Plan B

I'll take Plan C, thanks

One of the interesting things that happened at Planned Parenthood was that the nurse practitioner said "you know about Plan B, right?" and I said I did, even though it was kind of a lie because I'd only seen the advertisements, where funky "cool" looking girls wake up in their studio apartments panicked and scowling, grab their hoodies and run to the nearest gynecologist to take Plan B, the idea being that they're scowling because they were drunk as a skunk the night before and had sex with some random dude and woke up convinced they were pregnant, so they had to go and get some Plan B. However, the Plan B commercial stresses "Plan B is not the abortion pill" which seems like an outright lie, because why would people be running to get it the morning after if it wasn't actually doing anything.

So today I went home and looked up just what the hell Plan B actually was. The FAQs say: " You can use Plan B^® after you've had unprotected sex one or more times in the last 72 hours (3 days), and you don't want to become pregnant," and then says "Plan B won't work if you're already pregnant" at the time you take the pills. Ok, so this means that if you had a one night stand and got pregnant during that one night stand, tough shit, but if somehow you were not impregnated during the actual sex, but somehow the sperm were miraculously preserved in Igloo coolers so that four weeks later while you were on the elliptical trainer minding your own business you became pregnant, then Plan B is for you. If you believe in miracles, Plan B is for you.

Further investigation into the Plan B ingredients list reveals Pez, Splenda, Skittles and pieces of the True Cross.

Emergency Edition: I Want My MTV

Baby come back

Well, I thought 2009 couldn't possibly be worse than 2008, but it looks like I was 100% wrong. Beginning on 12:01 AM, January 1, 2009, TIME WARNER CABLE WILL NOT CARRY ANY VIACOM SHOWS DUE TO A DISPUTE WITH VIACOM.

In layman's terms, this means that Rock of Love Bus, Tool Academy, Daisy of Love, Megan Trophy Wife, Sober House and all other VH1, MTV and CMT shows (the latter of which is now the only networking running Wife Swap and Trading Spouses) will not be available in New York, LA and other places. At this point, I would like to remind you that the PREMIERE of Rock of Love Bus 3 is scheduled for Sunday, January 4, and if this dispute between TWC and Viacom is not settled by then, that means that we won't get to meet the girls and then hear Bret's reactions. That is unacceptable. Frankly, it is nothing short of a miracle that Bravo is not part of Viacom, thereby leaving Millionaire Matchmaker, Work Out and The Real Housewives OC/Atlanta/NY safe, because if that shit was canceled, I fear the worst.

Viacom is urging people to call TWC and "Just Say No" to no VH1 or MTV, and I cannot think of a worthier cause or something that more urgently deserves our attention. Please, if you've ever cared about Bret Michaels or his extensions, or if you've ever watched an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen and then made fun of the people on there, I am BEGGING you to call TWC and vote "No" on Prop. No VH1. Together we can win this.

Operation Facial Deflation 2008

Follow the below plan and you too can look like this*

Faithful reader Jennie has requested a step by step guide on how to implement Operation Facial Deflation:

Can you please do a post on what you did step-by-step for Operation Facial Deflation 2007 as I am in need of doing the same to lose 15 pounds on my face by Jan. 1, including any products you used, how many times you worked out for how long, how much coffee you drank and any other weight loss aids? Thanks!

Er, 15 pounds by Thursday might be a little much, but nevertheless I will share my "weight loss secrets" that will take you from obese to extreme buffosity in just three painful weeks.

1. First of all, in terms of getting rid of bagel face, face exercises don't work so don't even both with that shit. I've tried chin-ups where you move your jaw back and forth and nose wiggling for 45 minutes while reading "Henry VIII and His Court" and I saw absolutely no improvements. I dealt with a raging case of bagel face for many, many years until I lost my baby fat about a year ago, which was exhilarating but also alarming because it signaled that I would likely need cheek implants within 10 years. In any event, if you have not lost your baby fat, that means you're going to have to go to the gym.

2. At the gym, I like to punish myself so I never want to go back. I run at 7.0 for 5 minutes, and then do "intervals" which is code for almost puking, at 4.0 for 1 minute, then 8.8 for 1.5 minutes, until I hit a total of 15 minutes on the treadmill, including the 5 minute "warm-up." I then pant like a jerk until one of the roving personal trainers at Equinox comes up to me and asks me if I'm ok. I then walk at an incline of 10.5 at 4.0 mph for 10 minutes, but you can't hold on to the treadmill or that ruins everything. I then do 15 minutes on the stepper at "level 10." Weights are three sets of "monster walks" with 5 lb weights, a bunch of useless arm exercises, and the squatting machine which I use for calves. In general I like to say that I go to the gym 4 times a week, but usually it's only 3, depending on whether I've eating thai food that week and am feeling particularly repulsive. I would say "do yoga" but people fall into the trap where they think they can do yoga exclusively and cut out the cardio, and I was also under this delusion for a while and it resulted in complete disaster.

3. In terms of diet, I was never good at this part. Breakfast is a zone bar and coffee, lunch is a yogurt and green apple, and I'm so hungry by dinner that all bets are off and I can't control myself and gorge on Caracas, thai food or other tasty delicious food. But if you're trying to lose weight, my advice is cut out all carbohydrates immediately and stop drinking for two weeks. I once tried to "detox" from alcohol for 3 weeks prior to taking an ID photo for something, and while it was a terrible, terrible experience, I was light as a goddamn feather and I avoided fat face in the picture.

4. Another excellent way to camouflage fat face is to grow your hair long, if it isn't already. Chin-length hair is pretty much a disaster if you have a round face as it will look like you just ate 15 donuts and 6 muffins at all times.

