Fetching and Kvetching

This Can Only End in Tears

2011-01-25T02:21:00.000-08:00

It saddens me to put up this picture, to put up this post at all.

We L.A. natives are used to seeing a fair amount of police chases. The local news outlets are infamous for billing pursuits as *BREAKING NEWS,* and they follow, commentate on, and film these idiots being chased by helicopters and black & whites until the bitter end. Thankfully, the end that the typical chase meets isn't so bitter... The suspect usually gives up, or is spike stripped / pin maneuvered into submission, and is subsequently arrested. All is well in L.A., and now back to our regularly scheduled Judge Judy.

...That didn't happen tonight.

After a hugely bungled chase (on the collective part of the Pasadena and Covina PDs), the high/drunk/insane motorist ran red light after red light before eventually plowing directly into a car in a Covina intersection. It was horrific to watch.

I'll save you from having to find it on YouTube (unless you'd rather just bite the bullet), and share the particulars here: the chase started in Pasadena around 11pm and worked its way through the San Gabriel Valley. Newscasters said the driver was a DUI suspect, and though the car was registered in North Hollywood, they couldn't confirm if the driver was in fact the registered owner. They had between three and six squad cars in pursuit (depending on the stage of the chase) and a helicopter overhead - all pretty standard. Once the suspect entered West Covina, the Covina PD expressed an interest in using the pit maneuver to stop him... But by the time it was ok'd through proper channels, the suspect had driven out of Covina, and so the Covina PD essentially washed their hands of him. Some 20 minutes later, the suspect stopped the car, and for a few minutes it appeared that the chase might be coming to an end. At this point, the police had the perfect opportunity to either box in his vehicle or set up spike strips a little farther down the road, just in case he took off again... Which is exactly what happened. The police missed their opportunity, and instead of taking a proactive stance against this obviously unstable driver, they allowed him to continue on, running half-a-dozen (or more) red lights along the way. He eventually T-boned a little Mazda at 45-50mph just before midnight.

After the cars spun out and the suspect opened his door and kicked his dog out (??), he proceeded to resist arrest for the next 10 minutes. During this time, every officer on the scene tended to the suspect. Not one person looked after the dog that had run out into the street (and still hasn't been found, despite an effort by nearby residents), and - perhaps more importantly - not a single cop stopped to look into the innocent victim's mangled wreck. It was only after they had the suspect mildly subdued that one of them even bothered to check on the victim.

...And he didn't run to the victim's aid. Didn't appear to call for backup. Didn't try to pry open the car door. No. He shined his flashlight in through the cracked windshield, appeared to say something (apparently to the victim inside, who was unresponsive) and then sat back and waited for the fire department. When they arrived, the LAFD was equally as slow to respond, spending a good portion of the critical hour walking around the car and surveying the situation. An ambulance waited idly by.

One of the KCAL newcasters, perhaps reading my mind, inquired "maybe this is the wrong thing to say, but shouldn't there be some sort of, I don't know, expediency?" Yes, yes there should have been. But there wasn't. KCAL pulled back on their helicopter camera, and it became apparent they believed the victim was dead on impact, thus explaining the incredibly lackadaisical approach by the first responders. They cut the coverage off shortly thereafter.

Here's my question: even if you *think* someone didn't survive a crash, don't you make every effort to be quick & responsive and MAKE SURE??

As luck would have it, ABC and KNX-1070 have both reported that the victim miraculously survived... no thanks to the LAPD and LAFD.

The pursuit came to an end in Covina, where the suspect T-boned a car at the intersection of Puente Street and Barranca Avenue.

The condition of the victim, a woman, was not immediately known. However, police said she is believed to be alive.

KNX newsradio reported that the victim was brought to County USC Hospital - a good 30-40 minute drive from West Covina. I watched the CBS News feed on Ustream, and the ambulance drove on in silence; no sirens, no emergency lights. Despite optimistic reports to the contrary, I found the grim visual evidence sobering. If this person is in fact alive, it is truly a miracle... Especially considering that no one - from the cops, to the fire department, to the damn paramedics, hastened to save her.

. . .

I'm finding it hard to sleep tonight. My thoughts are with her family.

