on the cliches of country music overall, but at Christmas time? Whooo-wee. Here's a beaut:
"Sir I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry Sir?
Daddy says there's not much time
You see she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes will make her smile
And I want it to look beautiful
If Momma meets Jesus tonight"
If Momma meets Jesus tonight? Wowsers. The best part of the song is when the kid (of course) doesn't have enough money, so the kind-hearted cowboy/singer leans in and helps him out with some cash.
Cheesy, but God, I love it, in a sick, sick way.
While traveling on 95 South Friday afternoon, I felt a sudden thump and began to smell burnt rubber. As my steering column shook uncontrollably and kind motorists began to honk, I realized I had a flat tire. I somehow managed to navigate across three lanes of traffic and maneuver my Volvo to the right side of the road. And then the true panic set in....
...I had a dead cell phone.
I began to shake, threw my hazard lights on and exited my car, trying to flag down someone who would be kind enough to help me, the idiot with the flat tire, dead cell phone, and no car charger. I was lucky.
Good Samaritan One: A woman in a truck who stopped and not only offered to change my tire, but let me use her cell phone. Unfortunately, she did not have the proper size wrench to remove my lugnuts, so she couldn't change it. I did fire off a phone call to Volvo roadside assistance and to my sister, who was coming home from work on 95 South.
Good Samaritan Two: A man in a full (VERY NICE) suit who not only pulled over, but had all of the needed parts to change my tire. He was so kind.
Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by the goodwill and kindness of two complete strangers. I think in a time of cynicism and distrust, it is comforting to know that there are still good people out there. Good people that weren't Large Marge....but that's another story for another day.
One of the loseriest songs is the intro to "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas." I mean, that song is pretty decent, but when I hear Amy Grant (or whoever it is) warble these terribly-written lines:
"Christmas future is far away
Christmas past is past
Christmas present is here today"
I just think to myself, "gosh, the REAL Christmas miracle isn't Jesus' birth, oh no. The real Christmas miracle is the lyrical genius in those lines!"
About a month ago my "friend" Unusual Suspect played what I believe to be a little trick on me. And she got Tone Loc in on it.
They swore up one side and down the other that it's an Italian-American South Philly tradition for fathers to call their daughters "Dad" as a nickname, and sometimes mothers call their sons "Mom." I didn't believe it. It was just too bizarre. Though I am a Dutchy with absolutely no marinara sauce running through my veins, I have enough Ital gal pals who have NEVER been called "Dad" by their dads.
Tone Loc, however, admitted his father called his sister "Little Dad." But despite my best Google efforts, I have found no proof.
Have I been hoodwinked? Or is this strange little custom the truth?
Sunday, December 17, 2006
This past weekend, I started catching these new Adidas commercials where a basketball player is talking directly to the camera about some b-ball jibber-jabber. At the end of the commercial, they say "it takes five". I had to ask my hubby what the hell they were talking about. He explained to me that the NBA/Adidas is trying to do a "course correction" on the NBA image. I.E. , they're trying to improve the image of basketball as a team sport & not just about an individual, basketball should be a family-friendly sport, etc. The 5 part means that there has to be 5 players on the court at any time during the game.
Well, soon after I received this explanation, there was a basketball brawl between the New York Knicks & the Denver Nuggets. The details of the brawl aren't important (basically too much male testerone in one room, as usual); the result is that 10 basketball players were suspended.
On one hand, Adidas chose an awful time to put out this ad campaign, but on the other hand with the recent suspensions (5 players each from both teams) they do prove that it does indeed take five.
5 overpaid, spoiled, egotistical a--holes to ruin an entire sport for everyone.