5. There are no creams or potions that I know of that are supposed to be rubbed on the body that do anything whatsoever. Supposedly spray tanning makes you look thinner, but it also has the effect of making you looking 100% ridiculous and corny and directly from Staten Island.

I hope this helps and good luck. We're all counting on you.

*nose and chin not included

P-Day

Today was my Planned Parenthood appointment for my annual gynecological exam, except this I did it insurance-less style. I was expecting protesters outside the building, like there are for the PP in NYC that are covered in pictures of bloody fetuses, but it was actually in a nice office building. So I took the elevator up to the 6th floor, went through the METAL DETECTOR and had my bag checked, and then checked in at registration. I was told to pay in advance - $165 - and I said, how could they know if that would adequately cover everything I wanted done and the woman said, "Child, that covers everything, the works." And I said alrighty and sat down in my seat to begin what I was had read on Yelp was a 3-4 hour wait for the luxury of having someone inspect my vagina.

Unfortunately, I have nothing really bad to say about this place. The people in the waiting room seemed normal and not homeless, and they called my name in 30 minutes. The woman who was taking my medical history kept on muttering that the computer was about to shut down, about to freeze, about to freeze for sure and that they called her in from her vacation to man the shop today, at which point I informed her that she was "doing god's work"at which point she agreed with me and asked me what I was doing for New Years. I told her the only thing I wanted for New Years was a clean pap result, and she said, "what a beautiful present," and then told me to sit in the secondary waiting room, which was the holding area for annual exams, pregnancy tests and HIV tests. I'll spare you the details of the exam, but at one point I was forced to pee in a cup and then walk with this cup PAST THE WAITING AREA FULL OF PEOPLE to the lab as everyone watched me and suffice it to say I nearly died of embarrassment.

All in all, the people there were very nice, the entire thing was over in 2.5 hours, and I wasn't made to feel like an uninsured drain on society or giant loser. The nurse practitioner said at the end, "See you next year" and I had to stop myself from saying "haha, hopefully by that time I'll have health insurance" because if I don't happen to have insurance by next December, I'll have bigger fish to fry.

Happy Holidays

Merry Christmas from Oscar the Schipperke and Santa

Steakhouses

It's what's for dinner

Last week I went to Dylan Prime steakhouse. I normally NEVER go to steakhouses, but it was a family event, so there was pretty much no choice. The main reason I don't go, besides being a vegetarian, is because steakhouses are the most ludicrous places on earth for the following reasons:

1. The place is filled with two types of people: fat bastard men from the sales team at the T-Mobile store who are celebrating their highest month commissions-wise, or finance jerks who go to Scores strip club immediately after. Any women who enter the steakhouse are scrutinized as pieces of meat in and of themselves, and so everybody eyes them, licks their lips and elbows co-workers to "get a load of that" as if they were porterhouse steaks coming around on that weird metal cart. While this may be slightly flattering, it's also pretty alarming because I always got the sense that these guys were bloodthirsty and wanted to eat some meat and then club me over the head and drag me back to their cave in a Flintstones outfit.

2. The waiters are corpulent and have pinky rings and wear white butcher jackets and refer to everything as being "nice," like "it's a nice sized steak," or "we have some nice cuts today." They chortle and have fat fingers and are obsessed with foisting the dessert menu on everybody.

3. The whole point of going for a power lunch at the steakhouse is to take a power dump. Within 45 minutes of leaving the restaurant, every single patron is on a toilet somewhere downing Lipitor, clutching the walls and humming "Round and Round" by Ratt waiting for the steak to emerge from their butts looking EXACTLY as it did when it was served to them. Personally I can't deal with sitting in a restaurant knowing that everyone is about to take a power crap somewhere.

Intervention Needed on Intervention

Jumped the shark?

Um, has anybody else noticed that on ALL the new episodes of Intervention, Jeff Van Vonderen has gone completely AWOL, and now Ken Seeley is running the show. In fact, in a preview for next week's epsiode, they brought out Candy Finnegan for a girl who appears to be doing crack. Alrighty - I guess this means that this season the producers are actively trying to get the addicts NOT to go to treatment, because if they did they would have Jeff in there telling the addict that the family feels like they're losing them and they want to invite to invite them to join the fight, following which the addict would go to Broken Branch Horizons in Tuscon, Arizona and get their shit together. But no, instead they have Ken Seeley in there generally being a wimp, bragging about how he was a former meth addict and attempting to conceal his bad tattoo on his left bicep with garish colored polo shirts from Sperry Topsider. And as a direct result of having Ken and not Jeff, Janet went to rehab and then appeared ungrateful in the follow-up, and Nicole didn't complete treatment and still has that gross feeding tube in her stomach.

So in order to help all the addicts who need real interventions, I would like to propose that in the middle of Ken or Candy doing some lame intervention on an addict, Jeff Van Vonderen break into the conference room and announce that he's no longer going to stand by and watch Ken or Candy kill the addicts with crappy interventions, and that unless Ken or Candy get treatment TODAY to become better interventionists, the following things will change: They will no longer be allowed to be on Intervention; they will no longer receive checks from Intervention and Jeff Van Vonderen will re-do all the interventions previously ineffectively done by Ken and Candy. I would like to ask Ken and Candy to please accept this precious gift today that is being offered to you.

