Tuesday, April 28, 2009

My Ear, Part III

When we last met my ear, I had just performed the ear wax removal system twice on it, resulting in ringing and unbearable pain. I decided to go to the New York Eye & Ear infirmary at 2:30pm on a Tuesday because a) who the hell goes to the ear doctor at that time, and b) the place is near my apartment. So I walk to the dingy, rainbow colored building, and am standing in the lobby watching nurses walk aimlessly and while hoardes of random unemployed people are just standing around the perimeter of the lobby, holding forms and clipboards. As I'm standing there doing my best to look confused in the hopes that someone tells me what the hell is going on, a security guard comes up to me and asks me if I need help. I tell him I'd like to see a doctor about my ear, and he says, "No problem, just stand in that line," and he points to a line of about 20 people, including several screaming babies and lots of puffy coats. I ask him what the wait is like once I've finished waiting in the initial line, and the security guard smirks and says "There's the waiting room," and motions to what can only be described as a scene directly from hell.

There were about 150 people crammed in, standing and sitting all over the place, eating McDonalds, snapping gum, screaming at their children, talking loudly to each other and doing other annoying things. As far as the eye could see were South Pole puffy jackets, Timberlands and Sketchers, and then I asked the security guard if this was a joke. He then said "Doors open at 7:30am but they only see patients from 1 to 3pm." I then asked him whether these people had been waiting since 7:30 and he said yes, and I then asked him whether he'd ever seen the fresco "The Condemned In Hell" by Signorelli because this waiting room appeared to be to the inspiration for the terrifying masterpiece. The security guard looked at me like I was insane and for some reason thought I was asking where the soda machine was so he started giving me directions to it, at which point I walked out of the building.

I went home and remembered that many of the plastic surgeons that I had been researching when I was looking into my nosejob were affiliated with Manhattan Eye & Ear, so I called them and asked the guy on the phone if they allow people without insurance to go there and he said that they did if they paid cash, so I made an appointment for the next day at 8:30am since it was only $140.99. So the next day, I roll up at 8:45am because even when seeing doctors it's important to be fashionably late. The intake lady on the first floor takes my license and makes a photocopy and tells me that it's a good picture, so I then am forced to delay myself further by explaining that I always take amazing license pictures, it's actually a talent because I normally take bad pictures but I step it up for licenses and this happens to be my third amazing picture license. They send me up to the "Audiology" floor, where I am seated in a waiting room with two old ladies. The tv is on Regis and Kelly and the volume is deafeningly loud and assaulting my right ear. As I'm trying to protect myself from the volume by zipping my hoodie over my head, I catch the eye of one of the old ladies and say, "Ironic that we're in an audiology ward and the volume is up all the way!" which she responds to be staring at me blankly. Then two deaf people come into the waiting room and start signing to each other, which makes me feel better because my ear may be ringing but those people have real hearing problems.

Finally, they call me and I tell Dr. Lim that my mother the psychiatrist in conjunction with her friend Joseph the Oncologist have prescribed amoxicillan for my ear, which she laughs at. I also tell her about the wax removal fiasco and she shakes her head and then looks in my ear and informs me that I have "absolutely no wax" in there, which was a relief to hear because I didn't want to have to tell people this story and have them be disgusted by me. She then spritzes something up my nose and then asks me if I have trouble breathing because my nose is clogged. I tell her that my nose has been clogged since my nosejob in 2001, but I consider the clogging a small price to pay for a marginally better nose. She prescribes me some prednisone, vaguely tells me there some "fluid" somewhere and sends me away.

It's been over a week since then, and needless to say my ear remains clogged and ringing. I return to the office of Manhattan Eye & Ear tomorrow and Dr. Lim tomorrow. Stay tuned...

Monday, April 27, 2009

Day of Doodlehead Cont'd

Day of Doodlehead


Happy 2nd Birthday Perry!

