I’ve been celebrity gossip-free for two weeks!

I saw a cosmetic commercial this weekend featuring Halle Berry. As I was admiring her beauty, I found myself wondering if she had her baby yet because it seemed as if she was pregnant for years. And I had no way of knowing if she had her baby because I wasn’t visiting the celebrity gossip sites or even watching the gossip shows on TV. And me not knowing this made me feel quite proud of myself. Not long ago, if someone were to ask a general celebrity related question, I would have been the first to respond with the most up to date answer. Now I’m totally clueless about these things and it makes me feel great.

Oh, but as I was telling Yvonne this yesterday, she told me that Halle Berry did have her baby.

That’s right, I don’t like movies or stories set in space. Except for Star Trek: The Next Generation. Space is dark and it makes me sleepy (same with Batman).

What I do like are stories about orphans, magic (in the present and past but not in the future), heists, escapes, old west, and disguises.

The cast of my ideal movie would include:

Daniel Radcliffe - an young boy who escapes the orphanage because the nuns were making him eat roaches.

Colin Farrell - a Fagen-type character who knows the ins and outs of the streets and takes Daniel under his wing. Unfortunately, Colin cannot provide Daniel with anything much better than roaches.

Keanu Reeves - a wise magician who turns up during Daniel’s neediest moments to bear him bread. Throughout the tale, Keanu will show up frequently and eventually start to teach Daniel the art of witchcraft.

William Shockley - will reprise his role as Hank from Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. Hank is owner of the slummiest saloon in town and has a thing for dewy whores.

Ewan McGreggor - a drag prostitute scoping out the bank from his cover in Hank’s saloon across the street. Many hilarious moments ensue when Hank tries to woo Ewan.

Johnny Depp - the handsome sheriff. Johnny suffers from short-term memory loss but is able to keep his post as town sheriff because he is so handsome. Johnny must keep the town peace and has recently been enlisted by the King to find his daughter.

Brent Spiner - will reprise his role as Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation. Data comes into contact with Johnny when he accidentally steps into the wrong holodeck room. Data is dressed as Sherlock Holmes and Johnny enlists his services in taking down Ewan. Data devises clever ways to assist Johnny with his memory condition.

Isabelle - the King’s lost princess. Lured by Keanu into a hallow tree where she eats a poisoned slice of bread. Destined to slumber forever unless a handsome law enforcer gives her love’s one true kiss. Luckily for the princess, Johnny, the handsome law enforcer suffers from short-term memory loss and proceeds to kiss her a million times.

Extras - will be played by clones of Timothy Oliphant.

This movie would actually be a mini-series with 1000 episodes that are two hours long each.

What is this?! What is happening?!

Image: compliments of yumsugar

My friend wrote a list of his likes and dislikes. He asked people to share but instead of putting my list in a long comment, I decided to put it here.

This isn’t everything but the list would go on and on if I didn’t cut it off at some point.

Paws down:

buying clothes

people who don’t say hi

having to pee and poo

taking showers

star wars

space stories

UGLY NEIGHBORS

cuts

guts

blood

teeth things

deciding what to eat

too many sweets

my feet

fart smokes

fats

cats

smelling like food

losing

sulfates/sulfites

too much talking

reggae

Paws up:

having clothes

saying hi to people

just having peed and poo-ed

feeling clean

butts

mutts

yogurt

handsome boys

SUN SUMMER FUN

being tan

drawing

reading

CEREAL

your feet

fart jokes

savory

popcorn

games

winning

TRICKS

orphans

I envy males for being able to stand up and pee. I don’t envy how they have to poop. Their meatballs and noodle dangle inside the bowl and touch (unless teeny) the porcelain and germs. They should have a ladle to put their hang loose in.

Here, let me show you what I propose:

The other day some people were talking about LOL cat this and LOL cat that. I walked up and asked, “what the hell are you fools talking about? Did I step into some sort of T-Mobile commercial reenactment?” So they brought me over to a computer and showed me the LOL cat site. They LOL’ed as they scrolled through each LOL image. I did not LOL. I do not get it.

Two doors down from me lives my nemesis. She is 12 and large.