The View from Narnia

The only minor problem being that wearing tape on your arms
is actually more embarrassing than having fat arms

Another Genius Idea

On Saturday, I called my friend Josh because I'm incredibly thoughtful, and as he was talking to me he got an email from this guy Kelly. By way of background, during the summer Josh had made a trip to North Carolina on a "cheer up" trip to visit a friend of his - let's call him John - who was going through some really bad stuff . John's brother, Kelly, had arranged a guy's weekend where all of John's friends would come down and they would do guy things like golf, drink, watch sports and talk about chicks. Josh was in a bad mood that weekend and was generally being a party pooper when Kelly called him a "filthy Jew" and wasn't kidding around. Josh was understandably upset about this and booked the next flight out because he didn't want to be around Kelly anymore.

Naturally Kelly never sent an email apologizing, but what he did send on Saturday was an email to Josh asking for $220 that Josh owed for the hotel, and noting that that he hadn't wanted to hassle Josh sooner "because of the economy" which is potentially the most hilarious excuse I've ever heard in my life. There was no mention of, or apology for, the slur and Josh was annoyed that he had to send the money to this jerk. So I suggested that in lieu of sending the money directly to Kelly, Josh should instead plant a tree in Israel in Kelly's honor and then donate the rest of the $220 on behalf of Kelly to the Simon Weisenthal Center which used to hunt down Nazi war criminals but has since switched to "confronting anti-semitism" because all the Nazis are in retirement homes or on polio ventilators and it's enough already. Josh agreed that this was a genius idea and in a hilarious turn of events, he ACTUALLY DONATED THE $220 to the Simon Wiesenthal Center TODAY and Kelly should be receiving a letter in the mail stating the following:

"Kelly - In light of the events that occured in Raleigh, I thought it more appropriate to donate the $220 I owe you to the Simon Weisenthal Center.

Warm Regards,

Josh"

HAHAHAHAH. Classic.

P.S. In related news, the Church of Latter-Day Saints generously took the liberty of POSTHUMOUSLY BAPTIZING Simon Wiesenthal to Mormonism so that he could stop rotting in hell, and only took him off when the Wiesenthal Center complained that Simon, who spent his life in support of Judaism and Zionism, er, might not appreciate Mormons coming in and forcibly switching him over to an extremely ridiculous religion.

Wallet Karma is REAL

Back in Black

Last Monday I performed my typical Monday night routine of stumbling back to my apartment drunk as a skunk, cramming a very delicious Heath Bar in my face, watching an old episode of Say Yes to the Dress on my DVR and then promptly passing out. When I woke up at 11:10am on Tuesday, I went to my bag to get some ice cold cash to buy my athlete's breakfast of coffee and a mint chocolate Zone bar only to discover my wallet was missing. At first I didn't really panic because my wallet is camouflage which means that it is skilled in the arts of hiding and blending into its surroundings, but after throwing all my couch cushions up, ripping the sheets off my bed and doing other things that I've seen people do in movies when they've lost something, I determined it had dropped out of my bag at the bar when I was bragging about Perry's Hanukkah picture from last year which was in my wallet.

Thankfully there were no charges on any of my cards, but obviously the two major problems were a) that I need at least 3 weeks' notice before taking a new license photo in order to kick it into high gear at the gym, and b) my wallet is irreplaceable. And this may sound completely ludicrous, but I wasn't really that worried about getting my wallet back because my wallet karma is very strong right now due to the fact that I just returned a wallet. It therefore came as no surprise that someone called me at 4pm and told me they had my wallet. ZING. When I got it back obviously the cash was missing and someone will pay dearly for that, but this nevertheless CONCLUSIVELY proves my theory of wallet karma, namely which is if you find one, return it unless you don't want yours back if you lose it. It also proves my theory that my wallet runs away sometimes but returns to me because we were meant to be together.

My Upstairs Neighbors

The lengths that people who live upstairs will go to wake me up before 12pm on Sunday is actually outrageous. Take this morning, for instance. Annoyed that I was once again sleeping in, my neighbors started up with their usual antics of moving all their furniture out of their apartment and then back in and rearrange it several times. Next up was a reenactment of Jack and the Beanstalk where everyone imitated the giant fee fi fo fuming up and down the stairs for an hour. When this failed to rouse me, they lined their apartment with tin garbage can covers, put on wooden clogs and performed the show stoppers from Stomp immediately above my head. They then got on their phones and screamed at each other and then took turns going downstairs to the buzzer and yelling at each other to buzz them up. Sensing their defeat, they resorted to lifting up and then throwing their piano down the stairs seven times and vacuuming the doormat in front of my apartment for 30 minutes, which finally, FINALLY got me out of bed. Well they may have won today's battle, but this war is not over yet.

Perry's First Snow Storm

True Companion

Stop Wearing Angel

"A sensual journey of starry seduction"

Over the past few weeks, Nordstrom, Neiman Marcus, Saks and Bloomingdales have stepped up their advertising game and have sent me about 30,000 booklets of all the crap that's on sale or other crap that they want me to buy. One of the things that all of these stores is pumping hardcore is the Thierry Mugler Angel Ultimate Seduction Holiday Set, featuring perfume, a mini perfume, bath gel and body lotion that "drench the skin in an indulgent celestial fantasy." The main problem with this set is that people need to stop wearing Angel because that is my perfume and I've actually been wearing it since sophomore year of college so if you started wearing it more recently, that means you've been stealing the idea from me.

Angel smells like vanilla + patchouli + chocolate + extreme seduction and one of the unfortunate parts about wearing it for so long is that I obviously can no longer smell it on myself in normal doses, which therefore requires me to dump half of the bottle on my head and then gargle with the rest on a daily basis. Every time I go to the Angel station in Bloomingdales to have my bottle refilled from the Angel tank which stores the blue liquid like a giant lemonade dispenser, I ask the sales person if they sell a lot of Angel or if people come to get their Angel bottles refilled, with the correct answer obviously being that no, I am the only one, but the guy there is always like, "oh yes, EVERYBODY wears Angel - it's really popular," thereby infuriating me. Seriously, that shit is my signature sent, and I would greatly appreciate it if all these stores stopped trying to get everyone to smell like me because if everyone is wearing it then that's going to dilute the seduction effect for everyone involved.

