Tuesday, October 27, 2009

God is Great...Unless You Happen to be Schizophrenic.

Whenever I see a Forensic Files or 48 Hours Investigation on some paranoid schizophrenic killing his entire family or his neighbors and their dog or someone sitting next to him on the subway, they always tell the police something along the lines of, "God commanded me to do it." It's weird. You never hear them say, "God told me to donate blood." Or, "God commanded me to do the dishes." (If you've seen the interior of any of these schizophrenic's homes, you KNOW housekeeping chores have never been high on God's list of demands for them.) It's always, "God told me that to save my soul I must hack Mr. and Mrs. Swanson into tiny pieces and feed them to my goldfish..." It makes me further question not just the existence of God, but to consider the fact that if there was an all-powerful, all-knowing God, he might be not such a great guy after all...

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Mark Your Calendars!

I will be performing at the 3 of Clubs on Tuesday, August 4th. Every Tuesday they have a bunch of comedians performing standup routines that aren't just funny...they're hee-lair-ious. Comedy that makes to spray their cocktails out of their noses and teeter on the edge of incontinence (in some extreme--or elderly--cases) the atmosphere is really fun, the crowd is really hip and smart and best of all: NO COVER CHARGE and no drink minimum!

As if you needed anymore reason to go to such a pimpin' venue--did I mention that on Tuesday, August 4th will feature an appearance by yours truly!? That's right...you can hear my comedy stylings someplace besides the law library of the Office of the Federal Public Defender or while talking to me on the phone or accepting my im's while composing your facebook update.

Seeu there!

My first yelp!

814 Broadway
Santa Monica, CA 90401
(310) 394-3504

Bodega Wine Bar

Category: Wine Bars
Neighborhood: Santa Monica

4 star rating
Sadly, I don't get to go out as often as I'd like, so, I was pretty excited when a cute boy took me to have a drink at Bodega on Friday night. The bouncer, who (for around a minute) was my bff because he kept me from being the only person to notice a woman's outfit that was so bewildering, I would have suffered miserably had I been the only person observant enough to appreciate it and make fun of it. (The woman left when I arrived, it's not like I was pointing at her and laughing or anything.)

Inside, the patrons of the bar were far less interesting or fun as the bouncer. The dj (DJ Wildcat, if I heard him right...) was playing amazing music and no one was dancing. Because no one was dancing, I felt too embarrassed to ask my date to dance...it made me sad, because I wanted to show him my moves!

Anyway, it was weird. I don't know if people weren't dancing because the 'dance floor' is roughly the size of a dinner plate or if they weren't dancing because they're really robots, posing as young urban professionals. So, i just had to sit there in my chair and try not to wiggle about or look like that dumb chick in the Mitsubishi commerical--but that's fucking hard when you hear your favorite Justice song (no, not D.A.N.C.E.!! Go a little deeper in their iTunes list, please!)...mashed with some ridiculously topical Michael Jackson song that I can't remember right now. Brilliant. Go for the atmosphere and the terrific staff--but bring your own group of friends, because the people who go to this bar don't deserve it.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Someone noticed that I used the word defenestrate...and other small joys of daily life.

And I adore anyone who loves the term "douche bag" as much as I do.  I forgot to mention my second favorite thing to call someone (when the term fits, of course) which is: "human lullaby."   Check out full definition w/ usage here if you're unclear on the meaning: 


Today i found the my favorite domo-kun episode, Domo-tired!

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Do NOT cut your hair. Don't do it. No, you won't look like Rihana. You'll look Rial Ugly.

