Read it!

You guys! Today I started my Project Fattylegs. Please follow it on Parvin's blog!

I love you. :)

Biggest Loser

Parvin and I have joined awesome forces, and by that I mean the awesome force of Parvin has asked me to write an entry for her awesome force of a blog. It's actually going to be the greatest column in the world, wherein I document a rigorous and committed weight-loss regimen. Please follow it, because this time I intend to take it incredibly seriously (which means you need to stop expecting me to get drunk with you... MOM!) and your attention and enthusiasm is 80% of my motivation. Also, Parvin is the best blogger ever, so there's even more in it for you when you read her endearing posts.

Do it, fucker, or monsters will eat your brains.

Dear Robert Pattinson,

I have made many concessions to this whole Twilight franchise of yours. I devoted my attention to an admittedly entertaining but mostly ludicrous four-book saga. I sat and suffered through 120 minutes of your sparkletwink and sequoia trees. I am giving your cinematic sequel the benefit of the doubt, and have reluctantly vocalized my interest in seeing it. I even professed out loud my belief that you were hot - despite the ever-growing wave of dubious sentiment concerning the matter. But this - this I cannot take, Mr. Pattinwhoey. You simply lose all credibility when you show up in Vanity Fair, trying to look sexy and smoldering, when clearly the wind has just knocked you out from under your piano bench. Not even Edward Cullen looks good when a boatload of Jäger drives him to play the Moonlight Sonata with his god damned feet.

Game. Over.

Respectfully,

Katelyn Reilly Lahr

WHAT! IS! THIS!

It's the holiday spirit, I tell ya! Living in New York is supreme, in my opinion, because every holiday feels like a thousand million appeals for celebration. Or maybe it's just that Ann Reilly is my mother and I feel like EVERY DAY IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THEMED DAY EVER OMG when a holiday strikes. Anyways. I cuddled down tonight around 2/3/4/7pm/daylight endings time whatever! tonight to watch a true masterpiece, The Nightmare Before Christmas. To those idiots of you not in the know, it's on YouTube, and it's great! And I just. Sigh. I just want to applaud humanity - - - for having enough holidays to fulfill a HOLIDAY LAND. Seriously! We have THAT MUCH to celebrate. That's all.

What's more than all is I love this time of year. Let's gets effin CHRISTMASY.

Mwah

Red lips. Are one of my new favorite things. They make lips look young and sweet and classic and lusty! Having red lips makes me want to walk around and act like Katherine Hepburn and be all breathy and indignant. And talk in a WASPy New England accent! The one I'm wearing now is Kat Von D's "Underage Red." (By the way ladies, yes, it's Kat Von D, but lipstick is lipstick!) Online it looks kinda dumb and bland, but swatched on (at least my) skin, it looks so thick and poppy and perf! Get thee to a Sephora and buy one! And plant a big wet one on your man.

You're welcome. ~BL

Cross Country, Part II

Readers, herein lies Part II of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure Brendan and Katelyn's Cross Country trip, Part Deux. As you will recall, Brendan and I embarked on a five-day journey from Washington, DC, to Los Angeles, California. This is the second chapter of my account of the experience.

August 28th, 2009 Oxford, Ohio to St. Louis, Missouri
States crossed: Illinois, Indiana, Missouri
We woke up in an upperclassman house on the campus of Miami of Ohio, just outside Cincinnati.* As previously mentioned, Brenny, my sweet little baby bro, woke up on the porch. Piece of work he is.

We had a nice hungover, salty, and yummola breakfast at a diner on campus. Miami of Ohio is exactly what you'd picture a regular college to be like - you NYU/Columbia/BU/Georgetown/community college alums, you. It's roll-y poll-y and surrounded by nothing (slash, hicks) and has a bunch of really specific in-jokes.
Once Bren and I said good bye to Awesome Jillian, we drove through sunny, sunny fields, all the way to Indiana. This was when I truly felt like I was driving cross country. I was in a state that was obscure enough not to have a sitcom based in it! (Sorry, Parks and Recreation, you're too recent.)
I have to say that one thing, among many, that I'm proud of from this trip was the fact that we got out of the car in almost every state - the one exception being West Virginia, if you discount Maryland being the state we started in. We got out immediately after we crossed into corn-fed Indiana. To say that the gas station there was one of three attractions in Indiana would not be an exaggeration, considering the most urban spots we witnessed were this:and this:
THUG LYFE.

We crossed into Illinois as the rain was falling and Brendan's own spirits were getting cloudier and cloudier. (This was my attempt at the Illinois state sign.)
... So I took over the wheel! Sitting on a phone book and box of CDs, since the seat broke.
Illinois was very non-particular. Unlike Indiana, it wasn't just acres and acres of corn, and local CVS's did not dictate the cosmopolitan centers of life. Illinois, on the other hand, pretty much looked like the New Jersey Turnpike for miles and miles, until right outside St. Louis, where it started to look like rural America, and JESUS, all over again. Hallelujah.I drove all the way into St. Louis, and therefore, Missouri! Our seventh out of twelfth state.St. Louis is in fact a very kind city. I could never imagine living there, because it seems to hold true to its nickname, "Gateway to the West." The highway seems to almost intersect downtown, and the whole layout just makes St. Louis seem like you're supposed to leave tomorrow. There are really only ten blocks of action. People from St. Louis, prove me wrong here!Or I'll have your bear eat you.