P.S. This does not apply for Angel for Men, which all men should wear at all times.

Amazing Hanukkah Present

I'll take four

Just in time for Hanukkah, the Dossier Book of the Priory of Sion has been released with a detailed family tree of Jesus' bloodline, a list of Grand Master Priory members the Knights Templar and secret emails that are key to proving that Jesus' descendants are still alive and in fact working at FedEx Kinko's in Union, New Jersey. Needless to say, I will be buying this gift for everyone as well as a copy for myself because $34.95 for information that will inevitably lead to concrete evidence that Jesus married Mary Magdalene, didn't die on the cross, took a canoe to the south of France, stayed there for 30 more years where he sired ten children and reigned unobtrusively, is the surely greatest bargain of our time

Movie Review: Doubt

My future look is not ideal

When I first saw the trailer for Doubt on TV and it appeared to take place IN A CHURCH, I marked my Google calendar so that I could be sure to see the movie the first day it came out because I need to be on top of anything that may in any way be related to The Scarlet Letter. Based on the commercial, it seemed like the premise was that priest Philip Seymour Hoffman may or may not have molested someone, and Meryl Streep was a pilgrim who was accusing him of doing the molesting. It turned out that the movie was supposed to take place in the 1950s in a Catholic school, not in 1776, but that nuns during the 50s were required to wear habits directly from The Crucible. Anyhow, I was expecting to LOVE it, but it was kind of boring and probably should have just been left as a play because actually nothing happened in the movie. My opinion may have been influenced, however, by the fact that I won "Meryl Streep Lookalike" in my high school yearbook, so I spent the entire time panicking that I look like Meryl Streep now or that I will look as jowly as her when I'm 40, which is a serious issue considering Meryl just had a facelift right before The Manchurian Candidate which was 5 years ago and her face is already going to hell.

Smet

Smut

Rock of Love Charm School alerted me to a dangerous new line of clothing out there, Smet. If the clothes look familiar to you, it's because they are IDENTICAL TO ED HARDY and are, in fact by the same evil mastermind who is responsible for Ed Hardy and Christian Audigier, Mr. Christian Audigier himself. The only difference I can see between the lines is that Ed Hardy focuses on tigers with daggers in their eyes, and Smet has no tigers, just the regular old skulls and daggers, roses, angel wings etc. I have no idea what it is supposed to mean. For $77, you can identify with homeless people by wearing a crystal-encrused trucker hat that says "Born on the Street," because bums usually have $77 to spare on idiotic clothing. This line appears to be equally as ridiculous as Ed Hardy and I urge everyone not to be deceived by it or race out and buy this crap just because Bret Michaels will be wearing it on Rock of Love Bus 3 which I greatly look forward to.

The View from Narnia

"It's wonderful to be here
It's certainly a thrill
You're such a lovely audience
We'd like to take you home with us
We'd love to take you home!"

Rats of Nimh

If you need a sweater to declare your species, there may be a problem

The heater wasn't working in my apartment the other night, so as I'm in bed wearing a long sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, a hat, pants and two pairs of socks and Perry's wearing his winter coat, I hear a rustling in Perry's food bin. It sounds like someone in the bin is dancing to "Oops...I Did It Again" and the food is like shifting around like crazy and making a ton of noise, at which point I determine that there is a mouse in my apartment and he's in Perry's food. Putting aside how 100% unacceptable, alarming and disgusting that is, I get up, yell at Perry to go get him, and Perry just stands there in bed, looking at me blankly as the mouse continues to perform Riverdance. Perry will normally bark if he hears someone in the stairwell of my building or if he sees children on the street from my window, but the mouse that he, a Bedlington Terrier, was BRED TO KILL, is apparently no enemy of his and can enjoy doing the backstroke in Perry's food with no fear of retribution.

I actually can't adequately describe the ridiculousness of the situation - we were both dressed like we were headed to Ellis Island in my freezing apartment, and I was ordering my $120 senior stylist groomed coat-wearing $1,500 dog descended from champions to attack a mouse, and he looks at me like I've lost my mind and attempts to go back to sleep while the rat that his ancestors have been master slayers of luxuriates in his organic food. Time to reevaluate.

Newfound Anger

"How many roses can I give, Chino? How many and still one rose left for me?"
- Maria from West Side Story

As you may recall, I completely called it that Jason Mesnick, the dude that DeAnna Pappas rejected for Jesse Czsinkzask, snagged his own Bachelor show which I threatened to audition for. Well, apparently I was not quick enough on the trigger because the show has ALREADY TAPED, and according to this article from People, he's "engaged." Nothing infuriates me more than hearing other people talk endlessly about how they're "happy" or"in love" and when I read this article I wanted to bash myself over the head with my computer. Under what circumstances is it fair that someone gets to be on TWO reality shows, gets a whole new wardrobe AND an on-site tanning artist and then gets to have 20 women throw themselves at him and then he gets a Tacori free Tacori diamond engagement ring by Tacori at the end of the show, furnished by Tacori. Obviously my only consolation at this news is knowing that they will break up 2 months after the show and then I will be happy because both Jesse and Jason will be alone and then Jesse will be free to call me very soon.

Chickpea

Always baked. Never fried. Consistently lying.