Two years ago today, somewhere in northern California, five puppies were born to proud mom Fiona and deadbeat dad Timmy, a Bedlington who had already skipped town. There were two girl puppies and three boys, but two of the boys died very early on. One blue boy was left, and since I had already put down a non-refundable $400 deposit, that meant he was mine. About 8 weeks in, he traveled by airplane to Lancaster, PA, along with his sister, Callie, to the home of another breeder, where he would await my arrival via red Mustang because that was the only car they had left at Hertz that weekend. Aliza and I picked him up, we drove to New Jersey to introduce him to his step-siblings Hailey and Lamb Choppe, and it was there that Uncle Lambo kept on sniffing his ear and diagnosed him with an ear infection. He was, from the beginning, a total money pit. But every cent I've ever paid or ever will pay for that dog is worth it. I'd even give up the contents of my ING Savings account for him, and that's pretty serious considering my obscene wealth.

According to Greg the dogwalker who also does tarot readings and dream interpretations, Perry is an old soul. He's on his sixth and final life as a dog, because after this life he will be done paying for the sins he committed while human. I feel lucky that I get to share his last dog life, and hope that whomever is in charge of reincarnation sees that he is being a very good boy. Happy second birthday, Perry. Kisses.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

R.I.P. Bea Arthur (1922-2009)

Shady Pines, ma

Tragic news - Bea Arthur, a.k.a Dorothy Zbornak, a.k.a Maude, has died at age 86 from cancer. I'm just too devastated to think of anything clever. Golden Girls is my favorite show, and I am a major, MAJOR fan. I have autographs of all the Girls, and the first time I went to L.A., my first order of business was getting one of those celebrity maps that had the Golden Girls' houses on it. I took pictures in front of Betty and Bea's houses, but unfortunately I lost the film so they never got developed. Several years ago, I saw Bea Arthur on Broadway, "Just Between Friends," along with every gay man in Manhattan. We're going to miss you, Pussycat. Thank you for being a friend.

Here are some classic scenes with Bea and the Girls:

1. I Got You Babe
2. Miami is Nice
3. Miami Lovers

Friday, April 24, 2009

My Ear, Part II

My right ear continues to be clogged and ring for two days following the Rite Aid amoxicillan disaster. It's Tuesday and at 12pm sharp I'm sitting in Phyllis my new shrink's office attempting to blame my parents for my shortcomings and she says "You seem a little distracted," at which point I tell her that I can't focus on feeling sorry for myself today because it feels like someone put a bubble over my ear and the ringing sounds like someone forgot to turn off the tv but not the cable box - like a high pitched buzz that will not go away. I tell her that my mom prescribed amoxicillan for me and she rolls her eyes and goes into an MD-less diatribe about how doctors are out of control with the prescriptions these days that that what I ACTUALLY have is a simple ear wax problem, which she has had before. She then asks me if I pick my ears with my fingers and I say, "Occassionally when no one is looking which is embarrassing to admit but mainly I use a Q-Tip" and then she slams her hand down on her leg and tells me that I've moved a piece of ear wax into my inner ear and will need either a doctor to remove it or I could just buy one of those ear wax removal kits.

Overjoyed that I don't have to pay $8,000 for a doctor, I race out of the appointment and go to CVS where I am forced to ask a salesperson where the ear wax stuff is because I can't find it myself, thereby undergoing extreme humiliation, and I "Murine Ear Wax Removal System" and grab a cab home in order to rid myself of this terrible wax as quickly as possible. The kit says to apply between 5 to 10 drops of this gross softener into my ear, tilt my head for "several minutes" and the flush it out with a plastic blue eye-dropper pump contraption filled with warm water. I determine that 7 drops is the correct amount for me, and then lay on my left side for 5 minutes while attempting to read a book out of my right eye because the left one is crushed against a pillow.

Unfortunately the contact prescription in my right eye has never been great, so the words are all blurry and I get nauseous from reading so I have to put the book down and just lay there like an idiot for five minutes. After the time is up, I walk with a tilted head toward my kitchen sink, fill a plastic bowl with warm water and proceeds to squeeze this water into my ear which sounds really loud and feels like someone's peeing. I determine that the process has been ineffective, because the ringing is still there and the shit is still clogged, so I repeat the process which the Murine kit says I can do up to twice a day, and this time instill ten drops into my ear because I am playing with the big boys and not fooling around now. I again douse my ear in warm water, which has zero effect on the clogging and ringing, but I think maybe this wax removal takes time.

