16 26 Candles...

In exactly one week from tomorrow, I will be 26 years old. Just a number, and just a day... Yet it seems as good a reason as any to revive Ye Olde Blog.

In and of itself, 26 is not a big year. Everything is pretty much downhill after 21, and once you're over 25 you can officially be described as being in your "mid-late twenties," which I have yet to hear any of my friends cheer as a good thing. In fact, with the exception of one birthday I've helped celebrate this year (Robbie, Justin's brother, flew out to L.A. for his 21st), all of my friends met their birthdays with a healthy dose of groaning and general dissatisfaction with the idea of getting older and having no big birthdays to look forward to. Bah humbug, we're all grandmas. Sixty may be the new 40, but 25+ is the new 75. You might as well get me a walker, the way we all make it sound.

So 26. Yup. Not a big year, unless you count that walker I have coming to me... Or unless you look back on the year that I just had. You know, 25? Aka the year wherein I crashed two cars, graduated college, got engaged, got married, went to Hawaii, became responsible for all my own finances, bought a new car, and contrary to any post-graduation plans I made, became a My Gymer for Life and simultaneously bid goodbye to my BFF Jackie, and watched her walk away from the job I helped train her for. Oh, and I just got notice of my impending 10-year high school reunion. I'll pause if you want to reread that whole paragraph again.

To say that things have changed a lot in the last year is insufficient. I am a completely different person. At this time last year, I was cheering Obama and cursing Linda Bowen and her stupid project, planning a dance performance for school, and considering the merits of breaking into radio versus TV after graduating. Justin was my boyfriend; not even my fiancé. I had totaled the Solara and hit the Civic, and in order to punish myself was riding the metro to and from school and work every day... I was rekindling friendships with some and saying goodbye to others. And my mom was still speaking to me.

Perhaps all of these changes help to explain why on the eve of my 26th birthday, I am vacillating back and forth between feeling manic, anxious, depressed, sad, and overwhelmed. Don't get me wrong - most (if not all) of the changes I've incurred over the past 358 days have been good ones. I'm in a better place than I was last year, certainly. But it's a lot. It's been a LOT to take in, and perhaps I haven't given myself the proper time to sit and breathe and consider it all. By nature, I'm a reflective, introspective person. I talk a lot, and think even more. I write, I sing, I dance... I've always found ways to channel my emotions. But this year I just haven't had the time. Everything happened at such a break-neck pace it simultaneously feels like my 25th birthday was both last week and 50 years ago. I find myself looking in the mirror lately and, before I can help it, wondering "who *is* this person?" The eyes are the same, and the hair. But something about the face is different... Maybe it's the bad skin. Ohh soon-to-be-26-y/o-Grandma, get thee to a Dermatologist, health insurance be damned!

But yeah. There it is. For someone who eschews making transitions as much as I do, I sure did go through a lot of them. Yet here I am, with a huge year with life-altering changes under my belt, and at the end of the day I'm not entirely sure what to think. It's like my brain was a PC for far too long and now it's been upgraded to MAC OS. Really, it's for the best but it's too much to process. Server overload! Server overload!

So since my brain is waiting in line for service at the Genius Bar, my emotions have taken up the slack. And seeing as how coping was never my strong suit, it's really no wonder that I'm all over the map. Happy! sad. Excited! pissed. Social! lonely. Content! bored. Proud! immodest. ...Extrovert. It's like high school all over again, except without the Creek and without Dawson. Same high-strung emotions, same cycle-of-life changes that that tumultuous time brings, same acne. Just no late-night rehearsals and never-ending double entendre between friends. Well wait, nevermind... I still have the second part. ;-) Indeed, my life right now is a Kevin Williamson monologue addressed to no one.

But here I am. About to be 26, married, and with a new last name, and new family... Graduated with a B.A. but never even opened the package containing my 7-years-earned degree. In the past 10 years, I have made more friends than I have lost, but can't stop myself from mourning the losses anyway... and I am about to RSVP to my high school reunion.

I am also about to complain about my mile-long to-do list, when I look down at the mug I'm drinking my iced chai out of, and I can't help but smile ruefully... As the side reads:

"Once upon a time, there was a very busy girl with a tired yet hopeful soul. then, one day her soul asked her to stop... and just breathe. and so she did, and the girl and her soul live happily ever after"
-Maggie Lindley

Oh thank you, quotable mug, for reminding me in an ever-so-corny way of what I've been meaning to do for a year now.

