CharlieToddLikesMe: there is a picture of you in a dolphin suit hanging in an art gallery for a month starting tomorrow
Archive for February, 2007
Sussy, and 25 of our friends (Purns, Conz, the whole gang), are currently in line to get into a taping of The Price Is Right. It was a planned journey west as a way to bid farewell to Bob Barker.
And to win a crib and some jet skis.
Sussy has been sending me some photos of her fellow contestants who are with her in line.
Why does Paris always wear these fugly old lady shoes? She has about 50584 pairs in a variety of colors, and my guess is that the square toe makes her size 11 hooves look smaller. But they are about the fugliest thing around. 8 million old ladies are buried in those things each year. I mean really, Paris. Can’t you get plastic surgery on your feet or something?
Everytime I watch My Super Sweet Sixteen I wish for rocks to fall on the heads of the birthday girls, dream up horrible STDs to infest their golden Chanel-ladden vaginas and pray that they find some sort of horrifying end, maybe trapped in a well somewhere with only a Dodge Neon to rescue them. Spoiled bitches with a little too much baby fat from all those Wendy’s Frosties they sneak.
I hate them so much, which is why I TiVo every tormentuous minute of their show.
So needless to say I was overjoyed to learn that when some plump pops went to town on a lavish birthday celebration for his cow-daughter Ariel (ugh, name-vomit), all the people he screwed over on bogus oil deals took notice, and now his ass is in trouble, as is Ariel’s new BMW/Range Rover/Jaguar/Mercedes/Hummer.
Ariel, is quoted on the show as saying, “My dad owns his own oil company. He has oil wells all over the world. I love oil. Oil means shoes and cars and purses…So it sets me apart from everybody else in this town. . . . It smells like money, Daddy!”
Now the only oil Ariel will love is the stuff she pumps from the tiny blackheads on her face. Good luck affording some Proactiv, Ariel!
After my mom’s cancer diagnosis, I began spending a lot of time moving back and forth between New York and Boston on the bus or train. Mostly the bus. And since this time was often spent pressed against a cold window and a college kid/old lady/convict on the run, I turned to podcasts to rescue me for the 4+ hours.
I have a couple of PCs of choice. On Point With Tom Ashbrook – my dad’s NPR fave – is an awesome talk show with high caliber guests and lively discussion, most often on Iraq. A bloody war we’re never going to get out of! Party time.
Then of course, there’s my radio BFF Ira Glass. Now, I know every hipster d-bag like myself listens to This American Life. There’s a reason for this – it’s the bee’s fuckin’ knees. And finally, they’ve come to save the world with their tv show. I’m a little scared as I don’t have Showtime, so I’m not sure how to handle this situation.
The best part is that my main homie Charlie and Improv Everywhere are featured on the show. All those people doing jumping jacks in the DSW Shoe Warehouse? Yeah!
I haven’t seen my boyfriend or my cat in over three weeks.
Aside from that major shot of cat vag, aren’t we cute?
I should really stop slouching.
I’ll shut up now.
Why is it that I am addicted to every song Fergie has released off her album The Dutchess? I really expected better from myself. I thought I had some taste, but I can’t get enough of her.
I’m listening to “Glamorous” on repeat…while writing. Shouldn’t I have on some Elliott Smith or The Knife or something that will make me look and feel cool? This music makes me want to go on a shopping spree at Delia’s, and I like it!
(But what is “the flossy flossy”? Someone hip, educate me!)