Inspired by a recent FBook message from my cousin, Poppy, which was this:

"Hey, I'm thinking of chopping all my hair off and starting over... (not shaving my head, just getting a short, girl's haircut।) Ideas? Would you ever....?xo

I responded with the following:

"DON'T YOU DARE. I'm serious. Do not do that. Here's why I say this--

a.) Your hair is gorgeous-and-shiny-and-well-taken-care-of-and-not-infested-by-any-parasitic-organisms-and-soft-and-pretty.

b.) You are not a new recruit of the US Army (or any other of the armed forces).

c.) Your hair is like mine, EXTREMELY fine and in constant battle with its mortal enemy which is: moisture. Therefore, like mine, it's greatest weapon is: length. Fine hair cannot be tamed by any styling product or bristled torture device (aka: brush). It can only be stunned briefly by applying extreme heat and then avoiding the enemy. And when you cut your hair short, you lose the ability to apply heat effectively and to a sufficient percentage of it to overwhelm its natural state of defiance.

d.) BRITNEY SPEARS. BROOKE GREGSON (a few weeks before my wedding--do you remember her hair at my wedding? Do you remmeber her sobbing thru my entire ceremony? Not a coincidence.). THAT CHICK FROM THE SHOW FELICITY.

e.) See picture attached. I doubt Ms. Scarlet accidentally wandered into a Supercuts while hopped up on needle drugs the night before this picture was taken. Which means she paid someone like $700 for this hair abortion. And if a "good" stylist can do this to Scarlet Johansson, (who's not the stone cold fox you are, Poppy, admittedly--but she is pretty fucking gorgeous) I think I'd rather keep mine long thank you very much. Instead, maybe you should go to a wig shop with me and we can have a totally awesome hair battle and take pic tures with our phones and make our friends vote on which wig makes us look worst/best!?

But then again, maybe you'll look fierce--like Rhianna. I fucking love her and her hair!

I don't know. You do what you think will make you happiest. I'll love you and envy your gorgeousness no matter what your hair looks like--just like all your other girlfriends!

Friday, February 6, 2009

25...er, 20 things you didn't know about me.

1. I don't believe in God. I believe in science.

2. I never believed in Santa Claus either—never. My earliest memories of Christmas are of my sister and me making cookies for Santa; meanwhile I was thinking to myself, “What a tedious charade! Clearly mom and dad are the ones who buy the presents and wrap them and leave them under the tree—this is ridiculous!”

3. I'm allergic to bees. (I almost died after getting stung on my forehead during a swim meet!)

4. I am an incredibly "cheap date." Just one alcoholic drink gets me tipsy and I have not had more than two drinks in one night since I projectile-vomited all over the inside of a stall at a nightclub ten years ago.

5. My favorite books are: Fiction - A Man in Full by Thomas Wolfe/Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote/Barrel Fever by David Sedaris/Where I'm Calling From by Raymond Carver/The Stand by Stephen King and Nonfiction - The Lucifer Principle by Howard Bloom (seriously, the BEST book EVER!)/Letter to a Christian Nation by Sam Harris/The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins

6. I assume that people don't like me or think I'm annoying. (I’m usually right.)

7. I am convinced that I will die in my car.

8. I scored 148 on my last two IQ tests. However, I don’t believe in IQ tests and this score merely confirms their dubiosity. (No, it’s not a word and no, I don’t care.)

9. I survived a murder attempt. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

10. I didn’t go to my senior prom because my boyfriend was in jail having been busted for DUI the night before.

11. The sound of nails being clipped makes me want to pick up a firearm.

12. I still love Prince as much as I did in high school. Maybe more. Definitely more.

13. I don’t like the taste of water and avoid it as much as possible…Unless it’s Dasani, then I’ll take a sip or two.

14. I cheated on my husband. (With a woman. Okay, two women, but not at the same time.) I still don't think it counts.

15. My best friend with taught me how to masturbate (which I’d never even attempted) at the age of 25. (she's woman #1 that I cheated on my husband with) Now I'm surprised she even accepted my friend request...so sad.

16. I loathe vacuuming. And sweeping. And laundry. In other words, I’m a complete slob. (Thank god for my anal-retentively neat boyfriend, kyle!)

17. My favorite condiment is mustard. Ketchup--yuck! And mayonaise?--(stifling the urge to vomit.)

18. I'm a big fan of porn. It's educational!

19. I cannot sleep with the covers tucked in. I am UNBELIEVABLY neurotic when it comes to my legs at night. Nothing can be touching them except the covers which have to be super, super loose—or hysterics ensue. (okay, not hysterics…but a lot of kicking about and grouchy-noises.)