Just breathe.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

Harry: You realize of course that we can never be friends.
Sally: Why not?
Harry: What I'm saying... is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.
Sally: That's not true.
Harry: No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive.
He always wants to have sex with her.
Sally: What if they don't want to have sex with you?
Harry: Doesn't matter, because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.
Sally: Well I guess we're not going to be friends then.
Harry: Guess not.
Sally: That's too bad. Cause you're the only person I knew in New York.

First, though definitely not foremost, how is it possible that I never knew about this blog written by someone who vaguely sounds like me, dated someone named Justin, and calls herself Krissy In the City?

Her story reminds me very much of one from my own from the past, only her Justin was my Elliot*, (or so we will call him for the sake of this blog). Elliot and I were as close as could be - he was the Dawson to my Joey, the Joey to my Rachel, and the Michael to my Jules in My Best Friend's Wedding.
(small aside: how much did I NERD OUT seeking out these ridiculous-yet-awesome fangirl clip videos on YouTube?)

Running theme: it was never meant to be, at least in the romantic sense. We did try dating once - VERY briefly - and we quickly realized we weren't meant to be a couple. And that was okay with me. More than okay, if I'm being totally honest. I liked having a built-in male BFF whom I could rely on for counsel, advice, support, and good old-fashioned ego stroking. And he was straight! - a rarity among my group of male friends. Really, it was perfect... Or so I thought.

As you probably guessed, our friendship ended up not working out, and it withered similarly to how Krissy and Justin's relationship ended - only with Elliot there was 30% less drama and about 60% more passive aggressiveness. To this day, I still mourn the loss. I probably always will.

But a conversation at work (which carried over into a conversation at home) earlier today got me thinking: did it not work out because (as Harry hypothesized in When Harry Met Sally) men and women simply can't be friends? It's a subject brought up at parties and over dinner dates - and most often I find that people are clearly on one side of the fence or the other. Well, I have one leg on both sides. Behold, my objective and subjective answers to the age old question: CAN MEN AND WOMEN REALLY BE FRIENDS, WITHOUT SEX GETTING IN THE WAY?

OBJECTIVELY SPEAKING: Of course. Yes, women are naturally better at this than men, as we're biologically more capable of separating sex from the various other aspects of our lives. We just don't think of sex every 5 seconds, like men do. But men can still maintain a platonic relationship with another woman (not their girlfriend or spouse) without necessarily wanting to sleep with them - *even* if they're attractive. My husband is a very good example of a man with this sort of disposition and character; the "best man" at our wedding was actually a female friend of his -- Allison. And as attractive as they both are individually, there has never been an underlying sexual chemistry of any kind, whatsoever.

SUBJECTIVELY SPEAKING: ...Maybe not. Though I think it's *entirely* possible in theory and - sometimes - in practice to be friends without yearning for additional "benefits," I've found that in my personal experience, this has simply not been the case. Almost without exception, every single heterosexual male friend I've ever had has at one point or another expressed an interest in getting in my knickers. Some have been bolder than others, but by and large, this has been my legacy. And before we get any big ideas here, I want to make it clear to everyone that I *DON'T* believe this has been the case because I have supermodel-good-looks or a kiss-of-the-spiderwoman like gravitational pull. On the contrary!

To hear a good friend of mine tell it (and yes, he's male), "it's because you're a cool person AND you're hot. If you were just cool, but unattractive, it could work out as totally platonic friendship. Or if you were gratuitously hot, but not very cool, there would be that sexual attraction but no friendship. But when you have the perfect storm of someone getting to know you - realizing you're cool and everything - AND you're hot. Then YEAH, THEY'RE GOING TO WANT TO JUMP YOU."

When pressed about how a person's marital (or relationship) status effects this equation, he basically said it matters not. So even if you're unavailable - as long as you're cool and attractive - your friend will fantasize about you with no clothes on. Yep. Nekkid.

For what it's worth, the Husband refutes this last theory totally, and I think his relationship with Allison (and other good female friends) are good arguments for the other side.

What's your feeling - can we all be friends?
A penny for your thoughts...

True Blood Goldenrod

I have a confession to make... I don't watch HBO's True Blood...