PS
If anyone reads this and has updates, feel free to tweet them at me, or post them here. Also, if anyone knows what became of the dog, I'd love to hear about it.

UPDATE: (Tues 10:53am)
According to CBS News, the driver of the Mazda is in moderate condition -- she made it through the crash with a fractured neck and broken pelvis. The driver suspected of DUI has been identified -- Edgar Angarita, 45, who is being charged with felony evading. He's lucky that's ALL.

This is SO beyond my Bedazzling capabilities

2011-01-16T22:50:00.001-08:00

I will die if I cannot have this dress...

Picture courtesy of JustJared

BEHOLD OLIVIA WILDE IN ALL HER GOLDEN GLOBE GLORY!

I like fashion -- I mean, I do have girl parts, after all -- but it's not all that often that I fall in LAFS (love at first sight) with a particular frock. This, however, is no dress from Windsor.*

*(aka where I bought at least one of my prom dresses some 10-odd years ago)

Hell, it's not even my usual fave off-the-rack designer, BCBGMaxAzria.

No. Olivia Wilde's gown is mouthwatering, chocolate perfection. The Marchesca Gods have gratuitously smiled back upon themselves, and the only thing that could make this dress fly any higher on my personal Pedestal of Fashion Greatness would be if it had hidden pockets in the sides. Cause you all know I loooooove me some fancy dress pockets.

But pockets or no pockets -- I want to have BABIES with this dress. Luscious, sparkly, molasses colored babies. I mean just look at it. LOOKIT!!!!

Picture courtesy of The Huffington Post

Hey, YOU with the catatonic stare & germy hands. Do not touch that dress! IWILLCUTYOU!

::ahem:: Sorry. I just lost my mind for a second. Done now.

The crystals! The sequins! The tulle! I think I died and went to fairy-princess-Barbie-doll heaven. Indeed, this truly *is* a ballgown fit for a Princess. A Princess with money to burn.

...So which one of you is gonna make mama her knock-off, hmm?

I will pay you back in chocolate-sequined-covered babies. Or perhaps just chocolate.* Your call, really.

*(I have been known to make some RIDICULOUSLY GOOD chocolate fudge brownies with sea salt and homemade caramel sauce. Ask Justin.)

PS
Yes, I did see her 4-5" solid gold spiked heels under her ballgown (not pictured here), and I wasn't in love. Sorry, Christian Louboutin. I still love your other shoes, though...

What is this, a school for ANTS??

2010-12-12T23:31:00.000-08:00

I feel it's only fair to warn you, dear reader, in advance: I'm not feeling very funny tonight. Instead, I'm waxing thoughtful -- which is not to be confused with sad/angry/mad/depressed. If you're on board, great! Read on! If not, I suggest you go here, here, or even here. If you stay, I can only promise you one Funny per this entry.

And here it is! A picture of a cat dressed like a chicken. *LOLOLZZZ!!*
. . .

You're sticking with me? Good for you! Cause I have a question... Based on a scale of 1-10, which of these sounds best: a 4 or a 5? A 7 or a 9? The natural reaction and the obvious choice is to pick the highest of all the numbers available to you, right? And if these numbers were attributable to conquests at a bar, it might be forgivable to guzzle one-too-many shots of Patron and go home for the night with someone subjectively labeled a '4' or a '5.' All in good fun, no one gets hurt, ha ha ha ha. ...But what if I told you that these numbers pertained to schools, and the 1-10 score essentially rates each school based on their cumulative test scores, adjusted for each state and student population?

Sheds a different light on things, does it not? Suddenly, the preference for a '9,' but the settling for a '4' or '5' isn't ok. We're no longer talking about a one night stand with a barmaid -- we're talking about the fate of our children.

I realize the comparison might be a little crude, but you'll have to forgive me; I went to a '4' school. ...And a '5' and eventually a '9.' (For the record, Justin spent all four years of his upper education at Trinity High School, a solid '7' -- bless his heart.)

From GreatSchools.org...

The test results for all schools are sorted from low to high and divided into deciles, or 10% portions. The bottom 10% of schools get a rating of 1, the next 10% get a 2, on up to 10, which indicates the school's result is in the top 10%. If there are several identical values that overlap from one rating decile to another, they are given the higher rating.