First encounter - Walking home from work last summer. I was was wearing a blue dress and brown polka-dotted flats. She was sitting across from my apartment with two younger kids. As I walked by I heard, “no ugly shoes allowed here.” Hm…could she have been talking about me? We were all wearing shoes. I kept walking. When my back was to her I heard, “No ugly dresses allowed here.” I was the only one wearing a dress! She was talking about me. I wanted to turn around and tell her to reign in her new boobs with a training bra so that when she furiously rides around on her Razor scooter they wouldn’t flop around menacingly. But, she’s a child and she knows where I live.

Second encounter - Also last summer but this time I was with my sister, thank goodness! We were walking back to my apartment talking and laughing. The Nemesis was sitting across the path again. As my sister and I turned into my walkway, we heard a mimicry of our laughter coming from behind us. My sister looked back and said that it was the Nemesis mocking us.

Third encounter - Yesterday, while my sister and I were laying out by the pool. I looked up and saw the Nemesis. She was with a friend. They parked themselves across the pool and she took video of us.

Fourth encounter - Also yesterday but later in the afternoon. My sister and I were walking to my apartment after we were finished reading outside. The Nemesis crossed our path to go into her home. As we passed her, my sister saw her crouched in her doorway aiming her video camera and taking footage of us.

In between encounters - Constant stares.

One good thing about the Nemesis is that I’ve learned a good dance move from her.

I wonder if I could hire her to harass my upstairs neighbors.

I think we can pretty much all agree that The Jonas Brothers are the new Hanson.

Similarities - young one, cute one, not cute one, totally Christian.

The Jonas Brothers wear rings proclaiming that they’re saving themselves for marriage. How do you rock like that? Or pop like that? I’m not quite sure if they’re rock or pop. Perhaps it’s a Christian blend of both.

Christian rock bands seem to always be formed by guys with faux hawks or shaved heads, big earrings, tribal tattoos, chunky rings and wallet chains. Because, you know, Christians can be cool too! But there, that’s the thing that gets me - the Christian’s idea of what looks/is cool. Do you think that they think that if Jesus was walking among us, he would be wearing a wallet chain and Oakleys and going into a tattoo parlor to get a killer calf tat?

I went to hip hop class last night. I wish I could say that I owned everyone in the class (teacher included) but I can’t. I totally choked. At the end of class, the instructor asked me to come to her intro class. At least she wasn’t mean like this one instructor who, while eating a Slim Jim, exclaimed to me, “I don’t know why you can’t get it.” Well, probably because you’re trying to teach me while eating a disgusting stick of butt meat. Also, I was wearing Vans and they have vulcanized soles which were sticking to the floor thus preventing me from spinning. I didn’t realize this shoe problem till the end of class when my friend, Nancy said she was having the same problem. Luckily for her she was in the back corner where no one was looking.

I don’t know why I always end up in front as if I’ve got the skills to bust out. Last night I started up front but then towards the middle of class, as an acknowledgement to my failure, I bolted to the back.

I went home a little dejected. But then I watched America’s Best Dance Crew and became inspired all over again. One of these days I’m going to bring it to the streets and pop it and lock it.

Another thing that lifted my spirits when I got home was seeing that my Zooey Deschanel CD had arrived. She & Him, Volume One. It’s amazing. So great.

I’ve always been a big fan of hers even many years ago when my sister and I watched her on Letterman not knowing who she really was but wanting to instantly be friends with her. Letterman asked her what she did for fun and she said that she enjoyed anonymously mailing her friends pictures of Angela Lansbury. “What a kindred spirit!” we thought. We too enjoyed (and still do) sending people surprises through the mail. When younger, while following our mother’s lead, we would cut out pictures of our realtor and make major adjustments to his face like drawing mustaches, blacking out his teeth, giving him makeup and once…we drew a Chinaman’s hat on his head. Then we would anonymously mail these works of art to the receptionist at his office.

Charley and I have resorted to wearing earplugs for sleep survival. Horrible and hideous neighbors.

I have weird shaped ear cavities. I’ve always known this. I’ve never been able to correctly wear earbuds/phones and have always had a hard time putting in earplugs. I was very frustrated the other night trying to put these in because all I wanted was to sleep and dumb egg face and his girlfriend were preventing me from doing so. So Charley had to come in and assist me. After a few minutes, he concluded that yes, I do have weird shaped ear cavities. Finally he believes me.