This is something that I can totally relate to. I can't speak for Unusual & why she dislikes holly, jolly Christmas carols; but I can explain my own Grinch-like attitude towards holiday music. See, after spending more than 5 years in retail I have had to tolerate listening to Christmas songs from Black Friday to Christmas Eve. However, they weren't just your basic or classic Christmas songs sung by Frank Sinatra or something, they were Christmas songs sung by the latest pop singer or boyband. You know, a "Britney Spears/Christina Aguilera Christmas" or an "N'Sync Christmas". Every year, Santa Baby ( an already suggestive song) has to get skanked up by the latest, skankiest female singer around. I had to listen to this music from the store opening at some ungodly hour, to being asked for the thousandth time for the crazy stripe sweater, to mindlessly folding sweaters after the daily pillaging. By the time December 26th came around, I couldn't wait for the soundtrack to change over. One year, after Christmas Eve midnight Mass on the drive home, my family turned on the radio for Christmas music. I angrily snapped at my mom to change the station because I was on the verge of pulling my hair out. At that point, I was seen as the Grinch because I didn't want to hear Christmas music on Christmas day. I tried explaining that I was just f--- exhausted of the crap, but my plea fell on deaf ears.
Since I've stopped working in retail, I've slowly begun to enjoy Christmas songs again. However, this year I'm back to hating them all over again. It started a few weekends ago when I was out running the typical Saturday errands ( grocery shopping/ clothes shopping/ lunch at a fastfood place). Over the course of 3 stores in one afternoon, every store I went to had some f--- up Christmas song playing way too long & too loud. At Wendy's, it was a Christina Aquilera duet with Michael Buble. Since Christina oversings everything, I barely heard Michael Buble. At Shoprite, it was Christina singing a solo. At Ross, it was Christina AGAIN and Mariah Carey. Some songs are remixed/modernized so much, I can't even recognize what song it's supposed to be (have you seen the latest JCPenney commercial?). By the end of the afternoon, I was through.
So, if retail stores & radio stations would just play basic Christmas carols instead of bastardized crap, I would probably be full of holiday cheer. But, since that's not the case, Bah-Humbug!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
some things are just meant to go together-Sunny and Cher, chocolate and peanut butter, drinking and St. Patty's Day...and some things are just not meant to go together...namely Michael Bolton and ice skating.
however, the folks at NBC would not agree with me. as i lounge on my couch saturday afternoon, i discovered a televised atrocity: "Michael Bolton Tribute on Ice".
it was two hours of Brian Boitano and a bunch of other wack-a-doos* skating their asses off as THE Michael Bolton sang his own crappy songs as well as covering other famous songs, like "New York, New York" (frank was surely rolling over in his grave).
i can't even begin to explain how unpretty the whole spectacle was. it was however the best christmas gift ever for two people i know: my mother and flip flop girl. merry christmas ladies :) and here's another gift for you flip; the boltmeister has a myspace: http://www.myspace.com/michaelboltonmusic
*wack-a-doo: a jerk, bum, crazy person or an unusually dorky freak
Friday, December 15, 2006
The OhMiBod vibrator is a whole new way to enjoy your iPod® or any other music player. Everyone loves music. Everyone loves sex. OhMiBod combines music and pleasure to create the ultimate acsexsory™ to your iPod.
do you believe this? i feel like there is no need for me to even comment. but, i will. this is so fucking gross that i have to take a shower to wash off the KY.
just saw a promo announcing justin timberlake's return to SNL this week. one of my all time favorite SNL shows is the last show he hosted (Trump's show was gold too). if you've seen the Omeleteville skit above, then you know why.
i am sure by now you have had the unpretty unpleasure of seeing one of those ridiculous yoplait yogurt commercials. you know what i'm talking about. the scene: two young and pretty 20-something sorority girls lounging around on a leather couch or strung out by the pool, devouring yogurt. they take turns trying to one up each other by saying how "good" this yogurt is...
"its like, a shoe sale good"
"its like, cheesecake, dipped in chocolate good"
these commercials are like root canal on your birthday bad.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
|The action gets going around 1:15... this is what I will soon be able to do.|
In honor of Mozart's 250th, Timothy performs Rondo Alla Turca as a tap solo. The video features a split-screen effect. The effect itself is simple, but it's hard to image how the two parts stay in sync. Choreography by Timothy Yue. His weekly tap show can be found at http://timothytapdancing.googlepages.com/
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Little do you all know, but Jason is a faithful Unpretty reader. He does not comment, but he's out there in Albuquerque, probably drooling at our every word, and shaking his head in fondness every time we write something funny.