Well isn't that something. To get a '4,' is to say that your school ranks in the bottom 40% of schools relative to your state/county/city. And when you live in L.A. -- a veritable BASTION of scholastic aptitude -- to get a '4' relative to other schools in the LAUSD, or even in the state of CA, is to basically be illiterate and completely dyscalculic.

This is where I spent 9th grade. At Birmingham High School, in Van Nuys, CA.

*Birmingham High circa 1998, via the Tomahawk yearbook*

It should be noted that in the picture below and to the right, you may notice some numbers written below my laughingly awkward 9th grade photo...

This handwriting is the work of my mother, who liked to write in my yearbooks and remind me of how proud she was and how much she loved me. This particular year, she decided to do it right under my photo. And in pager code.

But I digress...

My 9th grade year was spent in the J-Magnet, which was a somewhat separate entity that operated as an incorporated part of Birmingham High School. When not taking core magnet classes, however, I was mainstreamed into the main BHS population (quelle horror).

Birmingham is in fact, my '4' school. But are you surprised? I mean, the the 4-year graduation rate is under 50%.

If you read the article (and I encourage you to), you'll discover that a significant portion of Birmingham students start out there and quickly realize they're in a so-called "drop-out factory." So they do what they can to get out; some give up and drop out, yes, but it turns out a lot of BHS freshman do what I did: wake up, smell the coffee, and transfer elsewhere.

Some things have changed since the time that I attended, however. In 2009, Birmingham left the LAUSD and formed an independent public charter, and the J-magnet broke away from BHS and has since become it's very own independent school (an '8!'): the Daniel Pearl Magnet High School. Though the Daniel Pearl kids now have their own campus (adjacent to Birmingham), it's not a totally symbiotic separation. DPMHS may have smart kids, but there are simply not enough of them. Without the Birmingham affiliation, the new school is suffering from under-enrollment and heavy teacher displacement. Birmingham's had a hard time too, because without the Daniel Pearl kids to provide a much-needed boost, Birmingham's test scores have dropped significantly since the journalism magnet separated.

For those of you who are wondering what brought on this whole train of thought in the first place... J and I were watching 'Waiting for Superman' earlier tonight, and though we only got half-way through it (J has a cold and got sleepy -- send him love and lots of baked goods), I was appalled. Don't get me wrong, I've always been well-aware of how flawed our nation's schools are -- '4' school! -- but to hear and see just HOW BAD it really is... Here in L.A., in D.C., in the South, everywhere... It's just shockingly egregious. Really, there's no other word for it: the state of our school system and all of the bureaucracy around it; it's just egregious.*

*Incidentally, I used the word 'egregious' in a 5th grade classroom game of Hangman, and got chastised for using a word no one else could possibly guess. And it was a *private* school. If I could speak with my 5th grade teacher today, I would tell her she should teach the rest of her students what it means, thus negating the issue and better educating the rest of the class.

Regardless of whatever impact my 'lost year' at Birmingham may have had on me (for the record, I made a few great friends whom I still see/love - academics be damned!), my story has a very happy ending... I was lucky enough to successfully complete a School of Choice application and ended up attending Santa Susana High School in Simi Valley.

Notice how we're all happy and theatre-y?

Santa Susana was the best thing that ever happened to me. The school was conceived as a performing arts / technology magnet, and when I enrolled the campus had recently been converted from a junior high, and had only been in existence for about a year. It was small -- serving around 800-900 kids -- and there was LOADS of personal attention. Unlike matriculating at Birmingham, where you were TRULY just a number to most of the teachers, and practically all of the administration, at Santa Su everyone knew your name. And they cared.

I haven't seen the rest of Superman yet, but so far one thing is abundantly clear: kids do better in schools where the parents, teachers, administrators, unions, and district personnel (a) work together for the greater good and (b) CARE ABOUT EACH STUDENT INDIVIDUALLY MORE THAN THEY DO THE BOTTOM LINE.