Well, he examined my ears for a bit and then decided that the only way to successfully insert the anti-egg face device is to pull on my ear to extend or straighten out my cavity for the plug. It worked. Now he has to do this every night for me.

I’m going to get those neighbors. I swear. Maybe I’ll bake them an earplug casserole.

I didn’t visit any celebrity gossip blogs/sites yesterday. Not a single one. And so far, I haven’t visited a single one today. I’ve actually lost interest in anything to do with celebrities quite a while ago, but out of habit I would visit a number of sites throughout the day and mindlessly scroll through the pages. I wasn’t even reading anything, just checking out the headlines and looking at the photos.

I made this decision because the other day my sister was telling me about this new show that I don’t remember the name of. Basically it’s where celebrities pull pranks on the paparazzi. And this more than anything made me annoyed with all things celebrity. The sad clowns.

I accidentally wore green today.

No, this has nothing to do with the poops you’re all familiar with. I’m referring to one of the comments left for The BFF Crew.

This has everything to do with poops in relation to girl-time. Girl-time. I like to make girl friends but I always get major anxiety about where it’ll lead and it usually leads to “girls’ night.” During girls’ night, there are lots of discussions about pedicures, dildos, boyfriends meeting boyfriends, designer jeans and plans to arrange more girls’ nights.

1) Pedicures - I have never gotten nor will I ever get a pedicure. I hate my feet and I want to minimize any attention towards them. (Great, I just brought attention to them). Also, I don’t ever want to slave over someone else’s feet, so do unto others and such.

2) Dildos - OK, sometimes I want to talk about dildos, like what a great name it has, how it can be used as a weapon against foes (Sorority Boys), and how serene it would look floating in a swimming pool. What I don’t want to talk about is what can be done with dildos that don’t involve weaponry or swimming pools…while drinking wine and high-fiving each other.

3) Boyfriends meeting boyfriends - This is just too stressful and should happen naturally without any force or nagging or pretty pleases.

4) Designer jeans - I don’t own any. I have no idea what this lifestyle is like.

5) Plans to arrange more girls’ nights - AAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Plus, if it’s girls’ night out, I can’t dance sexily and my boobs aren’t big enough to buy me drinks. So I can’t share any glory stories at the next girls’ night in.

So yah, poops.

I sit across the hall from the Leader of the BFF Crew.

March 13, 2008 at 12 p.m.

Girl BFF peeks into Leader BFF’s office and says, “Hey homie!” She walks in. Leader BFF, while typing, says, “Hey gorgeous.” Girl BFF responds with, “Waasssuuppppppppp.” They sit in silence for five minutes. Then Leader BFF says, “Let’s go eat!” They exit to find the remaining BFF members.

We all hate the dentist. Well, most of us anyway. I went yesterday for a checkup and cleaning. No cavities. I feel like this is the first time in many years where I’ve gone to the dentist without needing anything done. I take great care of my teeth, but somehow I seem to get cavities often. I guess I’m just one o’ dem fools.

After determining that everything looked good, they polished and cleaned my teeth. This means no red wine for six months. I tend not to drink red wine until right before my dentist visits since I found out that the tannin stains my bottom front two teeth. Fat fraarzes.

As I’m sure you’re all aware, getting your teeth clean isn’t as painless as they claim it to be. While waiting for the dentist to come in, I was looking at the assistant’s chart that was hanging from the wall. Amongst many placating things, it says to reassure the patient that all procedures are “painless.” Just tell me the tooth! I already know it’s going to be painful and when they claim otherwise it just makes things worse for me. Every time they jab at my gums, tug extra hard or knock the tool against my teeth, I imagine horrible visions because according to them, I shouldn’t feel any pain and because I am, it must mean that something bad is happening in my mouth. With my eyes closed, I see teeth popping out and flying every which way and the dentist putting her finger to her lips and winking to let the shocked assistant know to keep quiet. I picture sad, ugly and jagged stumps.

Please, someone needs to hurry up and create a Scrubbing Bubbles for teeth. Please!