Not that I don't love all-things premium cable - Sex and the City, Weeds, The Tudors, Curb Your Enthusiasm thankyouverymuch! But for some reason, the vamp drama hasn't caught on with me just yet. The husband insists that I should give it a chance; he knows I sometimes disregard shows in their first run for no good reason, only to fall in love with them in syndication. Case in point: though I liked it ok when it ran on the WB, it wasn't until Buffy started rerunning on TBS at three in the morning that I fell in bloody love. Yeah, I know. I was a little late to the party on that one.


But back to True Blood. It sounds great based on everything I've been told, and it helps that one of my favorite Bold and Beautiful actresses, Ashley Jones (aka Bridget Forrester), is supposedly beginning a stint on it...

Yet I don't feel grabbed by the neck by it, so to speak. Oh well.

So I sat idly by and let my husband watch it a few days ago, barely paying attention... That is, until I happened to notice a beautiful, vivid maxi dress being worn by one of the characters (I learned her name is Maryann) at a *very* naked party. In fact, she may have been the only woman wearing clothes. Which is why she stood out.




"Gee!" thought I, "what a pretty dress. I need more pretty dresses like that. Hey, I feel inspired to look up BCBG dresses on eBay, since I love them so but can never afford them retail!"

And what do I see as the first listing...?



Can I get a WOOT WOOT?!

Who knew the HBO/BCBG stars would be so aligned? I called it without even trying!

And - btw - $69 is a LOT better than $600, if I do say so myself.

Maybe I should reconsider my career as a buyer...

The Good Wife

Guess who's now a married woman...?

If you pointed a finger at the screen and said "why YOU, she who goes by Brave Little Toaster!" then you win a prize!

Indeed, I am now a Missus. Replete with "Mrs" responsibilities, or as Housekeeping Monthly might call them, "wifely duties." I am a committed, married woman, dedicated to bettering myself, continually strengthening our bond, and evolving our coupling into an eventual family. Likewise, I expect my new husband to return the favor. He is just as much my partner, friend, and ally as I am to him. And in our almost five years together, we've always held each other up in equal parts - I make him laugh, he makes me laugh, I make him mad, he makes me cry; it's really all a balancing act, for better or worse (and really, mostly for the better). Which is as it should be.

That is, unless you ask Candace Cameron Buré...

Yup, the eldest Tanner daughter eschews feminism in all of it's subversive forms - especially in the context of marriage. Rather, the uber-Christian Full House alum says she has but a sole purpose in life. And - lest you get ahead of yourself - that sole purpose isn't 'to help people with AIDS,' 'to help small children and animals,' or 'lobby for universal health coverage.' No. DJ Tanner's raison d'être - nay - THE REASON SHE WAS PUT ON THIS PLANET is so she can be of assistance to her husband, Valeri. Or, as she puts it, "...to be his help meet."

His help meet. Sounds strangely like help meat, does it not?

Holy spam! In one fell swoop, she and her fundamentalist side dish Debi Pearl manage to set women back 50-100 years.

Honestly, I pity Candace's poor daughter, Natasha... Who is likely to grow up never realizing her full potential, and who will always be dependent on some man to lead her and validate her. As a child, she's already being robbed of a happy and fulfilling future as a strong, independent woman. How sad.

Or perhaps - as Mrs. Buré suggests - I've just been brainwashed by the liberal, feminazi media.

Oh well. Time to go don my apron and dust in high heels, all while ensuring I don't whistle while I work so loudly as to disturb my Husband's tivo'd episode of PTI...

BREAKING: Today's forecast will be HOT, with a 90% chance of poontang in your face

God bless ABC-7 News.

They're Number One in the LA market, and now it's easy to see why.

And it's not even because they're always first on the scene, have live traffic on abc7.com, or even because they have a FULL hour-long broadcast at 11am (NBC and CBS both sign off after 11:30; NBC segues into paid programming - times are tough at the Peacock).

No, it's because they tweet the weather on Twitter.

But instead of the forecast's corresponding link taking you to a green screen and digital images of the California Raisins' sun wearing shades, it takes you here. TWICE.





Blurred for your protection.
(You're welcome.)

Ohhh, and to think... ABC could've hired me instead of this person running the Twitter (who has an obvious propensity for porn... or you know, not proofreading) and will soooo obviously be fired. Oh well.

Click the link above for the real deal, in all it's NSFW glory.

Dun-duh-duh-dun...