What I can say is that the Cards game made me warm to St. Louis, as it was filled with good-natured, beer-loving families and engaged couples that had SWARMED there - just for a game against an indubitably young and mediocre team (The Nats? Really, St. Louis? You care that much?). It was pretty ironic for me and Bren since the Nationals were in town, and pretty fortuitous, because they actually played the best game I've ever seen them play. However, it didn't do anything for the very obvious fact that Brendan and I were the only ones dressed in Nats gear...
... or that Pujols hit an incredible, game-winning homer in the bottom of the ninth.
Anyway, after the game, Brendan and I trekked (on foot, this time) once more through the delightful Midwestern Mecca of St. Louis, and to bed, to bed... to wake up, step through the Gateway, and start on our way to the West.
*Would you know how to spell "Cincinnati" if not for seeing it in text? I bet you a zillion dollars no.

Why I let this person crash on my couch.

G-Chat. Thursday, October 8th, 2009.

Amy: hahaha

a nj court says it's legal to sodomize a cow

me: agh, are you kidding?

there goes my weekend

Amy: *LEGAL

not illegal

me: oh

well then

party's back on

Amy: are you calling me a cow?

Cross Country, Part I

This summer I drove across the Home of the Brave. I was ordered to do it per my mother/ boss's request, but eventually I came to see the responsibility as something that I would potentially put on my bucket list. Brendan, my 21-year-old mostly rad brother, took an internship at Emerson's Los Angeles campus this fall. Since LA (which is the Seventh Circle of Hell, I must remit as a NYC resident) is completely auto-dependent (no Subway? pft), he needed his car. Shipping it + flying out there is WAY expensive, so we decided to take a route a hair less back-breaking. And we drove! DC to LA. We left on Thursday, August 27th and arrived in LA on Monday, August 31st. The trip was about 3,300 miles plus change and was supremely inspirational. Although Brendan and I were kind of at each other's throats, for a girl who's never been in a land-locked state I had a lot to see and digest.

This adventure is going to be visited in five parts on my blog - mostly because that's how I set it up in Facebook albums. There were five legs of the trip, which encompassed 12 states. The legs:

1. DC to Cincinnati
2. Cincinnati to St. Louis
3. St. Louis to Denver (the most desolate road in America)
4. Denver to Kayenta, AZ (the most beautiful road in America)
5. Kayenta, AZ to LA

... In each leg I will highlight the state borders crossed.

The first day was a little frustrating. It was one of those things where you know something beautiful is in store, but you just have to be patient and sit through the redundant. Driving from DC to Ohio was pretty much just driving on 270 for an extension of time. For those not in the know, 270 is the northern road of Maryland, which leads into the backwoods of Appalachia. It's actually an incredibly verdant and lovely drive, but for me it was just driving into something-that-isn't-DC. The states we crossed were:
Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio*

Compared to the route that was ahead, this drive was quiet and serene, almost smothered by trees. It was very, very hilly (what I perceived to be "omg mountains!"). Mostly muted nothingness, but that's OK. Here was the most exciting part of Maryland (and the whole day of travel):


Cumberland, Maryland was the biggest metropolis we left before "Cincinnati." It was precious and awesome and in a valley.


After Maryland, it was just a mess of Eastern Mountain. We drove through West Virginia, a nothing of American Forest, then through Pennsylvania - a means to an end - and then into Ohio. We drove all the way through Ohio to Miami of OH's campus. We stayed with Brendan's awesome possum friend, Jillian.

Her house, like every other upper-classman one on campus, had a name. It was called "Intoxic-Eight" for the eight-resident quota it held. The next door neighbor was "Tequila Mockingbird." Another house that I thought was in incredibly good taste was the "Betty Ford Clinic." College.

Anyway. Miami of Ohio reminded me that I never went to school on a traditional campus. I paid like, $8 for three cocktails. EIGHT DOLLARS, you guys. EIGHT HUNDRED CENTS. To me, that's like writing a $62 check for a Park Avenue duplex. So needless to say I was ecstatic. It was nice to drink my life away that night for next to nothing in the midst of WASPy college ignorance. Jesus, is undergrad a blissful utopia. The next day, we woke up (Brendan on Jill's porch), ready to face the corn-fed road to St. Louis....


* I was so proud of myself for actually catching (almost) every state welcome sign on the trip. Obviously, though, the Maryland sign isn't mine. Suffice it to say, though, that I cross it numerous times per year driving in and out of DC and Virginia.