Thanks, Jase, for your readership. We salute you.
I know, I know. The Eagles are just squeaking by this season. But I think it's pretty damn good that they won the last two games without the Quarterback of Quarterback, Donny McNabb.
So, here is what you do to support your team. Go to Campbell Soup's web site. Vote for the Iggles. For each vote, Campbell's will donate a can of soup to a soup kitchen in Philadelphia. And Santa will give you a check in the "good" category.
As of 12/7/06, Green Bay was leaving everyone behind in the dust. Donovan McNabb is the Spokesman for crying out loud, Surely Philly can up their count.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
It's been a good month for babies in Beanorama's world. First, I adopted the best damn half-Persian in the world: Ruby (aka Rubella DeVille, Ruben Sandwich, Rubenesque, Boogs, Boogie McGee, BoogerBoo) she also got the number-one nephew of all time, sweet Benjamin Thomas.
And now, her good pal Zhunified and Zhun's husband Los got this little sweetie, Tucker! (Oooh, I can think of good names for him, like Tucker the Fu...just kidding.) Welcome to the great state of PA, Tucker!
Zhun, as a new mother of a pet myself, I offer you these words of wisdom. Those little suckers like to get underfoot. So if you drop them on their sides (like I did this morning), close their nose in a closet (like I did this morning), step backwards onto them (like I did last week), get them stuck under the fridge door (last week) or have to help them untangle their head from your bed posts (yesterday), just realize... they love you anyway.
I just want to point out a couple of weight stories that have been in the media lately:
Rosie O'Donnell called out Kirstie Alley for lying about her weight. We all know that the "Cheers" alumna has shed some serious LBs over the past year. She looks better than she has in years because she is happy and healthy. The big-mouthed, Kmart loving - I mean hating -closet homosexual defender announced that there is no way that the Jenny Craig spokeswoman could weigh what she claims. To show off her elementary arithmatic skills, she determined that the 5'8" Kirstie is claiming that she is 145 pounds. She then pulled a 5'8" woman from the audience and asked her to tell all the world her weight to compare - 168 lbs. Cue Rosie's head shake and eye roll.
In other news...As everyone has heard, Nicole Richie was arrested on Monday morning. Her driver's license states that she is a solid one hundo. But, she was weighed in (boxer-style, I imagine) at 85 lbs. Now, everyone is yelling and bitching that she is trying to be heavier than she actually is.
If we are to look to the media for all that is good and true in this world, what are we supposed to think about this?
Monday, December 11, 2006
Anyway, today I got a letter from TouristDirectory, whoever that is, addressed to Supreme Bean. So obvi someone is selling lists, and my first name is Supreme. Or maybe God is trying to tell us something. Bow down, people.
So, a few weeks ago, my brother told me that he & another personal trainer were going to be running a fitness bootcamp. I thought, great! I could use someone standing over me while I exercise to shed the holiday pounds. The classes started a couple of weeks ago but after being forced to drink Kamikazi's by Unusual & Flip-Flop, I realized that I was not in any shape to face a bright Saturday morning, let alone strenuous physical activity.
However, I couldn't face being mocked by my older brother for not following through on my promise. What's an hour of exercise? It's not going to kill me, right? "Fitness Bootcamp" just has to be some cutsie name for it. My brother wouldn't knowingly, willingly force me to do anything that I can't handle, right?
Needless to say, I've never been so f---- wrong in my life.
So, this past Saturday, I got up at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m., dressed, realized that I woke up too damn early for a workout that doesn't begin until 7:30, screwed around on the internet, then dragged by ass down to Northern Liberties. The morning starts out innocent enough. I meet the personal trainer who seems nice. He lets me get on the treadmill for a few minutes & walk at my own pace. Then he calls me downstairs to start. 1st part: Cardio - I'm pretty good at that, no probs. During my cardio, I happen to mention that while my arms are the flabbiest, most pathetic part of my body, I 'm too weak to work on them. Big Mistake.