Sorry for the scream-y caps, but I felt it important enough to shout. A note to parents out there: you can live in a great area and enjoy above-average socioeconomic status (Encino, anyone?) but that won't make any difference if the school you send your kids to sucks. And, evidently, schools can suck in any neighborhood -- black, white, hispanic, rich, poor, or middle class. (Though, unfairly, they are much MORE likely to suck in areas that are poor.)

For comparison purposes, let's look at these school's Academic Performance Index scores...
Birmingham (Encino/Lake Balboa area): 653
Chatsworth High (where I attended 1 semester of preemptive summer school): 717
Daniel Pearl Magnet (Encino/Lake Balboa): 776
Santa Su (Simi Valley): 838

That's right, 838. And it's not because of the location, or more money (SVUSD schoolteachers actually get paid LESS on average, than a starting teacher in the LAUSD). It's because they're dedicated to their school, their students, and the snowball effect all of their current hard work will have in these kids' future lives. There's a reason why it's one of a handful of schools to earn the distinction of being a California Distinguished School. If only all schools (and really, all kids) should be so lucky to have the opportunity.

I wish I had a moral to this story, or a neat way to solve the problem of how we should fix our schools... But I don't. I can only tell you what I, as a daughter of a teacher who's experienced three different types of education (9 years private school, 1 yr public school (LAUSD), and 3 yrs at a public/independent magnet) would do, if I had children. I think I'll sum it up in 5 steps:

KRISSY'S 3:30AM PLAN TO HELP HER AS-YET NONEXISTENT CHILDREN STAY IN & LIKE SCHOOL (AND DO WELL TOO)!

1) Stay OUT of the LAUSD at all costs. Unless it's an amazing charter school.
2) Figure out what my kid is interested in, and *play to that.* Trust me, it helps when (as a student), you're actually interested in what you're learning. I'd pick a public magnet that caters to my daughter's particular interest over paying for a private school (which academically will yield close to the same results, actually) any day. If they're interested, they'll want to learn.
3) Become an involved parent. The best schools - regardless of status or location - are the ones that have a super-involved community behind them. Roll up your sleeves and prepare to do lots of fund-raising bake sales, hold tutor parties on the weekends, etc.
4) Listen to my child. If they say they "don't like school," chances are they don't like something about wherever it is they're attending. Either the teacher is bad (and yes, sometimes they are), the material seems too hard, or someone's picking on them. Listen to them. Work with them, and do EVERYTHING in your power to make it easier/better for them, so (again), they'll like school and want to learn.
5) If the solutions to #4 fail, try another school. There's no shame in admitting that something's not working and going somewhere else -- even if it's less convenient for the parent. I did it after 9th grade, and it was the best decision I ever made.
*A huge tip of the hat to my mom, for driving me all over the valley (15 miles plus!) in order to always cater to my best interest. :)

Thanks for sticking with me, folks. That took over three hours to write. Three hours!! Oy vey. To reward you all for making it to the end (cause I barely did!), here's one more Funny. You're welcome.

Merry Christmas, Here's a Job!

2010-12-08T22:56:00.001-08:00

Ahh... Smell that? That is the smell of success. It smells vaguely like garlic salt.

After months of enduring unemployment, borderline-poverty, illness, and the eventual Great Sadness of the Decade, we've finally caught a break: J has a new job.

If we were both women / possibly sisters and had a trampoline, we'd be doing this.

Does this make everything all better? Hardly. But it's a start. A HELLUVA start. A new start, hopefully, that will no longer entail the possibility of having to put all of our crap in storage and move in (e.g. crash on the sofa) with my mom and her terrier in a 1bd apartment-turned-condo some 35 miles away from our current location. Cause, y'know, that would've gone splendidly.

Above all else, I'm grateful for J. He's being rewarded for his patience, perseverance, ability to handle inordinate stress and pressure, and intelligence. I couldn't be more proud of / happy for him.

This cat is also quite happy and proud. Rainbow pride!

Now that I've gotten the 'pride' emotion out of my system, let's delve into the next one in line, shall we? I call it 'grelief.' A mixture of the words 'greed,' and 'relief,' it's designed to encompass the messy emotions associated with being able to resume a certain lifestyle.
.......(i.e.).......