Make them claws sing

Over the summer I picked up a few new "things" that I totally love, and they're totally things that I need to take advantage of before I turn 30. Because I don't think anyone at a private school is going to take an application seriously when the kid's mother wears tube socks, Marlene Dietrich red lipstick, hoop earrings, and skirt-turned-sundresses to the interview. One of my favorite new things is highlighter-themed finger nails, and I am positively infatuated with manicuring myself in shades that are ready to make love to a black light. Along with the go-to staples of black, white, and red, here are my recommendations for turning people's eyes to your mitts before your mug:

BLUE
I was at Ricky's yesterday (looking for flip-flops after drunk brunch because my 4.5-inch pumps couldn't make it to the subway - DON'T JUDGE) and saw these wonders. The blue one is a perfectly meditative and tranquil, yet perfectly aggressive and happy color. Do you not just want to wear it and feel so knowledgeable about everything? Also, they're only $6, which makes good for the fact that they're virtually internet obscurity (writingablogishard).

GREEN
I feel as if people can go many ways with green - my preferred general color, if this is an interview. My favorite nail polish ever in the world period the end has always been LA GirlsFlare nail polish in Gleaming (looks a lot like this), which isn't really green so much as it just... something anyone would just want to LICK. It was an impulse purchase I made at Urban out of pure curiosity. Ricky's sells everything else that is considerably highlighty green, so I recommend hauling ass there to get your astroturf on. Right now I have something "subtle" on my toes, which is Sally Hansen's Green with Envy.

ORANGE
Orange is not a very AWESOME color, you know? It comes across looking like a ballsy alternative to red, and for those who are just trying to dip their feet into this whole philosophy, I think orange is a good introduction into the "bright" school of nails. The orange that I use is Sally Hansen's Sun Kissed.

PINK
Pink is a default color for nails. It's safe and easy and pretty for anyone! However, if you want to get stupid with your paws like me, then I recommend you get Punchy Pink from Essie, which is what I'm wearing now. I saw Brooke Hogan wearing a similar color a few months ago, and since she's the arbiter of good decisions I decided to follow suit. I think this color is fun, youthful, and completely, totally, Barbie Caribbean. Who doesn't want that?

PURPLE
Personally, purple doesn't work with my skin tone as a "fun" shade. It either comes out looking like a very wintry hue or something that is a sassy, cool-mom attempt at not-red (which I HATE). The purple pedi I had on my cross-country miraculously looked awesome, however, my own "purple," if you must know, is Essie's Footloose. It was my shot at a eye-popping purple, and it failed miserably. However, I feel like it would work on someone who isn't Irish. So reach for the stars, rich nonalcoholic world!

RED
Red, when faced with the question of getting neon, essentially ends up being orange. I remember my most favorite pedicure was one that I had about three years ago. The day after we took a boat out of Annapolis Harbor, and floating in the murky Chesapeake Bay, I could still see my electric toenails, painted in approximately this shade, wading four feet below me. The sun, the color, the smell of Maryland freshwater... bliss.

YELLOW
Yellow is the best. Just the bar none best. It's cheery and unassuming and has this frustratingly mysterious way of making you lighten the fuck up. It TOTALLY reminds me of my mother, even though she's the last woman you would see wearing yellow nail polish. Anyway. For something that's going to look like it was used in an 8th-grade US history text book, I recommend Essie's Funky Limelight. On a more muted side of yellow, as in something more apropos to a Crayola box, I point you toward Sally Hansen's Lightening.

The Year of Parvin

Parvin told me to update my fucking blog. Her wish is granted!

Keeping up a blog is expensive, if attention and energy were the same as dollars. Contrary to a lot of naysayers, I feel like blogs are a wonderful gift from the internet that allow people to express themselves in ways a little more untethered, and - although questionably - a lot more boldly and publicly than before. Blogs are also great ways to allow yourself to cultivate your own self-perception, and I think Parvin is the shining example of this fact. Although I'm upset that I was not chosen to be her Alcohol Life Coach, I think her mission statement and strategy are solid ones.

Hopefully breathing new life into this blog - and coming back to the world of blogoshpere - will convince her to make me her Blog Life Coach. I think together we can yell at each other to stay on top of our god damn respective blogs. She's doing a great job so far.

The Cocoon

A friend of mine were talking yesterday about quarter life crises and becoming a better person and digging yourself out of a whole and stuff. Which is ironic because in comparison to last year, when I was falling asleep in wine bottles and treating my job like it was my own personal daycare, my life right now is considerably agreeable. But this sage, wise friend of mine brought up an idea that I find pretty insightful. She called it the cocoon. Basically you reserve a month for yourself - meaning you isolate yourself from certain vices - to flourish into a BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY. You know. Like Mariah! In my case experiments like this always come out half-assed and I end up looking like a moth that listens to Mariah Carey (by that I mean I wiggle to this song on repeat). However, I'm determined to make this go round work. I have several goals, all of which involve embracing things that would make me more presentable to a co-op board and less of a candidate for the Maury Povich Suze Orman show. Here are my goals for Yoo-lie:

1. Blog at least four times a week. I am an astute woman with an articulate voice and I will project it upon my community.
2. Do one crossword per day, preferably something that is released by Highlights-for-Adults.
3. Lose ten pounds - sans celebrating each pound lost with nine drinks and a trip to Crif Dogs.
4. Pay my bills. For real this time. I've learned I can't get by on life anymore by smiling and pretending to think store credit cards are the same as gift cards.
5. Go to yoga twice a week.
6. Finish each Jeopardy episode on my DVR queue at some point over the weekend.
7. Join a book club.
8. Stop eating every bit of my $100 grocery purchases in two days.
9. Strengthen my professional social networks. Yes, Twitter, that means I'll probably pay more attention to you, also.
10. In an effort to excel at Item Three, stop tucking myself into bed with a Diet Coke and putting myself to sleep with Paula Deen videos. The woman is deep-fried molasses Southern crack, y'all. WATCH HER SHE IS CLOGGING MY ARTERIES I LOVE IT MORE PLEASE.

Twenty-three

Hello interwebz. It's been a while. Last you saw me, I was a poor, unassuming, and ignorant child of 22. Since then I have blossomed into a mature, well-versed, 23-year-old woman of the world, my sage brain swimming with poetic musings and grand ideas. No longer do I wallow in the darkness of adolescent shenanigans, friends.

I meant to write a "birthday post," and I know I'm like five days late on it, but better late than never! I guess that'll be the mantra this year. Work? Better late than never! The rent? Better late than never! Taxes? Better late than never! My period? ....

My friend Aviva gave an update on her blog about things she lost and gained betwixt her very lamentable absence from the world wide web, so in the form of both a good friend and a noble blogger, I'm going to copy her.

WHAT I LOST THIS YEAR:

1. A job

2. An apartment

3. My iPod

4. My patience

5. Two roommates

6. Really cute platform sandles

7. A game of drunk Scattergories (never forget...)

WHAT I GAINED THIS YEAR:

1. A better job

2. A better apartment

3. A new iPod

4. The iPod I thought I lost

5. 15 pounds

6. A puppy, sort of

7. My voice

8. Aviva's watch

I guess I'll revisit the lists as I think of things, but that's the gist of it all, I suppose.

And since this is a birthday post, I'd like to wish the following "birthday buddies" a very blessed belated: Andre Agassi, Master P, Uma Thurman, Michelle Pfiefer, Jerry Seinfeld, Duke Ellington, William Randolph Hearst, and my personal favorite, Bernard Madoff.  Also, happy anniversary to Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun, and also to the LA Riots of 1992.  Great date, that April 29th.

Somebody gon get pregnant.

Gawker predicted the Tracy Morgan/Jordan mash-up that happened on 30 Rock last night, but they were unsure about the last frame.  Well fools, I found it, and it's awesome:

"Just a blonde bitch in bunch of bubbles"

I must admit that I'm starting to have a love/hate relationship with Lady GaGa, as should be expected, I suppose, when you see a great artist who cockteases you with two years of obscurity before he or she blows up in a very boisterous and uncomfortable way.

Something about her Madonna-esque British twang is revolting to me, and I'm repeatedly annoyed by the no-pants thing (trust me, when you get heat about leg exposure from BABYLEGS, you know som'n has gone horribly awry in your wardrobe conscience).  The way she hides behind retro glasses, a blonde wig, and random members of the glitterati makes me feel betrayed by the cute, bubbly brunette girl I met back on the LES in the summer of 2007.  However, I must give her points for consistency, delivery, and style.

Watching this video that I found on FourFour was the total straw on my camel's back, but even in the face of all this show boating, I still can't deny that the girl's got chops.  Her songs are catchy, she's indelibly unique, and this lady can sing.  I'm a little afraid that she'll go similarly AWOL at the show I'm planning to attend on the 2nd (weekend of my birthday, yall!), but if it's anything like this, I guess it can't be SO bad.

Parvin told me to do it

Parvin told me to try LIVEBLOGGING this episode of RHONY, so I'm going to try, and then go back and edit (I know, that's breaking the rules) and post.  Too bad I forgot until 5 minutes in!  Yall missed Jill's second event meeting and a graphic design brainstorm between Bethenny and Alex.  Nothing happened - let's go.

Aaaaand here we go.  LuAnn talking about self esteem and why she likes herself to young girls to put in her service hours at Countesses 'R Us.   I cannot wait for Richard's recap on this.

Now she's trying to explain her torrid past.  Look at the blank stares.  Richard, you know what to do with this.

Oh dear lord sweet Jesus.  She called out a girl who wanted to be a model, saying that losing weight is easy.  Great contribution to a SELF ESTEEM WORKSHOP, you horrid C U Next Tuesday.

I'm not crazy about Jill's new apartment.  Places that look too much like a model home and or hotel lobby and or weird jewelry boutique on Spring Street don't look lived in.  And the coffee table says "pop."  WTF.

Bethenny, I love you for directing national attention to Alex's hilarious website and Simon's Fan Club.

Bethenny, I love you for shining light on the truth of Jill's apartment that will only look good for 5 months.