2nd, 3rd, 4th (for what feels like 1 hr, 15 mins): ARMS! Sick bastard! Push ups, resistance bands, arm curls, every arm related exercise that you can think of, he made me do them. No matter how well or badly I did them, I was "rewarded" by being told to do 5 more. Weakling that I am, I couldn't help but think " what happens if I just say no? What can he do to me? He can't force me to do it, can he?" Around this point my brother strolls in laughing & making jokes at MY expense! All I could think of was, what did I ever do to him to deserve this? Was it when I accidentally scratched his Thriller record when I was younger? Is this punishment for going through his personal stuff when I was a kid? Is this payback for when I dropped my nephew when he was about 6 months old ( in my defense, the kid ROLLED off the sofa. I was distracted by something & started talking; left him on the sofa and HE rolled off)?
After that, we get to the abs, which I can handle like a pro since I love doing my 8 minute abs dvd. It was easiest of this torturous hour long workout. By the time we get to legs & lunges, I'm practically crying & crying out in pain. I'm hoping that the sweat trickling in my eyes can mask the real tears that I'm shedding.
Then, after all that, I was handed over to my brother to be thrown back onto the treadmill. I can barely climb the steps. Surely, after all of this, he would take pity on me & ease up. NO! He asks me what speed I normally put the treadmill on. When he hears my response, he laughs! Like a labrat, I had to get on, have the speed cranked up & was told not to touch it. Like a true American, the only thing that got me through the torture was images of a McDonalds breakfast dancing in my head.
In one hour, I experienced a whole gamut of emotions. I laughed at my own pathetic inability to perform some basic maneuvers. I cried tears of joy & relief when the torture was over. I sweated & cried tears of disappointment when I realized that I had about 20 more reps before the pain would end.
So, since Saturday, I've been hobbling around popping Aleve when I really need some Percocet, barely able to hold my purse because of the pain; but despite it all, I know I'm going back next Saturday & the remaining Saturdays in the program.
Why? Because it's the holidays, I'm a fat ass & I need something to make me feel better while I'm gorging myself.
Anyone want to join me?
Saturday, December 09, 2006
so, i get a phone call from Beanorama Friday a.m. "Hey, wanna play tonight?"
sure. why not?
after we mulled over our "what to do" options for a while...movies...shopping...kidnapping...streetfighting...we finally decided that a dinner date seemed like a great idea. flip flop girl and popsy were game too. but, where were we to bust a grub? ah, the all important decision. many a dinner date has been ruined by a lousy restaurant. but, Beano, you picked a winna'!
the place: Mr. Martino's Trattoria in South Philly, near 12th and Passyunk Ave.
the f&b: home style italian and a byob
the atmosphere: this is the best part of Mr. Martino's and it deserves more than a few words to describe it. the decor was subtle and made to look, feel and yes, smell like an old living room or dining room of a south philly row home. our table and chairs were old, wood and perfectly imperfect. the floors creaked. the lighting was dim and the people were warm. the glasses for wine werent wine glasses at all, but simple and plain tap water glasses. the olive oil and bread they piled on us was amazing as was all of the food.
it was the absolute perfect place to have nearly three and a half hours of great food and conversation; it felt like we were just hanging out in someone's house. the conversation was so good in fact, that despite having worked all day and devoured delicious food and two bottles of vino all night, beano was able to refrain from falling asleep at the table. lucky for her. i think flip flop girl would have bitch-slapped her :)
Friday, December 08, 2006
i caught this on mtv this morning (during the only time they actually play music videos, 5-7 a.m.). watch this, please. you will not believe what this woman can do with her body, a microphone stand, and a pair of stripper shoes.
seriously, ciara, before you became a singer, were you a "dancer"?
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Was I hungry? No, I had just had lunch. Was I sated by a few popped kernels? No, I didn't even stop at a few handfuls. I ate half the can almost. And this sad little scenario will play on repeat until 2007.
Note to vendors: I have no self control, so please have self control for me... send me fruit. Don't send junk. Junk food is delish, but makes my clothes fit tight, and that, my friends, is so unpretty.
Unusual, you & I must be ESP-connected or something, because I was thinking about a kids commercial this morning too...