There's a take-out restaurant in NYC called "Chickpea" which is basically a falafel place. Their motto, plastered on the outside of the restaurant and on all the t-shirts the servers there wear, is "Always baked. Never fried." Alrighty. So the other day I was in there and I ordered a falafel sandwich to go, because that's the way I roll, and the server said "Do you want the falafel baked or fried?" I thought it was a trick question so I just said "Ha, ha." She looked at me like I was from outer space and said, "Ma'am, do you want it baked or fried?" and I said, "Um, I believe there is no choice in the matter since your sign says always baked and NEVER fried."

She then told me that they have both baked and fried falafel balls and which one did I want, and I replied that I was just wondering how Chickpea could live with itself because it appears that its entire existence is based upon a filthy lie. Like if I want to go to Chickpea as opposed to the falafel place across the street, it's because not only do I want baked falafel, but I want to be assured that under no circumstances would they EVER fry a falafel now or in the future. The server continued to stare at me as I pointed out that her own t-shirt promised others that there would never be anything fried at this establishment, at which point the server asked me to step aside so she could take somebody else's order, so I quickly specified thatI'd take the fried falafel because fried things are more delicious than non-fried things.

Operation Santa

Click on above to enlarge

Operation Santa is an organization where people mail letters to Santa to the post office, and then rich people go to the post office, pick a letter, and then mail the letter-writer the gifts that are requested, under the guise of being an anonymous Santa. It's actually an awesome organization, and if I had more bags full of money this year, I would totally do it and then brag about it until I died. Unfortunately, this year, I am forced to be one of the letter WRITERS who begs Santa for gifts. I missed the deadline to mail in my letter, so I'm posting it here in the hopes that some kind soul reads it and makes this Christmas the best one ever for me, mainly because I'm Jewish so this would actually be my first Christmas ever. Click on above picture to read my letter.

Planned Parenthood

The mighty have fallen

One of the bad things about not having health insurance is that when people talk about how they are sick - like have a cold, ear infection, eye infection or whatever, I become exceedingly paranoid that I will get sick and have to go to the emergency room and then be like, "um sorry guys, I might look like I have insurance but I actually don't" and then they'll give me penicillin and directions to the bankruptcy court so that I can immediately file for bankruptcy after receiving $20,000 worth of uninsured medical care. In any event, maybe it's because I watch reality shows exclusively, but during EVERY commercial break they're always talking about HPV and singing that jingle "I want to be one less, one less!" about how basically 80% of the population has HPV and of those 80%, 80% will develop cervical cancer, which has no signs or symptoms - one day you just die, randomly. So pretty much every day I have a heart attack that I have HPV and that I'm on the brink of death, which is made worse by the fact that when I was employed at my firm, I got the first installment of the vaccine, but I never got the second two installments because I kept on having to cancel my appointments because I had early morning conference calls and I couldn't exactly tell a client or the partners that I couldn't make the call because I was getting a shot against being slutty. And when I called to cancel my appointments, the nurse was always like, "you need to come in here as soon as possible" which made me even more paranoid, because what if vaccine #1 was a low-lying form of HPV, and vaccines #2 and 3 were the antidote, so by getting ONLY vaccine #1 I had basically affirmatively infected myself with HPV and on the straight and narrow path to cervical cancer.

I was complaining about this to the people at Salon Seven, and one of the stylists Leslie tells me that I should just call up planned parenthood and make an appointment. It sounded like an amazing idea, so I went to the website and tried to ascertain if I was poor enough to have my vagina inspected, but the site kept on giving me roundabout answers, like "financial assistance available" which is weird, because this shit's supposed to be free. Anyway, so I'm filling out all the info that they'll need for my ghetto appointment, like what is this visit for? check all that apply: a) abortion, b) morning after pill, c) contraceptives, d) pill, e) pill refill, f) STD battery of tests, g) sluttiness ascertainment analysis, g) annual exam and then I come across what is potentially the most hilarious question I have ever been asked by someone/something medical (besides when my old gynecologist was taking my medical history and asked me if I wore a BICYCLE HELMET while riding a bike). The question on the appointment form read as follows:

If we need to contact you at the number you provided above, whom should we say is calling? Check the box:

__Planned Parenthood
__Doctor's Office
__Cory
__Other

HAHAHAHHAHAHA. I selected Cory, obviously. Genius. I can't wait for the appointment.

Proposed Economic Fallback Plans

Diamonds on my wall

As you may know, I am a big fan of get rich quick schemes, pyramid schemes, ponsi schemes and schemes in general. My attempts to acquire employment have thus far been thwarted in this "economy" so I was brainstorming on ways to make boatloads of money that do not involve me actually working. Here are just a few of my ideas, if you can even believe that I have more where these came from. Do NOT steal them.

1. Opening a petting zoo, with Perry has the main/only attraction. $10 entrance fee, $5 per each pet.
2. Scraping the Swarovski crystals that are on the wallpaper that Oprah gave me, and selling them as diamonds on Canal Street.
3. Going to every Duane Reade in the city, and opening every Secret Flawless deodorant to find the fake sequin hidden under the cap, which is redeemable for a 1 carat "flawless" diamond, which I will then sell for ice cold cash.
4. Plastic surgery consultant, whereby if you think someone has had plastic surgery but are too afraid to confront them about it, contact me and I will provided a detailed analysis of likely plastic surgeries, along with percentage of likelihood breakdown and name of probable surgeon.
5. Personality/dating analysis, whereby I meet you and tell you the truth about why you're still single.

Can It With The Insulting Lectures

Living the dream

Every time I apply for a job or complain to someone about not being able to find a job, peoples' responses are always the same: "now is not a good time to be looking." While this is a very wise thing to say indeed, it does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to change the fact that like it or not that the millions of dollars that I previously had are now nearly gone because I invested heavily in David Copperfield's Fountain of Youth, which unfortunately turned out to be a small regular stream in Bahamas.