The partner is Simon.  I went to watch videos on BravoTV.com and they totally spoiled it.

Told you so.

This is the best plan EVER.

Oh look, Kelly segment!  Which to me is the same as a commercial so I'm getting up for a glass of water.

"Everyone wants to go out with Max," you know, like everyone with a dick.  Right Kelly?  Or like, everyone who's Simon van Kempen.

Speaking of Simon, looks like those two weeks of the tennis unit in phys ed Down Under did a wold of good.

Now Simon's panting and sweating.  Now he's picking up balls.  A little censorship please, FCC.

Why on God's great earth does Alex need sexy reference photos for a LOGO?  Isn't it her job to make a design?  She must be watching lots of Logo.

They cut back shortly to show an out-of-sequence moment of Jill having a Jew sob in her kitchen.  So, there's that.

Oooh!  Real Housewives of NJ preview comin up!

Kelly, there's a diaper popping out of your navel.

Shut up Ramona.  You can choke on my Team Jill shirt.  Nothing is gauche except your husband's rapey eye stare that he flashes anyone with a set of boobies.

Look everyone!  Alex came!  And she's wearing the upholstery from that leather couch we had in the basement and threw out last year!

Ramona's stretches look like a really poor audition for Debbie does the Tennis Courts at Chelsea Piers.

Also, tears in her eyes and pursed lips is a great way to look unfazed.  She's got a great poker face.

Alex, shut the hell up.  It wasn't fair to subject Simon to tennis that because he was sick that day in Socialite Class when they went over WASPy sports.

And Ramona and Mario win against their "disrespectful" partners.  Yawn.

One more thought:  "JERSEY GIRLS ARE LIKE THE REAL DEAL."  (Straight from the horse's mouth.)  This looks so. Ridiculously. Scrumptious.  Evidence:

"I wanted to get new bubbies, but my husband, he's an aaass maaaan...  My husband's delicious.  He's gawt the big muscles, the big tan, the big everything... My little girls aaw divas like theh mama."  ~Thank you Theresa.  Good luck on your impeccably tasteful French Chateau vision for the house.

NSFWacebook

Hey guys.  Just a PSA.  Because about five minutes ago I fell into this trap for about the thousandth time in two months.  When you plan to visit Facebook, make sure you type it into the address bar correctly.  Because when you type in "facbeook," you'll get a bunch of newsfeeds I'm sure you'll wish you never had to be fed.

You're welcome.

Good mom?

Now that I'll be working from home, I have been very seriously (and very stupidly, I guess) considering the prospect of adopting a pooch.  Even though pets are contraband in my building, I know for a fact that at least ONE long-haired chihuahua is living there without a green card.  My mom is readying her [rental]nest for a little cockabichon named Olive; my dad owns a little fat dachshund named Boone; all this goggie business just makes me ache for one.  I have been trying to think of small breeds that are dynamic and easy to maintain, but still look idiotic.  I'm leaning toward a Scottish terrier - the one good thing that lived in the White House between 2001 and 2008.

I mean, really.  I dare you to watch ten seconds of these chubby little fluffy sacks of coal and not want to sell your soul.  Eye-melting preciousness particularly sets in around 1:40.  You've been warned.

Ask Paris her thoughts on...

There's more to Paris Hilton than you'd think.

I do not want to put my name on this blinky recap.

To be honest I wasn't sure whether I was watching an installment of Real Housewives last night or an episode of Gossip Girl. Which naturally meant: It's Fashion Weeeeeek! Everyone acted irrationally catty and stupid self-deluded, not unlike the behavior espoused at the Chilton Academy. The girls are all fully settled back in Manhattan, but Ramona promised to renew a little piece of the Hamptons when she swore to Jill that she'd cut a rug at the upcoming charity gala. You've just made me the happiest little girl in the whole wide world, Ramona.

Here are some notable gems from last night:

1. Quoth Simon: "Well, if you're going to get pregnant, it's not going to be from me! You know, since I was surgically altered for that NOT to happen." ... at Silex's exclusive designer fitting for Fashion Week. Which was at a tiny store probably on Driggs Avenue that sells moderately expensive lines like Free People and Betsy Johnson but doesn't really carry "one-of-a-kinds" by any original designer. In any case, Simon still found it necessary to announce to perfect strangers that when he does have TOTALLY heterosexual sex with his wife and he's TOTALLY not thinking about Hugh Jackman, they won't have to worry about popping out any more Little Lord Fauntlery's. Since he HAD A VASECTOMY, YOU GUYS! Silex then talked about how chic Williamsburg was, as an admirable hotbed of "under 30's" art and fashion. Then the two of them went to pound back $1 PBRs at a nearby dive bar and joined a rousing game of kickball in McCarren Park.
2. Quoth Jill: "Put a brawrawn." ... regarding how she thinks grown women should dress, especially at things like her Zang Toi luncheon presentation to which she was very careful to only invite "women that can spend that kind of money." Jill has license to act totally snooty about shit like this, because this was a personal event thrown in her honor at a legitimate designer showroom, and not a camera crew indulging Alex and Simon while they try crap on at Chico's or wherever. Also, Jill lost all stuffy edge of pretense when she acted like a totally embarrassing Jewish mother at the luncheon, whipping out her digital camera and yelling at all the designs, shouting conversations across the table, and flapping her arms in pride of what Toi had "designed for her" (which was really just a great necklacke with an LBD, that, yeah, wasn't really designed for her, but God love her anyway). Earlier, she was waddling around the studio and singing like a bird when she squeezed herself into a "size 0." Sigh. And this is why Jill is the undisputed Champion of Awesome.
3. Quoth Bethenny: "OK, so... that happened, so let's go over here!" ... after Kelly completely and suddenly walked away from Bethenny mid-sentence at the Jill Stuart show, when someone famous passed by her line of sight. Bethenny reacted to such utter booshit by making a "this bitch is wackadoo" face and floating magnificently down the hall of the Public Library, Blackberry and friend in tow. Later she revealed that Kelly sucks not only because she's the poster child for horrid chemical peels, but also because Kelly acted like a total Lohan around Bethenny's boyfriend a few years back. You know, once Kelly woke up from a three-day bender and scoped the room for a committed man to steal. And then tried to tempt him with talk of how she knew Diddy's publicist and could probably hook him up with a table at Bungalow 8 and a few bottles of Ciroc if he's interested.
4. Quoth Kelly: "Oh? You have arthritis? Oh, that's cute!" ... to Jill's daughter at the planning meeting for Jill's arthritis benefit. Kelly sort of took the whole opportunity to help not unlike a queen bee in high school would take the requirement that she work on a science project with five nerds during the weekend. She waltzed in half an hour late, mostly because of all those other charities and obligations she tries so hard NOT to "lend her name to," and then immediately yelled out that she didn't want to be cochair, because, ohmigawd that's like... social suicide! (Oh wait, maybe I'm thinking of "Mean Girls.") But, seriously, no offense you guys, she REALLY wants to help out because this little girl is adorable (cut to 16-year-old Ally glaring through her eyeliner), but she just like, you know, it's like, whatever! Kelly ultimately extrapolates that she would rather invest her integrity to interviewing socialites, writing for magazines, and being photographed at parties to bolster someone's PR, than do charity work. Oh another place she invests her integrity is all over her ex-fiance's face. Just sayin.

Bling!

Bromance

In an effort to prevent two blinky recap posts in a row, and after a very dull weekend, and not wanting to write an epic missive about this movie, I'm just going to say two things about "I Love You Man," which I saw on Friday and was pleased at how non-Judd-Apatow-y it turned out to be.

1. Paul Rudd is absolutely. adorable. Watching him play doting fiancé trying to be cool with slangy nonchalant COOL GUY sayings made me want to sew him a teddy bear stuffed with my tears and smiles.

2. I want to marry Jason Segal, spend 15 hours a day with him in bed watching Colbert and drinking Bud Light, and mother two of his awesomely funny, really tall kids. I remember this guy from the best show ever created and killed too soon, and I'm so pleased to see that he and his cast mates from said show are receiving awesome cinematic retribution. Segal was great in this movie - he was fun and uncensored and goofy and big as a boulder and had a puggle and wore Uggs and a scarf on Venice Beach with this outfit. Yum.

Le recap blinqué, 18 de mars!

Oh brother.  If there wasn't a bible to write about this episode then I ain't a legal midget in two states.  Let's even forget LuAnn's contra-feminist Edith Wharton rules of dating and feminism, shall we?  OK.  Because new as this laptop is I'm sure screaming and crying into the keyboard isn't going to translate into word composition, my love my sweet.

Next, the Russel Simmons & Sting party?  Clearly it was an event to which Bravo begged Russel to invite the girls, since five out of six of them showed up alleging, "oh!  [spouse] and I came home to a PILE of invitations after the Hamptons, and since it was a WEDNESDAY and there was nothing BETTER to do..."  The Countess and Kelly yawned, while Ramona was uncouth and tactless (and kinda bitchy!), while Silex kind of let their guard down when Alex absent-mindedly whimpered "do we HAVE to wait till Sting [the only person US Weekly would recognize] shows up?"  Simon looked at her with a "we're on camera and how dare you live through the night" glare and saved the trip by making out with Alex and then claiming the only reason their faces were melting was because ALEX WAS SO HOT!  LOL OMG WTF wearefamewhores!

Speaking of Silex's tempestuous romance, we got a little glimpse into the nascent stages:  Alex wasn't looking for anyone.  Simon wasn't looking for anyone.  But they backed into each other online looking to hook up.  Nice use of Craigslist, you New York socialites.  Hahaha, people who started a long-term relationship after a one-night stand are such...  Oh. Um.