For the past week or so, I've noticed this annoying a-- BMW commercial being played, mostly in the morning. If there's anything that I can't stand in the morning, it's loud noises. So, the last thing that I want in the morning is to be startled from my comatose state while watching Terry Ruggles from NBC10 news & then boring Matt Lauer on the Today show to the sound of shrieking kids. Plus, this commerial is just a painful reminder of the "holiday cheer" shrieking I'll have to endure on Christmas day from some rugrats in my own household.
I also have to admit that I'm a bit biased against BMW commercials because I've never met a BMW driver that I've liked. At previous jobs, every arrogant, self-aware, entitled SOB was usually a BMW driving male. Every time I nearly get mowed down in the pedestrian crosswalk is usually BMW driving a--hole. So, I take this latest commercial as the final straw that BMW is determined to have me hate their cars.
Here's the link if you want to check it out on youtube: www.n64kids.com
ok, i know i was a little hard on kids in my last post so i will admit that i do like children in two instances and two instances only: #1 when they are babies and cannot yet talk, walk, or annoy and #2: when they are dressed up and act like grown-ups. something about that just cracks me up.
p.s. welcome to world baby ben and congrats to the new aunt bean!
Has anyone seen a preview for this movie? Am I the only one who's just a little bit concerned & disturbed that Wilmer Valderrama is in a movie surrounded by a few underage young girls?
You know Wilmer Valderrama - the 5 foot tall,late twenties lothario who has penchant for dating girls under 18 & starred in That 70s show. Just a brief history on Wilmer for those who aren't "in the know" - Wilmer dated & deflowered Mandy Moore before she was legal. How do I know this? He unabashedly revealed these intimate, yet icky details to Howard Stern. Wilmer also dated & lived with Lindsay Lohan when she was still underage jailbait.
So, when I see a preview for his new movie (that already has a borderline porn title) with him cavorting around an airport with young girls & no adults in sight, I can't help but wonder who decided to cast him in this movie? Even more interesting - is his next girlfriend going to be one of the girls from this film?
It's just so Unpretty.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Hello, nephew! The most dear nephew around has been born!
Weighing in at 8 pounds, 13 ounces, sucking on his hands and making little "o's" with his mouth, Ben K. is alive and kicking...
...his Momma is doing well too! Congrats, E & C. LOVE YOU!
Monday, December 04, 2006
ok, its no secret that i dont particularly like kids. i dont hate them...i just sort of, uh...cant stand them and their kid ways. take for instance those annoying fucking in-line skate sneakers. i dont know how many children i have seen glide by me in the mall, the supermarket, at church even! ok, we all know i dont go to church, but i guarantee you those fuckers are wearing them there too.
now trust me, i know i was annoying once too. it must have been painful to see me strutting around in my PEACH high top chuck taylor's with two pairs (two different colors of course) slouch socks but at least i was strutting, not gliding and skating in and out of normal pedestrians.
those skate-sneaker things...so unpretty.
...my cous is putting away his keyboard, indefinitely:
MWP, you were my blogging mentor. WTF? Moving on to bigger and better projects... like a BOOK with me and ALG, perhaps?
Sunday, December 03, 2006
yes, i smoke. and i know i shouldnt. i do, i really do. but, sweet lord, i just can't stop. and why should i try when i hear such distressing news about what it is i must face, should i decide to quit or at least cut back.
flip flop girl recently told me that she read an article that states it is actually harder to quit smoking than it is too quit heroin.
then, i hear from miz cyn that simply reducing the amount of cigs i smoke does absolutely nothing to reduce my risk of dying from cancer.
really, the only thing that seems like a solution would be to replace smoking cigarettes with shooting heroin. and then i'll gradually cut back. eventually, i'll check-in to rehab, where i'll just pick up smoking again. but, at least i will have quit using heroin.
...oh fuck it. got a light?
crotch shot, anyone? anyone?
jeez, louise. going commando once in a while is one thing, but spreading your legs for the photogs when you have decided to pass on panties is one of the unprettiest things ever!
to brit's publicist: good luck. god speed. and buy her some fucking briefs!