People are acting like I quit my job at the firm fully knowing that the economy would collapse in September, and armed with this knowledge what I shrewdly did was take three months' vacation biding my time so that I could begin my job search when America was fully collapsed and people were on the brink of going back to living in caves. Like it was some sort of strategy that when everybody else is getting fired, I would just pounce on all these now-vacant positions and acquire more jobs than the eye can see and become rich as a sultan. Yes, I REALIZE that "now" isn't a "good time" to be "looking" but pulling a Rip van Winkle and going to sleep for 20 years and waking up when the economy is better and there are awesome jobs for me to be great at isn't an option, because I've actually looked into the possibility of hibernation and the science is just not there yet.

The View from Narnia

Back away slowly

The View from Narnia

Act casual

The Problem with Brunch

Nevermore

In theory I like the idea of brunch, but in practice, brunch is disgusting and a no-win situation. Take, for instance, today, when my parents came in to NYC for a "birthday brunch" with me and Aliza and I was faced with the age-old brunch menu problem. Basically the options are some sort of eggs - omlettes, scrambled, and other things - or a completely gross but exceedingly delicious stack of pancakes, french toast, waffles etc. While my heart says "pancakes" my brains says "eggs" but the problem is that I have never really gotten back on the egg bandwagon after an unfortunate egg incident in college, whereby I made scrambled eggs for myself every single day for a month and then grossed myself out, resulting in egg overload and an extreme repulsion to both eggs and ketchup for an entire year. So basically that leaves me the pancakes/french toast option, but that's like eating 30 cookies for breakfast, which, while delicious, is a one way ticket to obesity.

So every time I sit down to brunch, I'm forced to choose between eggs that pretty much make me want to throw up, and pancakes where I know I'd feel like a disgusting slob and spend the rest of the day monitoring my face in the mirror for bagel-face syndrome and walking around uncomfortable and angry and about to burst out of my jeans. Ultimately I went with the eggs today because shit has to be looking top notch for the ATL Meet the Editors Happy Hour on Tuesday and if I ate the buttermilk pancakes I wouldn't have enough time to undo the damage, but someone needs to look into this brunch problem very soon because it's getting out of hand and someone needs to invent another option, and don't say granola or a salad because nobody wants that shit for brunch.

Most Hilarious Day of the Year II

CLASSIC

Most Hilarious Day of the Year

I CAN'T WAIT

Wallet Karma

From left to right: dead chipmunk, wallet, Perry

I make no secret of the fact that I believe in astrology, gargoyles, runes, divining rods, Ouijia boards, natal charts, psychics, horoscopes, tarot, spells, seances etc. but one of the most powerful forces out there is wallet karma. When I was in law school, I was in a bar in New York during the summer and my wallet was stolen from my bag on the floor. Losing the contents of the wallet wasn't a giant deal, because I only had like $5 and had like a ridiculous $2,500 limit Capital One credit card in there and losing my license wasn't a huge deal because I knew that if I got another license picture it would turn out amazing due to the fact that I kick shit into high gear for my license pictures. I was mainly bummed out about the wallet itself, which was a velcro camouflage army wallet that I got in 7th grade and had been using ever since. I am EXTREMELY attached to this wallet, to the point where Career Services at my law school recommended I get a nicer looking wallet so that when I pulled it out on interviews and lunches people wouldn't immediately not give me a job because my wallet indicated that I was homeless, but I refused to do so because if people are going to not give me jobs based on the fact that they suspect that I'm homeless, they need to get a life.

Needless to say that I was completely devastated by the loss of my wallet, but about a week after itwas stolen, my parents received a package in the mail with no return address. It turned out to be my wallet, with the $5 cash missing, but everything else in there. This is because if you love something, set it free, if it comes back to you, it was meant to be, if it doesn't, it was never yours to begin with. I had used that wallet loyally for 11 years and the wallet knew that and wanted to return home, so it influenced the spirits of the people around it to give it back to me even though they had originally stolen it. So when I found a wallet in the back of a cab this weekend, I returned it, because there's such a thing as wallet karma. You have to return one in order to get yours back. This also applies to cell phones, as I lost mine last year but in law school I once found one and returned it. I'm telling you, this shit works.

The Abomidable Snowman

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man 2

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Reunion Outfit

Candidate #2
"Regal"

Candidates for Reunion Outfit

Candidate #1
"Arabian Nights"

Any fool knows that the most important part about rolling up to a high school reunion is looking SHAMAZING and being zit free. As such, I've been trolling my favorite online shopping sites for the ultimate outfit and over the next few days I'm going to post pictures of the top contenders under the heading "Reunion Outfit" with the brief description of the look I'm going for and then I'll figure out how to get one of those voting things on here if they're free so people can vote. If they're not free, my anger may increase.

It Has Come To This

See post below for ultimatum details

Um, people are reading this blog. I know this because there's a sitemeter on the right hand column and you're living in Narnia if you think I don't check that shit every hour day. And yet, no one comments. People just take take take like I'm giving away free words and act like I'm unemployed which I happen to be and that I have absolutely nothing better to do than occasionally amuse people, and yet you readers stingily do not posts comments or send me emails. For instance, my post on open positions in my Facebook cabinet? ONLY ONE PERSON APPLIED. Is that a joke? Not acceptable. Frankly I am offering up dream jobs with outrageously amazing pay* and everyone is acting like their resumes are so chock full of executive experience that they could not possibly benefit from a job IN A CABINET. And so it has come to me begging people to comment on the posts which I am prepared to back up with the threat of NEVER POSTING AGAIN** and THEN WE'LL SEE WHO SUFFERS.