I retreat to my computer to look at expensive clothes and all of a sudden a sharp develops in my ear and jaw which feels like someone has stabbed me. My ear is noweven more clogged than before, the ringing is unbearable and I'm about to fire Phyllis and shoot someone.

Then, I remember that there's this NY Ear & Ear Infirmary, not far from my apartment. I'll just walk in there, I figure. This is an emergency, they'll have to see me immediately, I'll pay anything at this point and besides, who the hell is there at 2:30pm on a random Tuesday?

Who the hell, indeed...

Stay tuned for the "shocking" "conclusion" of "My Ear."

Thursday, April 23, 2009

The New Trend

Ugh, today ANOTHER one of those dad-orchestrated-ponzi-scheme-and-then-killed-entire-family-before-killing-himself stories was in the news. Can people stop doing schemes and killing their families? It's getting really annoying at this point. Like if you're going to commit a trendy crime, pick EITHER a ponzi scheme OR killing your family, but you can't have both because that's just being greedy. If you kill your family and then yourself, that's tragic, or if you defraud investors, that's kind of lame, but put them both together and it's just a total shitshow because people have lost money and now there's no one to imprison for it.

Because I sincerely hope no one gets involved with someone who will murder them later on, I have developed the below checklist that you can use to determine whether your sig oth is involved in a ponzi scheme and plans to murder you and him or herself in the future:

1. Person you're dating owns a gun.
2. Person you're dating always clears his or her cache on Google and not just because they're trying to hide their porn trail.
3. Person you're dating does Publisher's Clearing House and sincerely believes that they've just won $25 million dollars.
4. Person you're dating likes going on dates to remote cliffs or hotel rooms in other cities.
5. Person you're dating gets defensive while playing Clue when you accuse Colonel Mustard of doing it with the wrench in the conservatory.
6. Person you're dating seems normal.
7. Person you're dating likes money more than usual.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

My Ear, Part I

Not sure what eustachian tubes are but pretty confident I don't have them

On Saturday, my right ear started to feel clogged. I didn't think anything of it, primarily because I was drunk as a skunk for most of the day, but on Sunday when I woke up it was still clogged and ringing. Thinking that this was a karma-related event because one of my favorite pass times is surprise attacking Perry's ears with hemostats and plucking wax entangled hair out of his ear canal which he hates but I truly believe is good for him and which I also find personally satisfying, I checked my horoscope to see if I was supposed to be receiving revenge karma, but it turned out that Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be good love and career days for me and they said nothing about bad health.

I googled "ear clogged and ringing and cipro" because the only prescription antibiotic I had on hand was an old bottle of cipro, and as I may have mentioned about 10,000 times, I don't have health insurance. I called up my mom, Dr. Rusty, to get her expert opinion on the situation, but since she's a Psychiatrist she said she didn't know what the dosage was and instead referred me to their neighbor Joseph who naturally would be able to help me because he is an Oncologist. Joseph told my mom to prescribe amoxicillan, so I went to Rite Aid so that she could call in the prescription. The pharmacist asks me, "Prescription for pickup?" and I said, "Um no, my mom is a doctor and she will be calling in a prescription for me in a few minutes." The pharmacist looked at me like I was doing something wrong so I explained that I just so happened to be a lawyer and this entire situation of mothers prescribing medicine for their daughters was perfectly legal.

"Ronnie" begins filling the prescription when it occurs to me that what if this costs like $3,000, because I only have like $2400 in my TD Bank account and it would take two business days to transfer money from my VERY large ING Savings account and there is no way I'm living with this ringing ear for two more days, plus I don't use my credit cards anymore because last time I did I accidentally got $10,000 into debt, so I interrupt Ronnie and ask him to just "ballpark" the price of the amoxicillan for me as I'm sitting there shitting my pants, and he's says, "its ten ninety-nine." At this point I'm on the verge of fainting so I scream, "ONE THOUSAND NINETY NINE DOLLARS? Is that a fucking joke?" and he says, "It's ten dollars and ninety nine cents," and I'm like, "Oh, it's that cheap? Why would anybody bother having insurance! You should specify next time it's ten dollars not a thousand dollars," and Ronnie says "ok" and hands me the bag as the old people hanging around in the pharmacy area with their paid assistants glare at me like I'm some sort of idiot.