LuAnn's idiot countess routine is now a weekly installment, as her patrician ignorance of the neighborhoods south of the Park displayed an aristocratic stupidity that doesn't even exist anymore.  "Where are we?  Is this SoHo?"  I mean, Kelly claimed she lived in SoHo/Little Italy/Chinatown, verbatim, and having lived on Lafayette and White (two blocks South of Canal!) for two years, I get that geographical ambiguity.  Call it SoHo, or call it Tribeca, but don't be an idiot like LuAnn and ask on camera.  The only time that sort of attitude was acceptable was when Big sexily crooned to Carrie on Sex and the City they were below 14th Street, and anything was acceptable.  Sorry Countess, I am only going to respect your money when it comes with an Armani suit and a driver.  Oh, and a penis.

Cherry on the topping: Jill (who has been too absent!) Jewishly screeching at the "squalor" of Silex's house: "How do they have SEX on the top of that bed?  Especially with their kids on the other side of the wawl!!!"  Oh Jill.  You clearly have your priorities straight, and yes, you are still my FAVORITE.  HOUSEWIFE.

PS.  Sweet sassy mo-lassy!  They're making a Real Housewives of New Jersey.  Damn Bravo, you are really taking your satire to a literal sense here (but there goes your six-figure demographic).  But of course I'll watch, so...  

Bling!

Myspace Glitter Graphics

Erin go bragh

Today I left work early, stole some codeine from the boy, and parked it in bed all day because a wretched virus or something is waging a relentless war on my abdomen. All the painkillers and "Wife Swap" episodes on my DVR queue still hasn't cured me of my nausea, and I'm hoping that I'll be alien baby-free by tomorrow for St. Patty's Day. If there's anything I'm proud of what I was inherently born with, it's my Irish roots. Which give me a biological constitution to act like a drunken idiot and get irrationally indignant.

I was going to make a playlist, but I gotta admit that this one's a little thin. There's a wealth of Irish songs that are fun to sing when you're fumbling through a Jameson's-induced stupor, but these are the ones that I'm not ashamed to say I have on my iPod (the rest I will share when you and I are both at a point where it will not be remembered the next morning).

1. The Boxer One of my favorite songs in high school. Also every time I hear the line "Caught the downfall of Jack and Jill, Ryan too," I think they're singing "Pete and Meg, Brian too," and then I think the song is about Family Guy.
   
2. Love You Till the End Unfortunately the lead singer of the Pogues has a mug that's clearly taken a harder hit from drinking than his liver. Regardless, the Pogues are an incredible band (who I missed! this weekend!) that play simply the best modern Irish stuff I've ever heard. They also did "Fairytale of New York," which I listed in my Totally Rad Christmas Mix.


3. Sunday Bloody Sunday This is a song about 27 civil rights protestors being killed for their political beliefs in Northern Ireland. Also, a car bomb is a drink wherein you drop a shot of Jameson's (or Bailey's) into a glass of Guinness and chug it. Making light of revolutionary integrity and political violence is what St. Patrick's Day, and Irish American conscience, is all about. Sláinte!
   
4. Dreams Like "Sunday Bloody Sunday," this song isn't really musically "Irish." It's modern and reminds me of being in the fourth grade and being forced to listen to my mom's Cranberries tape whenever we were in the car. But when it comes from a nation whose only global contribution is slapstick theater, Guinness, and the cautionary tale of how to NOT ignore birth control, I'll proudly call the Cranberries the music of my people.


5. Galway Girl This song makes me want to dance around with a hot Irish man and drink my face off and then make a stupid decision.
   
6. Shipping Up to Boston I never saw The Departed the whole way through because I'm not good with gratuitous violence. Oops.
   
7. C'est la Vie Unquestionably the most integral composition in the history of Gaelic music. It's important to note that Irish people can only be successful internationally if they incorporate more sophisticated stuff, like French words, into their music.

Remember this?

I'm going to make this a series, wherein I bring up memories from my childhood (so basically eye porn from 1993-2003) and then give "second thoughts," things that I would never think to myself at the tender age of... 17 (I went to Catholic school!).  OK?  Hyah we go.  Remember this?

ON SECOND THOUGHT.

I love this song.  When I listen to it, I want to learn how to play an acoustic guitar and then wail on one.  But the video?  WTF?  Is being a stalker sexy all of the sudden?  When were stalkers financially eligible for Nolita lofts with arched windows?  I guess when the same graphic tee and jeans is all that's in your wardrobe, you can swing it.

New hero

After I posted that video last night of my main dude Rufus, I realized the video was so crazy and CRAZY because he was on the Isaac Mizrahi Show. Which, as every curiosity does, led me to YouTubing Isaac Mizhrahi. He has a website and video blog and webisodes! Awesome. This man is so fabulously gay. He's also very modest and forgiving and Ramona Singer-y with his wide-eyed curiosity. Loves him! Here's his website. I tried to link to my favorite vlog yet, in which Isaac stoops to approve of a Dolly Parton tattoo.