* pending
** likely empty threat

J. Crew'd

Sleeves not included

I just called J. Crew to ask them what the difference was between the Petite Kelly shirt and the Petite Slim Stretch shirt because for the life of me, I couldn't tell the difference. You would think Kelly would be fat fit, with no stretch, but that is not the case, as in the description it describes itself as "slim fit" with a "hint of stretch." They come in the same colors, and though one says it hits at the "high hip" and one says its "below the hip,"neither of these descriptions make any sense due to the fact that there is no such thing as different areas on the hip and J. Crew needs to give me a break. The only difference is that Kelly costs $54, and Slim Stretch costs $59.50, and before I go spending $5.50 extra in this economy, I want to be damn sure that the Slim Stretch has a diamond lining and is made with the silk of beetles from Siam whereas the Kelly shirt does not.

In any event, so I'm on the phone with "Carole" and we go over the two shirts for a few minutes and finally she says "they look the same to me, let me ask my manager" so I'm waiting on hold listening to some advertisement asking me if I knew that J. Crew now has yoga loungewear which I was actually unaware of and thus found helpful, and then Carole comes back on and tells me that the Slim Stretch shirt has long sleeves and the Kelly shirt has 3/4 sleeves. I then ask Carole if J. Crew is offering to sell me 3/4 of a shirt for $54, and holding the last 1/4 of the shirt for ransom at the asking price of $5.50 and she said "I wouldn't call it ransom, but the sleeves are extra" and I said that that given the complete lunacy of this notion, unfortunately I would be unable to purchase either the 3/4 pirate shirt or pay their king's ransom of $59.50 for the entire shirt because I have a strict policy against extortion and kidnappings.

Modeling Career Imminent

I am on the far left with the black hair

So tonight Megan invited me to the filming of next season's catwalk "walkoff" for the two finalists on America's Next Top Model. At the end of the season of ANTM, they always flash something on the screen that says something to the effect of "Are you interested in becoming a top model? We're looking for all different kinds of girls of different shapes and sizes from diverse backgrounds" because every season that they have at least one blind model or fat model, so when I apply my gimmick would be that I'd be the short average looking model who takes mediocre pictures. So last season as I was threatening to send in my application, Megan cut and pasted to me a disclaimer on the ANTM site which says in very small print, "Applicants to appear on the show must be at least 5'7." Because you can be fat, blind and NOT EVEN A WOMAN to be a female top model, but they have to draw the diversity line somewhere and being under 5'7 is just unacceptable and IMMEDIATELY disqualifies you to be a model. Well, apparently Tyra and Miss J haven't seen my Blue Steel look and my bunion, both of which I will be showing them tonight, and once they do I am pretty confident that their 5'7" requirement will go out the window. I remember telling my neighbor Becca when I was 7 years old that it was my dream to become either a ballerina or a model and now I feel like my persistence in this arena has finally paid off.

Judgment Day

Old nose and pruneified chin culminating in
moderately disastrous high school look

Next week is my ten year high school reunion. As you can imagine, things have not exactly worked out the way I planned them to when I was in high school. Back then, I thought in ten years I would be rolling up to the reunion on a yacht, docking the yacht and driving off it in my Ferrari and then showing up with my fiance/husband sporting a giant canary yellow diamond pear shaped engagement ring that was at least 3 carats (suitors, take note) and be either the wife of some repulsively rich CEO or be a famous writer or comedian or somebody important. I would deign to talk to all the people who were mean to me in high school and allow them to kiss my ring and have an audience with me while they begged me for a position in my court or alms for the poor. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would show up to my reunion pretty much unemployed, wearing cubic zirconia earrings and have both my yacht and Ferrari in the shop due to bad timing. While my fellow classmates might be "happily married" or "employed" or "very rich" if they show up repulsive and obese that means I win and I am now attending Iron Body: Core twice a week as well as increasing my treadmill speed to 7.2 for 35 minutes in order to ensure this victory.

The View from Narnia

Aliza at her bat-mitzvah

P.S. HAHAHAHAHA

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time

Perry's lingerie fetish

Yes, I'm aware I previously titled a post "The Curious Incident of the Lactaid in the Night-time" but this post actually DOES have to do with Perry's extremely bizarre nighttime ritual. Every night when I put on my long nightcap and shuffle around my apartment with a candle on a plate yelling "Perry, bedtime!" Perry gathers all of his dead chipmunk AKC toys in a pile in the living room and then proceeds to hide each toy, one by one in various places around my apartment. He grabs a chipmunk by the mouth, attempts to squeak it to make sure the squeaker is broken and then surveys the apartment for the ultimate hiding space so as to secure the chipmunk for the night and make sure thieves do not steal them from him under cover of darkness.

You would think this process takes like 3 minutes - like grab a chipmunk, hide it under a cushion and be done with it, but unfortunately, each of his 3 chipmunks takes about a half hour to hide, because sometimes Perry deems the original hiding space not safe enough. For instance, Perry typically initially hides the chipmunk under some pillows on my floor but minutes later he's moving the chipmunk to underneath the bed because under the pillows was too obvious, or because I spotted him hiding the chipmunk and therefore ruined everything. Seriously, when I interrupt his hiding rituals, he has to UNHIDE the chipmunks and then REHIDE them somewhere else because while by day I'm Dr. Jekyll, taking him out to pee or taking him to the vet, turn off the lights and put me in a room with some stuffed chipmunks I just lose all reason and cram them all in my mouth and confiscate them.