But this was all before I got the inspired idea to get an ear wax removal kit...

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The Dilemma of Highlights

I am seeking natural looking highlights such as these

A few months ago, my normal hair person Saori unfortunately dyed my hair too light, and then I had her dye it back too dark, and this last time I thought she got it just right. Well, pictures from my friend's wedding came back and it looks like I colored my hair with Crayola Goldenrod color. In addition, when I see people who are blonder than me such as Risa I become very jealous. My color is absurdly off, but that may because the last time Saori put highlights in, she only put the medium highlight color in and didn't use the white bleach for the extra blonde pieces that are typically artfully frame my face.

My friend Jen's salon was having a "Recession Special" on cuts and highlights. Jen's hair always looks really nice and Saori's cuts are a little uninspired, so I decided to go to Jen's place to get my hair cut. I actually got a really nice cut, but every time I walk into Saori's salon, which is nearly every day because Perry gets a cookie in there, I have to put my hair back in a pony tail or put a hoodie over my head so she can't see that I've cheated on her and gotten a haircut elsewhere. Actually I think she is on to me because she's been acting more distant but obviously I can't ask her what's wrong because I don't want to have a confrontation about this.

In any event, unfortunately I did not think this haircutting betrayal through all the way, because the time has come for me to get highlights, and if I get them from Saori, she'll see that my hair has been cut by someone else. But if I get it from Jen's salon, Saori will see that my hair is lighter the next time I walk into the salon with Perry. If this were winter, it wouldn't be a problem because I could just wear a hat and hide the highlights, but what the hell am I supposed to do now? Don't say purchase a bandana and channel Bret Michaels, because I've already thought of that, and I think wearing a bandana for no reason would only call attention to my head. Any advice?

Monday, April 20, 2009

Only in New York

Yesterday was my mom's birthday, so Aliza and I hailed a cab on 1st Avenue, to take us to the restaurant because we live like sultans and can do that sort of thing. So we get in the cab carrying a bouquet of flowers and tell him that we need to go downtown (1st Ave goes uptown only). I comment to Aliza that the cab seems weird - it doesn't have the normal consul, there appears to be no credit card machine and the taxi tv doesn't work. When the light turns green, the cab driver MAKES A LEFT HAND FROM THE RIGHTMOST LANE on 1st Avenue, cutting across about 3 lanes of uptown traffic. Cars slam on brakes and nearly crash into the left side of the cab, I start screaming to the cab driver "This might be a bad idea, I don't have health insurance" and just as he has successfully cut off cars with nearly two collisions, we hear a police siren. The cab driver is now driving downa the one-way cross-town street off of 1st ave, being followed by the police. Me and Aliza are looking are like dying of laughter at this point becuase the guy just keeps on driving and doesn't pull over. Finally he does, and two cops get out of their car, walk up to the cab and knock on the door. They tell the cab driver to turn off the engine, PUT HIS HANDS ABOVE HIS HEAD, and then ask for his license and registration.

At this point me and Aliza are like, crap, mom and dad are going to be pissed if we're late, so lower my window and say to the cop, "Um, can we go now? I have to Twitter about this" and the cop ignores us, so me and Aliza hop out of the cab and walk to 2nd avenue laughing about the situation. We then hail another cab which had a small woman driver. We get in and tell her that we're going to Houston and LaGaurdia and that we were just pulled over in another cab. The cab driver says nothing and then pulls into traffic on 2nd avenue where she PROCEEDS TO REAR END THE CAB DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HER. The cabdriver of the cab she hits open his door, turns around and giver her a nasty look, and she says "sorry" to him and then looks at me and Aliza in the rearview mirror as we're doubled over in laughter and literally losing our shit. I was Twittering this frantically and Aliza was just shaking her head and muttering. It was truly glorious.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