...I bought my wedding/elopement dress today. :)

In a size ZERO, no less! Seriously, thank God for vanity sizing.

Here was my inspiration:



Chris Kole has designed a brilliant collection called "The Cotton Bride" which uses natural fibers to create gorgeous (and totally unostentatious) bridal gowns. The unfortunate downside, however is the price point - at about $2,500, one Chris Kole gown would bust our entire elopement/honeymoon budget.

So I did the next best thing; I dragged Jackie to the Glendale Galleria and told her we were going shopping, but "if we happen to find something pretty, white, and maybe linen, that'd be great too." Her response: "KRISSY... ARE WE WEDDING DRESS SHOPPING?!" "Maybe," I answered kind of meekly. "But only if we find something that's just right."

Fast forward to our visit to White Dress Black Market, a Michelle Obama fave. I seriously didn't think we'd find anything, due to the upscale but casual nature of the clothes. But Jackie insisted. And then I found it... A pretty, classic, almost Audrey Hepburn-esque little white dress, made out of pure silk and linen. Perfect for a city hall wedding.


I'm going to post a picture now - NOT of the dress itself - but of a dress of similar type, by J Crew. Mine is actually short; right around the mid-knee, slightly shorter than tea-length.



...Did you catch the part where it has pockets? Quelle magnifique!

Best part? It's so classically simple and pretty that I can dress it up with jewelry, fabulous shoes, or maybe even a tasteful sash around the waist. Or a pashmina wrap! Plus, if for some reason I were to decide I was over the strapless aspect, the dress comes with attachable straps for a versatile look.

And all for less than what my mom paid for either of my prom dresses. ;-)

The Ultimate Transparency

At first glance, it would seem that Dennis Kucinich (D-OH)...

...and Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak

have very little in common.

But nice-guy personalities aside, they do share a single common bond: the man behind Apple and the congressman who eats the fruit both use Twitter to pander for votes... for dancing. The Woz for his bid on ABC's Dancing With the Stars, and Kucinich for his wife Elizabeth's bid on Cleveland's Dancing With the Stars.

We're used to hearing about celebrities moonlighting as (sometimes prolific) Twitterers; Mariah, Demi, Ashton, Diddy... I'm talking to you. But lest we not forget with whom it all started:

The Big O.

Yes, it was our very own President Barack Obama, who twittered (and Facebooked, MySpaced, and blogged) his way to the White House in 2008. With more than half-a-million followers under his belt, he is the most followed person on Twitter. Supporters and critics alike flocked to his tweets throughout the election - not only for news and information, but for unprecedented access to the man himself.

Consider this - back in the olden days of 2000 and 2004, the 160-character 'tweet' was but a sci-fi figment of our imaginations. If you wanted to kvetch to your congressman about how badly they were representing you in Washington, you had to write them through official channels. Maybe your letter might make it past Assistants 1-3, the Lead Adviser to the Congressman, and the Official Anthrax Tester, but even then there are no guarantees. Fearing all the red tape, how many Americans failed to even try to contact their leaders to voice their wants, needs and concerns? Enter the Senator from Illinois, backed by a very Web 2.0-savvy team, who fully took advantage of all the (free!) tools of social networks like MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. Suddenly, the entire country was given free, instant, and constant access with the man running for the highest office in the land(!) And it wasn't just an illusion - Barack Obama actually read what people had to say, and aptly used FAQs, stories and ideas to help explain his own agenda. Time and time again, in the confines of only 160 characters, he was able to understand his constituents' questions and concerns, and distill his answers down for the LCD. And as a direct consequence of receiving constant information and access, people listened. They learned. They followed.

Now here we are, just three months since Obama took office, and having figured out the equation, other lawmakers are starting to jump on the bandwaggon.

Enter, TWEETCONGRESS!

Now everyone - including you! - can follow your Congressperson, Senator and Governor's every move! Not only moving towards a more transparent government, but a more transparent governing body - like in the literal, individual sense.

This is HUGE. With just a click and a scan, I can find out that Nancy Pelosi is "investing in women and children" at the same time that John McCain is congratulating Curt Schilling on his illustrious baseball career! Wow, thanks TweetCongress!

Coming soon to a Twitter near you: TweetSchoolteachers. TweetCalTrans. TweetVPutin! Everything will be transparent. It'll be like 1984, except we all get to be Big Brother, creating a positive checks-and-balances utopia...