'I can get my HAIR DONE and go to TARGET and we can MOVE! and EAT OUT and I CAN GO TO TARGET, and we can send Maggie to the GROOMER and I can get my CAR FIXED, and ICANGOTOTARGET!!!!'

Ohh, Confessions of a Shopaholic. The Sophie Kinsella book series is so superior to the movie. Sorry, Isla Fisher.

I realize that I'm jumping off the deep end here and making it seem like we'll now be rich and famous and go swimming in all of our Target purchases. Or if not, that we'll at least be firmly back in the middle class. To insinuate as much would be incorrect; we're definitely still flying by the seat of our pants (in coach), and we won't be buying anything extravagant in the near future -- Christmas is still very much canceled (and we won't be flying back East). But hey, I'm just happy that I can pay my monthly medical premium now... Ten days late. Oh well. Suck it, Health Net*.

*Who just raised my rates. Again.

Goodbye

2010-11-30T23:17:00.000-08:00

I am heartbroken. Miserable. Wretched. And the worst part is I feel like I'll never be happy again.

J's and my beloved dog, Kiley, died today. It hurts to even write that... As if it makes it more real than it already is. I said this on Facebook and I'll say it again: today is the worst day of my life.

For those of you who never got to know Kiley: I'm sorry. You truly missed out. For he was the most gentle, sweet, blindly kind, loyal and loving being you could ever come across. I say "being" because he was so much more than a "dog." Rather, to those who knew him, he was a kindred spirit; gentle and happy, intuitive and intelligent, and coincidentally covered in fur. He was my first baby. And I loved him more than life.

Kiley and I had a rather auspicious start... On March 4th, 2003 (my mom's birthday), I found Kiley running around by himself -- dragging a heavy, red leash -- alone in the rain, in the dark, scared and unsure... Traipsing around the gate of my mother's apartment complex in Chatsworth. I tried to stop traffic; to follow him... Only to be brutally rebuffed by drivers who stopped only long enough to ask 'is that your dog?' and upon being told 'no, but I'm trying to help him,' they split. Their help (or lack thereof) was of little or no consequence, however... He refused to come to me. Alas, my first attempt at saving this poor, sweet, lonely dog ended in defeat.

Dejectedly, I parked my car and headed upstairs to my mom's flat to explain to her what had just transpired. After a quick exchange of cards, hugs and flowers for her birthday, I relegated myself to my post by her balcony widow, looking out for the little black baby dog I'd seen earlier. Not five minutes later, he reappeared, attempting to be coaxed by a pair of strange women. Not having appropriate footwear for the purpose of saving a dog, I borrowed a pair of my mother's tennis shoes (two-sizes-too-small), and grabbed a piece of a muffin from a Starbucks pastry bag that my mom had yet to eat.

In a flash, I dragged my mom downstairs and told her her we should split up in opposite directions, so as to have better odds of running into the lone stray. We did, and as luck would have it, I ran into him first. I approached him slowly and methodically... Reaching out with the muffin and cooing sweet, reassuring words all the while. But he wasn't an easy sell. Instead, he took off in the opposite direction, forcing me to chase him down for a quarter of a mile, in the rain. Yep. He made me work for it.

Eventually, I cornered him in a remote area of the complex, and (in an effort to be as non-threatening as possible), sat down in a puddle on the concrete. I held out the muffin. "Come here, boy... That's a good boy. Come here, sweetie." I coddled and cooed, but he wouldn't come. This boy did NOT want my muffin. He did, however, come close enough for me to eventually grab his leash he'd been dragging. And as soon as I did take it, he became a different dog: attentive and almost confident. He let me take him all the way back to the front of the building where my mom was waiting. She was shocked I'd even found him, much less brought him back. Together, we went upstairs.

Over the course of the next few days/weeks/months, I discovered what he was all about: he had a microchip put there by LA Animal Services but had been abandoned by his previous owners... Abused, malnourished, neglected, left for dead. ...You name it, and that was his history. In fact, upon being notified (via the microchip contact information), his previous "owners" didn't even know he'd been missing. It had been four days. Upon receiving the call, the "owners" hung up on the LAAS officer. Period. Done. Couldn't care less about their dog. So I (gratefully) took him home.