High Alert: THE COUGAR

Um, I just watched part of the new show The Cougar, and I literally had to pause my DVR mid show to run over to my computer and tell you how unbelievably amazing it is. I thought it was going to be a usual piece of crap The Bachelor spinoff, but it's so much better than that. Twenty men in their 20s are competing for 40 year old Stacey Anderson, the Cougar. Stacy is your typical cougar - you know, married AT AGE 16 and now has four children, absurdly tan with sun spots and hypnotizing crow's feet and two giant canteloupes tacked on to her aging body.

The whole idea of the show is that they are trying to take all your preconceived notions about how older women shouldn't be dating younger men and throw it the garbage, but unfortunately they keep on undermining the message of empowerment by repeatedly referring to her as a cougar. As in, "Let's meet our cougar" or "I've never dated a cougar before." The show is made even more phenomenal if that is humanly possible because Vivica A. Fox hosts it and when she speaks her chest muscles flex so her ginormous implants move back and forth in an extremely alarming way. Now that I think about it, this may be one of the greatest shows I've ever seen, despite the fact that it's on TVland which is weird and normally off limits. As you may know, I do not take recommendations lightly because people always recommend horrible shit to me and then I get angry, but I URGE YOU to watch this show. It may be the best thing you've ever done.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Looking Good, Billy Ray

Obese People Justly Punished by Airlines

Glorious news- United Airlines has just announced that it will now charge obese passengers for second seats if thin people complain that the obese person's fat is overflowing into their seat. This policy brings United into line with Delta and Southwest, who have been forcing obese people to pay the piper for being fat for years. Apparently the way it works is, if the flight is full, the obese person will have to pay for a second seat. Not sure how this solves the problem, because if the flight is full that means that there AREN'T any open seats, so the thin person still has to suffer, and United just makes twice the profit. If the flight is not full, the obese person will be moved to two open seats and will not be charged for the second seat. The litmus test for whether a person is fat enough to qualify for this type of public humiliation is whether the armrest can be moved up and down without bumping into the person's fat, and whether the person could buckle themselves up with a seatbelt AND ONE EXTENSION BELT. HAHAHAHAH. Extension belts.

Seriously, can you imagine this situation, like being a plane with someone who is borderline obese next to you and then you call the flight attendant over to perform the obesity test on them, and then it turns out that they can fit in the seat with the extension belt so that they don't qualify as obese? Are you just supposed to spend the rest of the flight sitting next to the person you just embarrassed, looking directly forward not making eye contact. I guess the point is, if you call the flight attendant over you better be 110% sure that the person will qualify as obese because otherwise it could potentially be the most uncomfortable and awkward flight of your life.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Back in the Game

I've been shrink-free since 2007, when I unceremoniously dumped my long-time shrink Dr. Laikin. I saw Laikin during college and then we broke up when I went to law school. When I returned to NYC after law school, one of my first orders of business was securing a regular early morning appointment time with him so that I could cry hysterically at 8:45 am and the roll up to work at 10 with a mascara-stained face and have to wait in my office for two hours until the puffiness subsided. After about two years of seeing Laikin, I didn't feel like I was making any "progress" in becoming a normal, well-adjusted person, so he naturally suggested that we up our sessions to twice a week. Since I considered him my guru and enjoyed dropping his name in conversations, I agreed to this, but soon realized that twice a week was about doubly ineffective as once a week, so one day I just randomly dumped him. I've been flying without a net since then, except for my fish oil.