While this entire thing was hilarious to watch the first time around, it takes an HOUR AND A HALF every night for Perry to perform his OCD rituals and the entire time he is squeaking, jumping and digging and when I wake up in the morning the apartment looks like a crack den. When I tried to tell the Oprah people that half of the mess in my apartment wasn't mine, they were like, "You need to stop blaming your messiness on your dog" and I was like "No, it's true, I didn't do most of this, but yet I'm still getting blamed for it and Perry comes out looking like a victim" and then they told me to "grow up" and "take ownership" over things.

Second Life More Ridiculous Than Previously Suspected

Seductive

Because there is no news left to report in the world, CNN posted this article about potentially the most ludicrous thing I have ever read. Apparently a woman who met her husband IN A CHATROOM, married in real life and then proceeded to have a wedding ceremony in SECOND LIFE, caught her husband's avatar having VIRTUAL SEX in Second Life with a Second Life prostitute and is now divorcing him in real life. I'm not going to sit here and pretend to understand what the hell Second Life is because when people have tried to explain it to me in the past it seems like it is basically a video game in which extreme nerds across the world convene and attempt to assume non-nerd identities in another dimension by ironically creating "avatars" and doing things on a screen instead of working on getting a life in First Life, i.e., reality. I can assure you that the game makes 0% sense, but the gist of the CNN story is this husband did not cheat in real life, his avatar just had sex with another avatar. In a video game.

Putting aside for a minute the fact that I will be shortly conducting a comprehensive investigation into how exactly video game characters have sex, the most genius part of this story is the deadpan last line in the article: "Taylor is now in a new relationship with a man she met in the online roleplaying game World of Warcraft." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. But seriously, I feel like this video game garbage has gotten out of control and I am very hopeful that Obama will issue an edict jailing all nerds and eliminating science fiction so that people can start respecting the U.S. again.

Give Me My Colored Coat, My Amazing Colored Coat

A crash of drums, a flash of light
My golden coat flew out of sight
The colours faded into darkness
I was left alone
-"Any Dream Will Do/Give Me My Colored" from
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

Now That's What I Call Implants - REMOVED

Not Fade Away

The View from Narnia

Gratuitous Dancing Scene from 13 Going On 30

Things I Ate Yesterday, In Order

Some food groups were represented

1. Lemon buttercream Buttercup Bakery cupcake
2. Piece of cookie cake that failed to cook thoroughly
3. Pretzel stick
4. Soy milk
5. Lucky charms
6. Margarita
7. Scrambled Egg

Alarming New Brand at Shopbop

WHAT

So as I was drooling looking at all the items at Shopbop that are 30% off today but yet still out of my price range now that I am "unemployed," I came across a new alarming brand of Civil War/Troubador boots called Golden Goose. The brand is called Golden Goose not just because people in Grimm's Fairy Tales wore them but also because you have to OWN a Golden Goose in order to afford them. That's right, Shopbop is charging A MINIMUM OF $1,080 for a pair of these already been worn scuffed up boots from the Battle of Tippecanoe. While this is moderately alarming, it in no way compares to the above pictured FOOT BOOT for people with one inch calves who wish to look like they bought normal sized boots, put them in a Shrinky Dink oven and then apprenticed at a dude ranch in the 1930s, all for the reasonable price of $1,220. Is Shopbop joking me? Is Golden Goose joking me? Foot boots? FOOT BOOTS? I can't go on.

The View from Narnia

Crusoe on NBC

Ivanka Trump Contining to Ruin My Life

See both of you guys at services, I guess

I meant to post this last week, but apparently Ivanka Trump is converting to Judaism for her fiance Jared Kushner. You may remember that when I was a sophomore in high school, I went on a summer program in Nice, France. The program included a suggested packing list which my mom adhered to RIGIDLY, which resulted in me bringing two pairs of shorts, one longsleeve shirt, one pair of sneakers and five pairs of underwear. My hairdryer didn't work out there, I had clear braces and my nose was original. I was poised to be a giant dork, and this eventuality came to pass when the entire NYC private school system rolled up on the this trip, including Ivanka Trump.

Ivanka had Louis Vuitton luggage, height, nice hair, bags full of money and a modeling contract, but she did have a wide nose, and a weak chin. The only things I had that she didn't were breastaculars, a normal chin and Judaism. Well, turns out the jokes on me because after getting a chin implant and giant breast implants she is now once again trying to one up me by converting to Judaism. Could she try any harder to destroy me? No.

Thank You - Really

I've received so many nice comments via here (and elsewhere) about the Oprah show, so I just wanted to say thank you (really) to everyone who has been so kind and supportive. I was obviously scared shitless about how I'd look on tv, in the sense of both the plastic surgeries I'd need after seeing myself and the way I'd come off to viewers, and love it or leave it, I think what you saw was pretty accurate overall.

My mom (who is a psychiatrist) called me after she had seen the show and said "You came off as histrionic and a little bit emotional...which is true" at which point I said that I would actually prefer not to broadcast my alleged personality disorder which she had NEVER BEFORE TOLD ME I HAD on national tv and that in light of this conversation I would be jumping off the nearest cliff, which she responded to by saying, "See, this is exactly what I'm talking about."

The entire time the Hapro crew was making over my apartment, I "struggled" with the question of why me? Like was this god/Oprah rewarding me for past good behavior or was this god/Oprah saying that I was on the right track on my life or was this completely random and was not indicative of anything I might have done or not done. In the end, I think Occam's razor is that the producers - who were some of the most gracious people I've ever met (seriously) - by the grace of god, liked me. Whatever the case, I was/am humbled that they chose me and believed in me and am deeply DEEPLY appreciative that Harpo thought I was worth spending so much time, money and effort on. And yes, the place is still clean.