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).

"Making Scents of New York"

Whenever I'm in Sephora or the cosmetics area of a department store, the only thing I really enjoy perusing is the fragrance. Even though I'm religiously dependent on it, I don't consider make-up a particularly fun thing to shop for. When I started wearing make-up my mom bought it all for me, which meant it was all Bobbi Brown and it was all outrageously expensive. So to me, make-up is kind of like cable or a gym membership: I need it and it's fun to have and all, but it's a bitch to pay for. On top of that, I never feel good about myself when I have to physically scrutinize the one feature on my body that I can never change just to pick a foundation.

Fragrance, on the other hand, is such a joy for me to play with. I think perfumes are easy to sniff and assess based on your own personality, and thinking about when and where you'd wear a certain scent is always fun to imagine. I also tend to believe that every woman should sort of have a "signature scent," and searching for mine has been a never-ending endeavor. But I also keep some bottles on the side that I think accompany different outfits at different times, or different days and different moods.

Today I came across Bond No. 9 New York, which I had seen a billion times but never stopped to inspect. Mainly because Bond No. 9 is based at 9 Bond Street, one block over from where the most wretched woman who ever wretched lived, and seeing the bottles just brought up rancid memories. I, by the way, used to be a personal assistant for a NOTcelebrity who lived in Noho. But that's neither here nor there. Anyway, Bond is an exceptionally dynamic perfumery that bottles fragrances named after different neighborhoods and areas in NYC: ie, Chinatown, Central Park, Riverside Drive... So clever! I really, really love companies like Bond, who have a very clear vision for their brand, keep it clean, and remain totally loyal and committed to their agenda (Demeter, for example, is similarly true to their own aesthetic). Bond has gorgeously designed bottles and candles, and their logo is a sweet little homage and play on the vintage NYC Transit tokens.

Anyway, the lady at the counter sent me home with Andy Warhol Union Square (the original scent that caught my attention), Nuits de Noho, and the Scent of Peace. This week will be my trial phase and I will promptly make it known which little piece of candy I prefer (the samples are wrapped like taffy!). And then all of my friends can pool to buy me a really well-designed bottle, since only one would set an individual back $195. See, even the prices are true to New York!

Blinky recap numbero uno!

Let me just preface this by saying that in no way no how will I ever encapsulate the literary magic that Richard at Gawker seems to sprinkle over any recap. The man is a brilliant spectator of the reality show circus, with an ineffable power to narrate that I would never dare to copy.

Anyway. Regardless. This show just spews too much insanity into American homes for me to stay quiet. The third episode, to my surprise, was still set entirely in the Hamptons. I guess a whole lotta doody went down in West Egg, huh? We got to see Silex gloat over their own sickly pale arachnid bodies in a "sauna;" we got to see the Countess "indulge" her daughter and a few friends over an etiquette luncheon (oh that lucky girl); and we got to see Bethenny run around being the woman I wish I was, dancing dirty with rich gay men and pounding back tequila and looking like a pair of perfect boobs on perfect legs with perfect everything. Seriously, lucky girl.

Even though we haven't gotten back to the Island yet, the women are definitely falling back into their owb archetypes, which brings me such glee. Luann reminded us all that SHE MARRIED AN ARISTO HO HO HO ISN'T THAT RICH NOW WASH MY FEET WITH YOUR TEARS. Her daughter Victoria is shipping off to Count-let school in Bougey-burg Connecticut with a bunch of other girls that were named after queens. Kelly was true to her aloof quest in proving that she's not here to be a Housewife when she filmed more scenes of herself looking at the other women as if they were batshit crazy. Ramona, never one to disappoint, acted batshit crazy. She vehemently denied that she'd help Jill with an arthritis fundraiser until she - wait - remembered he daughter had arthritis. Then she laughed maniacally at Jill's hesitance to join a tennis game while her husband Mario drunkenly looked on and waited to get wasted enough to want to have sex with her. (I'm just hypothesizing how their marriage operates, that's all.)

Oh yeah, she also engaged Governor Patterson in a conversation over who was more blind. FOR REAL, RAMORON???!!! FOR REAL? Also, I feel it appropos to call any blinky with David Patterson in it a BLINKY. You know. Because his eyes are fucked up.

Bling

Ohmygodyouguys. This is how I spent my time at work today. Learning how to make blingees. Expect to see a lot more of THIS glory beautifying up my blog soon. My new resolution is to recap every RHONY episode with a distinct blingee, starting with last night's. Recap coming veeeeeery soon! In the meantime, let's get down with Gay Brad and Ramona at the Hampton's Tea Dance!