I'd been threatening to get a new shrink for a while now, a threat which both Megan and Risa have been attempting to hold me to, and last week I actually bit the bullet and did it. Phyllis, my new shrink, is a psychoanalyst, which I actually completely disagree with because I think Freud's theories are fairly ridiculous and there is no scientific evidence that psychoanalysis actually works or helps anybody. In fact, NY is the only place in the U.S. where you can even find Freudian practitioners because it's a pretty well known fact that the only type of therapy that has been shown to even do anything is cognitive behavioral therapy. You may be wondering why I'm bothering going to a shrink who practices a ridiculous form of therapy, and the reason is because cognitive behavioral therapy is legitimate, so it's very expensive and I don't have insurance which means I have to settle for ineffective therapy. I plan to bring this up at my session tomorrow but I'm scared I might get kicked out of therapy because sometimes Freudians can get very angry and defensive when you tell them that their methods are absurd and ineffective.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Passion Play Going On Outside of My Apartment

Ripped from The Passion of the Christ

It was just another day in my apartment writing and charging people for it, when a GIANT CROWD of people walked down my street, blaring music from a megaphone and JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF, carrying a cross, made his way down my street in the East Village. For a minute, I thought I had been transported back to Israel 2000 years ago, as the scene unfolded almost exactly according to Bible specifications, with Jesus clad in a white robe, acid wash jeans and Timberland boots. Only the cars on the street and the police escorts alerted me to the fact that this was but a passion play, a replica of Jesus' suffering many years ago.

I was on the phone when I heard the doleful sounds of a crowd wailing some lugubrious song, and I screamed "There's a PASSION PLAY GOING ON OUTSIDE OF MY APARTMENT!" hung up and ran out to take pictures. People in the crowd looked at me, disgusted, and I yelled out, "I'm just using it for my blog!" so they were cool with it.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Giuliana Rancic, Soon to Revert to DePandi

These look new

Um, has anybody seen Giuliana DePandi Rancic recently? She isn't wearing her engagement ring/wedding ring anymore and I predict announcement of divorce imminently. This is EXACTLY the sort of stuff that happens when you brag about your engagement and honeymoon on air and then change your name to prove that you're married to an F-list celebrity. Unsurprisingly, her separation from Bill Rancic coincides with the new GIANT WATERBALLOONS she has bolted to her chest. She'll show him, that sexy vixen! You know, I let it slide when she got a chin implant a few years ago because she badly needed it and I didn't want to discourage her, but these mongoloid funbags are outrageous. Who does she think she can trick into believing that she's always had these? You can't go on the air flat chested one day and then come back from a "vacation" with 7 more pounds of breasticles attached and offer no explanation. It's like this girl I went to high school with who maintained she was in a car accident that miraculously broke her nose into a perfect ski slope. At least she had a reasonable explanation.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Margarita Debacle

Behold, the receipt. Click to enlarge.

So on Friday night, I went to La Palapa for Mexican food in the East Village. Normally the food is mediocre there, there's too much print on the menu and the margaritas are sour and very sub-par. I eat there because it seems vaguely upscale for area, and it is only natural that I want to surround myself with the trappings of wealth at all times.

Anyway, so we were sitting at the table and I order a pomegranate margarita on the rocks in an attempt to counteract the tartness of the margarita, and L.G. orders a strawberry frozen margarita, because I warned him about the garbage margarita situation and the necessity of counteracting it with fruit. So we get our drinks and mine is palatable, whereas his is literally undrinkable, like someone dumped ten vats of lime juice and a dash of tequila that had been fermenting in a barrel of smoked mozzarella cheese. So we call the waiter over, send the frozen margarita back, and L.G. order the same drink I have. The waiter brings the drink and waits for him to taste it, which he does and then scrunches up his face like someone has just squirted a lemon in his eye, and tells me to taste it, so I do and it tastes like total shit.

I then explain to the waiter that it's a well known fact in this town that the margaritas at La Palapa are shitty. They're too sour to drink and taste like lead. People come for the ambiance, but if they want crazy margaritas, they go next door to Paquitos or they go to my favorite haunt, El Nuevo Amanecer where you drink one margarita and you're crawling home. The waiter laughs and agrees with me that the margaritas are better elsewhere and snaps up L.G.'s drink. He comes back about a minute later with a replacement one. "How's that, not too shitty?" he asks, and waits for L.G. to drink and react. L.G. agrees that is indeed less shitty of a drink then the waiter says it's because they always put too much lime in, so he had to watch and direct the bartender to knock it off with the lime.