Perhaps I'm reaching. But in this New Dawn of Possibilities, I can't help but feel like the sky's the limit.

Thanks, Big O.

Clueless, as reimagined with Gilad

Someone out there in the abyss of Bloggity McBlog land, please tell me you've heard of the 8th wonder of the exercise world: GILAD.

With a last name that sounds more like kinky pillow talk between Austrians (Ohh... Janklowicz!), it's no wonder that he just goes by 'Gilad.' And it helps that he's the only Gilad I've ever heard of with a TV show and/or any kind of notoriety.

But back to the point...

There's a scene in my third favorite movie of all time, wherein Cher and Tai (Alicia Silverstone and Brittany Murphy, respectively) are enduring an 80s exercise video starring Jane Fonda, who strongly encourages them to "squuuuuuueeeeze [their] buttocks as [they] come up." After some serious physical prodding by Cher, Tai finally exclaims "Cher, I don't wanna do this anymore! And my buns, they don't feel NOTHING like STEEL."

Had they been watching Gilad on FitTV, I have a feeling that scene would've gone somewhat differently. Perhaps it would've gone something like this:

GILAD: DO IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT!!
CHER: Tai, Gilad can tell if you're not doing it full-out. Don't do everything so sporadically!
TAI: What's (pant, pant) spermadicly?
GILAD: NOW SLAP YOUR BUTT!!!
(Cher shakes out her muscle, slaps her rear)
TAI: What.. the...?
CHER: DON'T YOU WANT TO BE BEAUTIFUL AND POPULAR?!
(Tai slaps hard enough to leave handprints)

Gilad. Changing one booty at a time since 1984.

...And [sporadically] changing mine since 2007.

PS
Apparently, I'm not the only one who has seen the very special episode of Total Body Sculpt with the infamous butt-slapping (after what was, admittedly, a KILLER outer thigh workout, which warranted all the slapping in the world... notice how the girl in the background says 'oww' while laughing).

Ohh, Gilad.

Don't Be Such a Dick Lock

Take a note, Assholes of the World:

Toothpicks...


and car door locks...


do NOT mix!


I mean, *really.* What part of my little silver Honda Civic LX being parked unobtrusively in the My Gym parking lot whilst I worked 11.5 hours of my life away (throwing BIRTHDAY PARTIES, no less) bothered you SO MUCH that you felt the need to stick an effing toothpick in the car door lock? Why? WHY??

I'm a good Samaritan. I pay my bills on time, talk to the homeless guy in front of Subway for the better part of an hour when no one else will even give him the time of day... I am a vegan for Christ's sake! I live and let live!

But you. You. You just couldn't leave my car alone. I mean you could've gone for a BMW or a Mercedes; shaken your triumphant (albeit assholey) fist at the Capitalist MAN that put our country into this current mess - and God knows that here in Encino - in a VALET LOT - you could've had your pick. But no. You had to take it out on my little four-dour, scratched, dirty eco-friendly compact car. Fuck you, sir.

To quote Kenny Powers in Eastbound and Down, you are a vagina with a mullet.

Look, Maw! I gots me an edumacation!

How did I never see this before?
I spent an untold number of years slaving away in hell, being slapped in the face repeatedly with "collateral" this and "upper division writing requirement" that, and "Special CSUN Section F requirements" plus "LASH/NON-LASH 60/40 rule *misery,*" and yet, somehow, with aaaaallll of that deep and penetrating education I received for the better part of a decade, I managed to miss this.
How??



A million thanks to J over at Internet Smoothie for pointing me in the right direction.

Y'know. To Northrigde.

Rant of the Year

Kids, have we learned nothing from the McCain/Letterman debacle of last year? ::le sigh::

The economy is bad. Vewy, vewwwy bad, and everyone knows it... Unless you're CNBC, of course... Then you just act like everything is citrus-colored rainbows and glitter & glitz.

But provided you live in the real world (and quite possibly have no job, no health insurance and are about to lose your home), you're well aware of how much things suck.

So is Jon Stewart - who was all set to take CNBC's Rick Santelli to task for opposing homeowner bailouts (while AIG exces lounge around St. Regis on the taxpayer's dime $100 bill)... Until CNBC and Santelli unceremoniously canceled on the Daily Show host at the last minute.

Note to self: DON'T piss off Jon Stewart. For he will come back at you with a seven (7!) minute top-of-the-show segment dedicated to ripping you a new one.