20. I have a brother 10 years older than me whom I have never met. His name is Christopher. And a twin sister, her name is Brooke.  She is my best friend in the whole world, I love her--even though when we were little kids she never could make it to a toilet or a sink or even the bathroom to barf... and guess who had to clean it up.

That’s it for me—20 is my limit. I have a feeling many people reading this didn’t make it this far anyway...

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Friday, January 23, 2009

Consider the Source...

Guess what! I'm pretty. And a lady.  At least, that's what this guy told me (without being asked!) as I was walking into work today.   I mean, it's not like no one ever told me I was pretty before.  In fact, I used to hear it all the time.  But grandma was partially blind--and possibly biased... 
Well, today I got a secondary opinion on the matter (secondary--which makes it OFFICIAL!) when this guy apparently found me so bewitching  that he was compelled to approach me.  I didn't notice him until he was a few feet away saying, "Hey, pretty lady, can I get a dollar?" So, anyway, when I told him that no, I didn't have a dollar (to give to him anyway!) he tried to change his tune, calling me a "Skinny-ol'-dumb-bitch-cracker," but I'm sorry, you can't take that shit back! I'm fucking hot, dammit--I'm a stone cold fox! He practically said so--a stranger! I'm pretty and that's the end of that!
I remember seeing this commercial a few weeks ago that was not just dumb, it was aggressively so. When it was over, it felt like I'd just been involved in a corporate version of "Punk'd."
The commercial opens, and in the frame we see:

Three people standing in the kitchen of a suburban home in the U.S. One middle-age woman is in the back-ground and two teenage boys are in the foreground; one on the phone, the other hovering nearby. Phone boy says, "Mom, can I stay at Billy’s house for dinner?” His mother's voice--the perfect balance of sensible concern and loving affection that invisible adults invariably affect--answers his question with a question of her own: "Are his parents there?” “Yeah,” her son tells her, earnestly, his eyes wide saucers of innocence... But, she doesn’t believe him. Dumbfounded, she asks, “What parents make dinner for their kids on a school nite anymore?” Her incredulity is so great that she makes him put his friend’s mom on the phone, to find out if the situation wasn't some contrived fantasy existing only in her son's feverish imagination . But, Billy’s mom, I mean, "Supermom," gets on the phone and reassures "Invisi-mom" that yes!, she's right there, getting dinner ready. Astonished, the mom agrees to let her son stay and eat a wholesome, home-cooked meal with Jimmy and his family.

But wait…uh, actually, that’s not exactly true. I mean, the "wholesome, home-cooked" part. The meal is actually a bucket of KFC chicken and assorted sides which isn’t homecooked or wholesome... Unless you live in the kitchen of a KFC franchise and you consider steroid laced, hormone-treated, deep-friend and battered animal parts and greasy side dishes “wholesome.”

Anyway, I watched that commercial and thought to myself—if that were my son and I came home from Billy’s house and told me what I'd eaten for dinner at Billy and his "Supermom"'s house that night, I’d be “super-pissed.” I hate that commercial.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

That. Just. Happened.

How do I break it to Facebook that I don't like it in that way? in fact, if FB was a person I'd have filed a restraining order against it like 50 text messages/emails ago and I'd get it, as much as it is cyber-stalking me! No, I'm lying, of course. I love getting that shit, I crave it, I feel like a rockstar and I get as much traffic as a Bel Air cul de sac past midnight. .

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Confessions of a Teen Idol--or, as I call it, "Roomful of Sausages," is the worst reality tv show I've ever seen.

Vh1's "Confessions of a Teen Idol" is the worst reality TV show I've ever seen.   It might even be the worst TV show I've ever seen, but I'm not ready to dethrone my current reigning worst ever; "The Magic Hour," Magic Johnson's late-night talk show for Fox. But, if COATL gets anymore underwhelming than its pilot--I will be crowning a new king of the realm of "the worst...ever."