We enjoy the rest of our meal, and I comment to L.G. that I hope that the waiter wasn't just humoring me and then secretly spitting in my quesedilla. We then get the hilarious check, which I urge you to click on above. I am now a customer for LIFE.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Fast & Furious

Should be renamed immediately

I was watching tv the other day and saw and ad for Fast & Furious. That's weird, I thought they already made that movie. It turns out that Fast & Furious is the third movie in the series The Fast & The Furious, which makes absolutely no sense. First there was The Fast & The Furious, which is normal, and then when I heard that a sequel was coming out, I couldn't wait to see the title, because I thought it would either be More Fast & Increasingly Furious or Faster & Furiouser, but they surprised and really impressed me with 2Fast, 2Furious which I did NOT see coming. But rather than taking on the challenge of making a good third installment title out of 2Fast, 2Furious, they thought that cutting out the "The"s in the original title would make it go even faster. This is a ridiculous idea. Third one should have been named Fastest & Most Furious, or as Jen suggested, Thrice Fast, Thrice Furious. Otherwise it does not makes sense.

Actually, I just discovered upon research that Fast & Furious is technically the FOURTH movie in the series because there was apparently one called The Fast & The Furious: Tokyo Drift. I can assure that this movie does not change the above analysis because I've never heard of it so it doesn't count.

Good Lucky, Crusty

Worst of luck to Aliza aka Chester d/b/a Crusty, who is taking the Psychology GRE tomorrow. I actually meant "best of luck" but I decided to use reverse psychology in this post to see if she's been studying her flashcards.

Aliza has been studying so hard for this shit that when I texted her last week to see if she was coming over for our regular Sunday night The Amazing Race/Rock of Love/Celebrity Apprentice/Tough Love appointment, she said she couldn't because she had to study, which hurt my feelings because we always hang out on Sunday night and I felt she was choosing the GRE over me and tv. I was going to confront her with an angry email this week about the whole situation, but I remembered how once on Rock of Love, Bret was really pumped to have a relaxing date getting spa treatments, and Kristy Jo interrupted and started crying about how she needed to have a talk with him to discuss how she didn't know if she wanted to be in the mansion anymore, and the Bret said to the camera how he was really annoyed because she ruined his massage, so I knew that Aliza would probably want me to wait until after the GRE to talk about how I don't know if she's prepared to live my rock star lifestyle. And so I did.

Good luck!!

Perry's Secret Garden

"I shall see you in the garden,
Where love grows free and wild.
Lift me up and lead me to the garden.
Come, sweet day!"
-The Secret Garden

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

The View from Narnia

Julia Roberts' dress from Pretty Woman crossed with Flash Dance

Kim Kardashian on Ebay

One of the things I like to do in my very limited spare time is troll Ebay in the hopes of using a $50 ebay gift certificate that I got two years ago for Hannukah. I actually thought the Oprah people had stolen it since I couldn't find it after they cleaned up and redid my apartment, but then it turns out they had just hid it from me in order to make me believe that they had stolen it. In any event, one of the things I look up is Herve Leger XS dresses, not because I want one, which I do not, but because it's a free country and I can look it up if I want to. Bandage dresses should only be worn if you are a mummy.

In any event, Kim Kardashian appears to be selling a bunch of Herve dresses in sizes XXS and XS, which is ludicrous considering that I once tried on an XXS at Bergdorf and I could not fit both legs into it even with Spanx on. Megan has the cell phone picture to prove it. This explains why Kim Kardashian constantly looks like she is about to explode out of her clothing. Everyone make a huge deal about her bodacious implantizations and a monumental butt, but the truth is that she's flat chested and flat butted and wears her clothing three sizes too small in order to force her stomach fat into her boobs and push up her knee fat into her ass.

If you click on her ebay screenname, Kimsaprincess, you'll see that she has about 500 pieces of her slutty wardrobe up for sale, and if you have time, I would strenously advise that you scroll through her auctions. It's like an encyclopedia of high class escort dresses in every color of the rainbow. Also, who has 500 pieces of clothing to spare.