In the wake following the Jon-Stewart-Rick-Santelli beatdown, yesterday The Colbert Report ran with guest Jim Cramer, host of CNBC's "Mad Money." ...Awkward, much?

Leave it to Stephen Colbert to soften the blow with the liberal use of puppies and kittens.

Boooty Camp

On a recent episode of Desperate Housewives, Eva Longoria Parker's character Gabrielle finally had enough of being "fat" (and by fat, I mean a size 3). So with the help of Edie (Nicolette Sheridan), Gabby enlisted in an all-girl bootcamp to help trim and tone up. Yes, she hated it. Yes, she treated the trainer and the whole process with a fair amount of good old fashioned princess attitude. But - with a certain amount of coaxing threatening by Edie - she did it... And was back in her engagement dress by the end of the episode.

So it's in the spirit of Mrs. Gabrielle Solis that tomorrow I will be following my own person Edie - Allison's sister Caitlin - as she leads me to a smaller ass and thinner thighs. Hopefully.

I'm not looking to go from a size 22 to a 2 - hell, I'm not even looking to drop any more than 10-15 lbs. But if I can at least eat more than a salad for lunch and allow myself to partake in sweets (which *I* usually bake) without looking down at my hips and subsequently wanting to stab myself with Angelina Jolie's collarbone, then I'll be happy.

And who knows, if I manage to survive (and maybe even like it) maybe I'll continue with it and get hot enough to audition for the 13th cycle of America's Next Top Model: Petite Edition.

You ain't my bitch, N****, buy your own damn fries!

Ohhh President Obama.
I always knew I loved you.

Seriously, I've had a crush on Mr. Obama for years. And not just for his style, undeniable coolness, wry intelligence and brilliant oratory... But for his politics, his passion, his dedication, and his unwavering resolve. Seriously, I'm with the 2,634 Americans who name Obama their personal hero -- above God, Reagan, Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr., and (apparently) even Jesus. The way he's grabbed this country since taking office and tried to steer it from sliding further into the 7th circle of hell is awe inspiring. Unlike someone who ended an almost-15-year radio show yesterday with the self-important song Joe Jackson song "I'm the man" (refer to the 1st stream, and find the 25.30 timecode), Barack Obama really *is* the MAN.

Obama is *the* MAN. Period. So long as he continues to do his job well, he can basically do no wrong. He could probably even curse a blue streak and win a Grammy for it.

Oh wait, he DID. In 2005, for his audio-book reading of Dreams From My Father.

It is worth noting, however, that the then-Senator was imitating his (dare we say, colorful?) friend Ray, and was only swearing in the context of that imitation.

But it's still *definitely* worth listening to.

And now, thanks to some digging by the illustrious Erin of News Me Baby, we can hear our cooler-than-thou Prez actually use words that would make Mamaw from North Carolina blush.

Enjoy.

The little FM station that couldn't

It's a sad day, my friends... For today marks the official death of talk radio in Los Angeles. Today at 5pm, CBS will be pulling the plug on KLSX - better known as 97.1 FM TALK. Adam Carolla, Teresa Strasser, Frosty Stilwell, Heidi Hamilton, Frank Kramer, Tim Conway Jr., Danny Bonaduce, and that bastion of integrity Tom Leykis will all cease to be heard on LA radio.

The business of radio is not always kind to the people whom it employs - it feels like it was just yesterday when KYSR's Jamie White, Jack Heine and Mike Roberts (aka Jamie, Jack and Stench) were conspicuously yanked off of 98.7's airwaves with no explanation. No goodbye. No "best-of" wind-down series for the affiliates. No contract buy-out for the talent. Nada. Ouch.

Unlike Clear Channel, CBS has been classy enough to give the talent two days to say goodbye to the listeners, and I've been faithfully plugged in listening. Yesterday, Leykis took the opportunity to thank his fans for their continued loyalty for more than 10 years, and, in a surprising show of humility, he exalted the brass at CBS as Great Employers who have always looked out for him - and have subsequently taken care of him nicely... Quite nicely, or so he alluded.

...And just how nicely are they taking care of good ol' Tom? Are they doing so well by him that the whole radio station went down in flames as a result? Could 97.1 have been saved if it weren't for the greediness of Tom Leykis?