Tadzio, tadzio

Since high school, I have been a) a fan of Drew Barrymore, and b) a fan of Rufus Wainwright. It came as a disappointment that both the former was straight and the latter was gay, but hey, waddyagunnado! The point I'm trying to make is that Grey Gardens is premiering soon on HBO, with Drew Barrymore starring as Little Edie. This movie incites incredible curiosity in me, mainly because I'm all, holy shit, who the FUCK would just sacrifice themselves to living in an ivy-embraced mansion of disrepair in East Hampton? When they're the G.D. relatives of Jackie KENNEDY? WHO? But it also sparks a lot of interest in me because I feel like I love my mother enough to resign myself to this sort of existence. If Ann Reilly said, "Hey Kiki, I'm gunna just chill in a dilapidated house in East Hamps for the rest of my life," I'd just be like, "Um, OK! Give me wireless and a faithful deli that delivers and I'm yours for eternity." Sometimes, you jut don't ask questions, I guess.

Another thing that totally piques my curiosity is this lovely little tune from Rufus Wainwright. Who I believed was straight back in the era of the Connelly School of the Holy Child and There-Is-No-Such-Thing-as-Homosexuality. Seriously, between 2000 and 2004, I developped an unwavering devotion to this man, and still I stick by it. Today, his mere sensuality just lullabies me, and the dearness between him and Isaac is just purely sweet and plebian (is it real?). I heard this song in my junior year of high school, which was like back in 1962, so I'm just fondly rememberin, here, peeps.

Award to most constipated-looking-screen-capture goes to whomever created this screen grab:

Ed. note: Isn't this video so effing STRANGE? Like, what's with the dog running all over the place? Did someone spill cheerios on the floor or something? Why is Isaac Mizrahi there? Why isn't he on the Today Show telling Meredith Vierra how to dress in florals?

Blinky recap numero dos!

Ah. Everything has come full circle, and the status quo of Housewife Law is in its place (namely, the island of Manhattan). Meaning that this episode was another enthralling chapter in the bildungsroman that is Ramona Singer's life. Ramona was once, twice, three times awesome, and for this ep at least, the stah of the show. First - when she basked in the pool of money, margaritas, and Mario that was her Hamptons estate (which the editors juxtaposed oh so keenly to play right before we saw Silex chill out in THE INFLATABLE POOL THAT THEY BRAGGED ABOUT in their shitty Brooklyn backyard surrounded by concrete and a wire fence and a dilapidated tenement). Second when she actually doled out reasonable dating advice to Bethenny, which the vile LuAnn promptly took as an opportunity to lunge at Ramona's jugular. Thirdly, when Ramona drunkenly bopped at Bethenny's Social Life Hamptons party (if I were Rich here is where I'd insert a gif of the drunken bopping). No wonder she is the only Housewife the ever evasive Kelly agrees to hang out with. Don't let any hater take you down, Ramona. Yes, You Can.

On the other end of this Knickerbocker smorgasbord there was LuAnn, who slipped so far back in to her traditionally lofty Countess milieu that my respect for human kind broke out in hives. At the Hope Lodge, which LuAnn sort of treats like a shrine or a temple or something (since Philanthropy is the official religion of bullshit New York Page Sixers), LuAnn immediately started shrieking about how rude Ramona was to suggest that the Count was an "old man." (Which Ramona didn't - just sayin.) The entire scenario was like watching a drunk Republican Senator kicking a puppy. But how dare Ramona call Count Alex old! To LuAnn's face! In a charity kitchen! In front of the Count-let (who sat their dutifully nodding)! The sheer gall just sent LuAnn on an epileptic tirade, and wouldn't it just. By the way LuAnn, 15 years is a big age difference no matter how old you are. But just for your piece of mind, the fact that you so shrilly retaliated to an innocent comment is in no way indicative of the obvious fact that you and the Count are totally not having sex. Nope, not at all. None.

Oh, then LuAnn sat and scoffed at how hurt and upset Bethenny was at lunch. After LuAnn started singing about retouching Bethenny's Social Life cover instead of congratulating her. I know, LuAnn, some people just really can't let bygones be nonroyal bygones, huh?

Bling!

Sweet statutory, Batman

You know, I will always contend that I have good taste. That includes my picks in television (Real Housewives), movies (Judd Apatow crap), books (I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell), aperitifs (Yellow Tail), cuisine (Lunchables at the office), and music. Aside from the rad jams that I score from Steph, I listen to catchy tunes like this ditty. You can take the girl outta middle school...!

I remember when I was 12 years old, I wrote three letters to Leonardo DiCaprio. I didn't send any of them because I thought all of them were too pedestrian. I wanted to pen him a note that fully convinced him of the prodigious truth that We. Were. Soul mates. "How do you Sleep" reminds me of that feeling, and also of drinking Coronas on a patio in NYC in a hot sundress and Nicole Richie sunglasses.

Is it summer yet?

This is why you're fat

This blog will be my go-to scapegoat whenever I feel especially obese and guilty. It truly is an orgy of everything that leads to an early onset of type II diabetes. Or you know, a stroke. I'd laugh at most of it, except um, I'd maybe actually eat that meta-pizza (a pizza topped with pizza bagels, BUHLICIOUS).