What ensued over the next seven-and-a-half years can't even be described as a "beautiful friendship," for it was more than that. Some people called us Besties. Some called us Soulmates. I describe it as the purest, most unconditional love I have ever known. Kiley and I could speak without saying a word. We could exchange a mere look and feel mutually loved and comforted. We both spent our formative years in dysfunctional relationships... He with his previous owners, and me with my dad. And though we weren't part of the same species, we found a special comfort within each other. And once J came into the picture, he became the center of both of our worlds. There was nothing we wouldn't do for him... Granted, he was always an incredibly easygoing dog with regards to 'doggie demands' (so our job was easy), but truly, he was our Prince. And he earned that title every day with his undying devotion, loyalty, and unconditional love.

People have patted me on the back over the years for 'saving him.' But really, he saved me. He saved me from feeling alone in the universe, unloved, and without purpose. And truly, that's what he gave me (among many other things): Purpose. He gave me a reason to get up in the morning, to come home and night, and to smile when all else in my word seemed lost. He was my Raison d'etre. And now he's gone.

It's worth noting that Kiley was sick at several times throughout his life with us: an infection here, Demodetic Mange there, stitches-due-to-Maggie-biting-him-in-the face half a dozen times... But nothing held a candle to what we went through this year.

When Kiley first got sick back in September, we were optimistic enough to believe it was an infection. After a round of antibiotics he seemed better -- and though we still took it easy with him, we thought we were out of the woods. ...We were wrong.

As I've consistently worked 5-6 days a week over the last few months, J spent the majority of time with him. He watched our baby -- our 1st baby -- go from robust to thin, from clear to bleary-eyed, from hopeful to listless. After a battery of tests, a 4-day hospital stay, and eventually an ultrasound, we were told our 12-year-old dog had a condition called Gallbaldder Mucocele. For many dogs in this position, surgery is an option. For Kiley, it was not, due to a combination of age and weight loss / frailty (he went from 65 to 43 lbs over the course of the illness). At the time, we were just so thrilled to hear that it wasn't liver cancer -- as we had feared -- that we were ready to hit this head on. So we went at it with a vengeance. Age and circumstance be damned!

Our doctor prescribed no less than six medications for Kiley, which we administered to him twice a day. That's a lot of pills. Still, he was such a trooper... After the hospital stay (wherein he only ate a quarter-can of food over the course of about a week), he was weak and thin. J and I knew we were facing an uphill battle. ...But we stayed with it. J painstakingly fed him minimum of three times a day, administering pills and petting/comforting him all the while, and we paid what can only be described as a moderate car payment for the luxury of medication. And he seemed to improve. Over the course of about two weeks, he ate -- with a voracious appetite -- whatever we gave him. Yes, he was cold at night (we have him a hoodie), and yes, he was frail (we helped him up the stairs and gave him all the love in the world), but it seemed he had turned a corner.

And then last night happened. Last night, wherein he threw up every hour to hour-and-a-half (almost on the dot). For those of you who have followed our story, yes -- that was what happened when we last hospitalized him... But the difference all lay in his demeanor. In September, though he was sick, he was in good spirits. He wanted to go out, he danced when he could, and he lit up when we walked in the room. This time... This time was different. The fight was taken out of him; the life, the joy, the desire to go on... All gone. All that was left was our emaciated, sweet and endlessly loving, but tired, exhausted and helpless boy. It was time.

I'm not going to lie; this was - by FAR - the hardest decision J and I have ever had to make in either of our lives. It didn't help that right up until the end... Kiley still managed to wag his tail against the ground when I entered the exam room. It was the most bittersweet glimmer in an otherwise heavy, precipitous fog punctuated by heavy sighs, lethargy, slowed breathing, red eyes, and (ultimately) a failed liver. He was suffering... And we knew it. But trust me -- to actually go through with putting a dog to sleep is the worst moment of your life. To agree to it, sign the papers, and ultimately hold your dog's head as he lays and first struggles against and then succumbs to the shot is an overwhelming agony that I wouldn't wish upon anyone. It is the worst torture I can ever imagine. It's like visiting the 7th circle of Hell. And suddenly, it's over... And you're holding your lifeless dog in your arms, watching his eyes get all-the-more bloodshot while his whiskers unconsciously twitch (long after he's taken his last breath and his heart has stopped). And then (if you're me), you just lose it.