Yes, if you ask Frank Kramer. In a gloves-off broadcast this afternoon, the second 'F' of Frosty, Heidi, and Frank blasted the misogynistic afternoon-drive host, saying

Tom Leykis KILLED this radio station. We were all asked to take a pay cut, and *everyone* said 'Ok, we'll bend. We'll follow in the footsteps of Barack Obama and do our part. We'll all take a pay cut to save this station.' And guess who WOULDN'T. So when you listen to his last two hours tonight about how much he loves the listeners and all that bullcrap, just know - he doesn't care about them; he never did. I don't care WHAT he says - that man killed this station. He is responsible.

Forgive me if you were also listening and find that what I've written here isn't 100% verbatim Frank's quotes - it's hard to transcribe when three people are talking at once - but this was the sentiment, the gist, the overall feeling of anger and hatred that poured out from the stereo speakers. He was serious. This was no radio shtick; no silly-DJ banter on the last day. Frank. Was. Pissed. For their part, Heidi and Frosty did their best to steer Frank back on the 'hey, we're on to better things' bandwagon - though they did divulge that they agreed to take pay cuts to save the station, as would Carolla.

For what it's worth, Frank eventually broke down in tears over the death over their show and station, and called everyone (Tom included) "family." ...But wow. Just plain wow. I guess if this is true - and the station could have had a reprieve if Leykis would've agreed to a pay cut - then that makes him the selfish, neglectful and arrogant father of the "family." And if it's *not* true, then Leykis will have a chance to clear the air and defend himself at 3pm.

I worry for the future of radio.


**UPDATE**
At 3pm, Leykis took a moment to address Frank's accusations, and his defense can basically be summed up in two words: "prove it." Tom ended it by musing that maybe Frank was just "jealous" of his contract and security in life, and then condescendingly offered Frank the opportunity to use his bandwidth for the FHF podcast, in exchange for "working on [his] ranch planting tomatoes and possibly grapes." Wow.

Crack Corn

Most of the time snack food with anything less than 500 calories and 10g of fat/serving can best be described as "good, but nothing to write home about."

THIS, my friends, is something to write home about - and with only 120 calories and 2.5 grams of fat per 1.5 cup single serving. And it's ORGANIC.

Dude, forget about writing home. Nay, this is something to write BLOGS about. And not just a single entry in the form of a feature; this stuff deserves it's own host site. Like... www.crackiswhackarcherfarmskettlecorn.com

There are truly only but a few things for which I read the nutrition label and then have the following conversation with myself*:
"Ok self. Worst case (and most likely) scenario... You eat the whole bag. That's what, 850ish calories and 15 grams of fat...? Not bad for the WHOLE FREAKIN' BAG! Based on your height, weight, and BMR, that's what, 70% of your total calorie budget? Hmm... maybe if I skip dinner. But wait, I had Subway for lunch and Starbucks this morning. Damn. DAMN! ...Well what if I skip breakfast and my a.m. snack tomorrow??"

Yeah, this could be a problem.

::looks toward the kitchen longingly::

Eff you, Target, for lacing your Archer Farms kettle corn with CRACK.

...Is crack organic?

*other foods with which I sometimes have this inner soliloquy include Peanut Butter Puffins and unsweetened/unsulfered dried mango from Whole Foods

Conversations with the Fiancé

In this edition, the fiancé and I are driving down Sunset Blvd, when we happen to perchance upon a billboard for YMI Jeans, featuring none other than Alexis Dziena... Aka Lolita in the Bill Murray film Broken Flowers. (Yes, I kid you not - her name was *actually* Lolita in the movie.)

The following conversation takes place between 4:45 and 4:46pm, while we wait for the light to turn green.

J: Hey, it's that chick from Broken Flowers.
Me: Ohhh yeah, huh.
J: The naked chick.
Me: Yup.
J: ...She had some great boobs.
Me: Yeah... I think mine are better.
(pause)
(pause while the pause gets knocked up)
(super pregnant pause)
(pause gives birth to baby pause)
(baby pause turns out to be octuplet pauses)
J: Uhm, sure. (optimistically) Ok!


...
I'm sorry... what?
Even if he didn't agree with me, isn't it written somewhere in the preface of the Fiancé Code that if your Bride-to-Be dives into a bucket of crazy sauce and comes back making comments about her fabulous figure, that you're supposed to agree EMPHATICALLY??