I was listening to the radio on my way to work this morning and the “cool” radio guys were discussing how one guy looked really good with a mustache when he grew it for fun and that he should have kept it. This made me think about the revolution of mustaches as entertainment. In the last few years, I’ve really started to notice that a lot of people are using their ability to grow facial hair (mainly mustaches) for fun. Since a lot of people are enjoying this form of entertainment, I think that mustache fun has sort of plateaued. Here are ways to take mustache fun to the next level:

1) Wear your fun mustache for a year instead of only for a few days.

2) Don’t trim your fun mustache. Grow it out so that it’s a long fringe over your lips and past your chin and down your chest. A mustache that also serves as a beard is double the fun. If you don’t have the ability to grow your fun mustache this long, get extensions (play with colors).

3) Wear a top hat and spats with your fun mustache. Slap people with your glove and call them “cads” when offended. You might as well take it all the way.

3) Instead of laughing along with others as they acknowledge your fun mustache, keep a serious expression and start cracking your knuckles. Fun mustache + scaring your friends = tons of fun.

4) Hey, why even grow a mustache? Just wear a fake one. Wear a fake mustache for a year or just to important events. For added fun - claim that it’s real.

Here’s a beard side note: people spend a great deal of time growing a beard to their desired level of beardiness. That means, all friends and family and co-workers get to comfortably ease into beard acceptance. But what happens when the beard owner decides not to sport a beard anymore? They hack it off and shave their faces smooth, thus shocking everyone. Perhaps these people should give the same courtesy as when they grew their beards and remove it in a gradual manner.

Yah, that’s right.

I love watching T.V. and I have no problem admitting it.

I even like some reality shows, mainly the ones that focus on learning (Flip that House, Dirty Jobs, most Food Network stuff), adventures (Amazing Race), interesting families (Jon and Kate Plus 8) and talent showcases (So You Think You Can Dance and America’s Best Dance Crew).

I think some shows need to be put to rest. Like American Idol. Yvonne and I were crazy about the first season. To us, it was the most fun and original show at the time. But now it’s just pathetic. AI should have called it quits after the third season. Now it’s just a joke. Everyone who auditions and gets chosen for the show is basically going on stage to tell America that they are a sad clown.

I need to get a tablet.

Charley likes to read in bed.

I like making friends but I have a hard time maintaining friendships. This could be partly due to me having mild phone anxiety. I’m fine if I’m discussing certain details like where and when I’m going to meet someone, but as soon as I need to make conversation I start to get hot and sweaty and lightheaded. Yvonne and I have discussed this and we’ve concluded that this stemmed from having only one phone in a very public place while growing up and parents who like to eavesdrop.

The friends I have made outside of work are for the most part non-smokers. A lot of the friends I have made at work are smokers. Generally, a lot of people at work are smokers. A standard work day is 9-5 with people staying late as needed. A standard smoke break usually starts at 10:00 a.m., mere 60-minutes after arriving. Then the smoke breaks continue to happen on the hour, every hour till the end of the day. They last for 5-10 minutes each time. If I saved up all the breaks I could be taking if I were a smoker, I think I could retire early.

I don’t really look forward to going to work functions, happy hours, goodbye parties, birthday celebrations, etc., because again, every 20 minutes (it’s more frequent during these events) my work friends will go outside or onto the patio to take a smoke break. This leaves me standing inside the bar holding the same, empty and lonesome bottle of beer I’ve been holding all night long. This empty bottle is basically a decoy since I need to drive home and a little goes a long way for me. So instead of having to answer questions about whether or not I drink, if they can get me something, or if I want to take a shot with them, I hold up my decoy bottle to let everyone know that yes, I am a drinker; no thanks, I’m currently working on a drink; and sorry, I don’t mix.

Again, before you think I’m some fuddy-duddy, I have to stress that a little goes a long way for me. If I’m with someone who can safely take me home, or if I can walk home, then I’ll enjoy a couple of cocktails. But since I don’t trust myself to drive home after even just two beers, I carry around an empty beer bottle. This doesn’t mean that I pretend to be drunk. No way. I’ve been in the company of a fake drunkie and it was very annoying. I couldn’t do that to someone, or subject myself to that sort of embarrassment.

Speaking of embarrassments, I’ve definitely cut down (although compared to many, I didn’t have a lot to cut down from) since Halloween of 2006. That night will forever haunt my life.

Meet Mia and Joe.

I’ve been their slave for just about six days now. Three and a half more days to go.