Not only that, but when it comes to physical appearance I'm almost never the one to toot my own horn. Growing up in LA - the wellspring of all that is Gorgeous and Thin - I'm actually quite critical when it comes to evaluating my own aesthetics. So for me to make that statement was actually quite bold. And beautiful. Like my favorite soap.

Besides all that, I actually do have fantastic boobies!*
*thanks to a fantastic investment I made 5 years ago

So there. Take that, naked chick from Broken Flowers. You may be a young, rich, famous, hot, long-legged model/actress, but I have boobies. And a fiancé who thinks you're hotter than me agrees that my boobs are better than your boobs. (We'll work on his enthusiasm for them.)

Signed,
Brave Little Toaster
WHO HAS AMAZING BOOBIES

You had me at "Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever."

Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?



I'll ask you to reserve judgment until you reach the end of this list.

Highlights from the worst/best analogies of high school students:

1. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
2. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.
3. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
4. She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.
5. The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
6. She was as unhappy as when someone puts your cake out in the rain, and all the sweet green icing flows down and then you lose the recipe, and on top of that you can’t sing worth a damn.
7. Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.
8. You know how in “Rocky” he prepares for the fight by punching sides of raw beef? Well, yesterday it was as cold as that meat locker he was in.
9. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
10. He was as bald as one of the Three Stooges, either Curly or Larry, you know, the one who goes woo woo woo.

Who needs veneers when you've got THESE?

(via Jackie)

All I can think of is THE underrated movie of 2007, Teeth.

If, like so many other deprived Americans, you have yet to see Teeth, keep cool my babies: I've got you covered.



Clip via Rotten Tomatoes

Rated "R," so can't embed - click above and enter your birthday. It's worth it.

Suddenly the picture of the squid-not-octopus-dentata creature makes sense.

Can't... Stop... Laughing.

Meet Evan, my super-cool friend Allison's boyfriend.



. . . .

. . .

. .

Meet Allison's cats - aka Nice Cat and Not Nice Cat.

Now see what happens when Evan and Allison's less-than-social cat get together to make a special video Valentine's greeting.

. . . .

. . .

. .

Classic.

Look Ma, I have a penis!

Ding Dong! The Xbox is dead! The XBox is dead! The Xbox is dead!


The boy refuses to acknowledge that he's getting a RROD since technically it's only a quarter RROD. Some E-74 error. For his sake, I hope he figures out how to fix it in an easy and inexpensive manner.... But I won't necessarily complain if it isn't done in a *timely* one.

In other news, my friend Bernadette had a dream last night, and it was a big one.



Behold, our conversation while dining at Garden Wok

Bernie: So there I was in my dream... making out with this guy and we were getting to the point where were obviously going to have sex. At first he hesitated, but I told him I wasn't a virgin and it was ok. So he put his hands on me... And suddenly recoiled back.
"What is it?" I asked.
"THAT'S JUST WRONG!"
And he kept yelling about going to hell and stuff... So I looked down... and there it was. I mean I was a girl, but I had a penis. A PENIS! I freaked out and went to tell my mom. "Mom," I said, "I have both parts!"
"Ohhh yeah. When you were born we weren't sure how you would turn out, so we decided to wait to have the surgery until after you decided which way you were going to end up."
"So why didn't you have the surgery?"
"I guess we forgot."
. . .insert maniacal yanking gesture. . .
"HOW DO YOU FORGET SOMETHING LIKE THIS?!"

Thanks Bernie, for making my brown rice and egg roll evening just a tad more interesting.

Best Wishes!

I recently submitted to be an official advice guru for a national magazine aimed at young people.

Feeling emboldened by my new-found inner Miss Cleo, I decided to leave a comment for the infamous Octuplets Mom, Nadya Suleman.



Though I did offer my criticisms, I tried to keep it constructive. I'd offer up the text, but in my infinite genius I accidentally copied over the copy/paste with something extraneous. (OYE!)

In a nutshell, I tried to keep it positive for two reasons: one, you catch more flies with honey, and two - those kids need all the well-wishing they can get. I mean seriously. Can you even imagine what those 14 kids are up against? If we don't wish their crazy mom the best, then there's little hope for the poor kids, who will undoubtedly pay for her poor decision making skills.

So by all means, wish Nadya Suleman well. Send good vibes her way. If she succeeds, then those kids succeed, which means we all succeed. Yes.