Mia is usually pretty independent and confident, but lately she’s been picking up after Joe’s neediness. After walking them, feeding them, playing with them, holding them and still having them whimper and whine at me, I caught myself massaging their necks to keep them satisfied. This made me think of Jennifer Lopez and how she (according to Dlisted.com), “has employed a professional baby masseuse to come in once or twice a week.”

Is this what I’ve become? A person slaving away to ridiculous creature demands? I shouldn’t be stressing out over a dog’s needs but each time they whine, I find myself going through a list of possible dog comforts that I could present them with. Those dogs should be massaging me (!!!) and thanking me (!!!) for picking up after them - a terrible chore for someone who has a huge poo-in-places-other-than-a-toilet fear. Seriously, ask Charley about the first time I ever picked up after a dog.

So every morning, I wake up and rush through my daily preparations so that they won’t have to wait too long for me to take them out. Then I spend 20-minutes taking them to every single grass patch while watching very carefully to make sure they do their business. I am both anxious and hesitant when it comes to #2. I want it to be over with, but I dread what I have to do with it. After the deed(s) are complete, I take them inside and feed them, all the while making sure they won’t slyly jump on the couch and rub themselves on it. Then, and only then can I water and feed myself. Luckily during the workday, I get a break. I drop them off at my sister’s house (oh yeah, these are my sister’s dogs and while she’s visiting Oregon, I’m taking care of her babies). At the end of my workday, I pick them up and spend another 20-minutes walking them and then we get in my car and head home, my home, where I don’t do anything but jump to their many requests. I’ve been living for them lately and neglecting my own basic needs.

Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs. I love these dogs. Actually, I love these dogs when Yvonne, my sister, brings them over and I get to pet them and she takes them out when they need to go. And I especially love saying, “goodnight, goodbye, see ya fools in a few days” to them.

This has been a good experience for me. It has taught me that I will never be able to handle my own dog. Up until now, I’ve really been wanting a dog. I would spend hours throughout the day reading about different (dander-free) dogs and about their good/bad traits on Wikipedia. Now I need to find something else to research.

Update: I forgot to mention something about Mia. She suffers from “50 First Dates” Syndrome. From the time when I put the fools to bed to the time I wake them up to go outside, something happens in Mia’s brain where she forgets that Joe ever existed in her life. When she opens her eyes and sees Joe right next to her, she tries to fight him and I have to restrain two pounds of pure cuteness.

You know that comic strip, Cathy? Someone at work has a sign up on their door that says, “You are entering a Cathy Fanzone.” Personally, I’m not a fan, but it’s nice to see that someone appreciates Cathy.

Dear upstairs neighbors,

I wish you didn’t have legs or mouths.

Are you trying to sound like a herd of cattle when you go up and down your stairs? What sort of animals are you training inside, ponies or hippos? Maybe you should try walking and playing with your large dog outside instead of grappling with it and smashing it to the floor - our ceiling. You only need to shake out your toothbrush once in the air after brushing instead of tapping it 30-times against your sink (which wouldn’t be all that unreasonable if it weren’t at two a.m.). How about vacuuming during the normal hours instead of at three in the morning?!?! Why do you have such a mean face and ignore me when I say hello?

I want to go up and tell you these things, nicely of course, but I’m worried that if I bring this up, you’ll work even harder at being annoying because you seem like the type of people who would do just that. Why do I think this? Because you ignored my greetings twice, once when I was only three feet away from your dumb face.

Oh, and I kinda like it when you and your girlfriend argue. Why? Because the arguing only lasts for five minutes, since you don’t have good communication skills, and then the both of you sulk for the rest of the night and I can go to bed peacefully.

*grumble grumble*

Two things I experienced/overheard at Target this weekend:

1) A 17-year-old girl exclaimed, loudly, right behind me, “OH MY GOD, LOOK AT THAT!!!!” and then pushed her way past me to a wall of “pop-culture” t-shirts. She jabbed at it with her pudgy hand and turned her head to look and scream at her friend, “IT SAYS VALLEY GIRL!!! I HAVE TO HAVE IT!!!” Wow, wooooooooooooooooow.

2) I overheard a child say to her parent, “I may have given up on Hannah Montana, but I still like her style.”