Even now -- a mere 12 hours (exactly) since his death, I know we did the right thing... Yet I feel like I let him down. Like he trusted me, and when I promised him it would be alright and that I would never let anything bad happen to him, I failed. I lied. It wasn't alright. He's no longer here.

A piece of me is forever gone. There is my hole in my heart that will not -- cannot -- be filled. The throbbing muscle has been ripped out of my chest, and I have no idea how to go and and continue living as if nothing ever happened. I mean, due to his various fears and insecurities, I unconsciously learned how to walk, talk, and move objects without disturbing him. Together, J and I became super-humanly adept at snapping to in the middle of the night (even out of a deep sleep) when we'd hear him pace, pant, or heave. Just because he's gone doen't mean I can retire the feeling from my subconcious. Instead, I channel the over-doting on poor Maggie, who has no idea why Mommy and Daddy can't stop crying.

Kiley was the first 'person' to ever love me unconditionally, and he was so much MORE than a dog. He was my Bestie. He was my Soulmate. He was the male canine (so as not to impugn Maggie) love of my life. I would have given him my liver, if I could.

Here's to Kiley. The most universally loved dog of all time. I love you.

Famous By Association

2010-06-28T22:39:00.000-07:00

The phone rang earlier today. It was Alexis. "Hey, Kris, do you watch So You Think You Can Dance?" "Yeah, why?" "Well d'you know Melinda?" "Oh yeah, she's one of Billy's students. The tapper. We're rooting for her!" "Huh. Well do you remember her doing A CHORUS LINE WITH US??"

dot.

dot dot.

dot dot DOT.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure she was in Chorus Line with us. But she was just really little back then." "Like how little? Wait... was she the little brunette 15-year old?" "Yeah! I think so!" "OMG. THAT SAME MELINDA IS SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE MELINDA??"

Fast forward to some hasty googling, and lo and behold! Here she is, in all her 2001 glory:

YOUNG ARTISTS ENSEMBLE'S A CHORUS LINE - 2001

Crazy. If she wins, she'll get to go on Entertainment Tonight and the ilk, and they'll have one of those 'Behind the ~~Music~~ Dance Star' segments, and this picture will crop up, and I'll point at the screen while simultaneously yelling 'I knew her! I *danced with* her! THERE'S A PICTURE TO PROVE IT!!!'

Then I will sell a story to the Enquirer about how sweet little Melinda is really dating Colin Farrell on the sly, and since I can be billed as an old friend (aka 'reliable source') everyone will believe it. It will all go according to plan until and unless you were to ever actually meet her. Then you would know she's way too sweet/good for him and that I lied through my new veneers that the Enquirer bought me. Oh well.

Good on her. Little Melinda was always a good dancer and now she's done well for herself. This is, by the way, further proof that if you grow up in Conejo theatre, you will eventually make a name for yourself in reality competition TV -- a genre blazed by our very own Kamahni Huck, Delaney Gibson, Adam Lambert & Katharine McPhee.

So who's up to audition for Big Brother with me...? Again.

PS
Now having watched the full episode, I will still vote for Melinda... But AMY AMY AMY (with Kent and Courtney) was the best number of the night. Loved it.

Feeling Gleeful...

2010-04-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

Hello, my name is Krissy MacQueen [Winters], and I aspire to be an underdog. No really, I do.

Confused? Let me explain.... Cause this is serious. Like, potentially life-changing stuff.

...No, I'm not pregnant.

I am, however, vying for the chance to do something so spectacularly huge that it has the potential to make my life all sunshine and rainbows. And gold stars... So, here it is. My one and only plea -- for the love of Matthew Morrison -- vote for me to be on the best show of all time, Glee!

For those of you who didn't know me between the ages of 14-19, let me fill you in on what you missed: I was one of those kids. A sheer, unadulterated choir nerd / dance junkie / drama queen / musical-theatre-obsessed Gleek. ...Yeah, so I was essentially the same person I am now. Only smaller and without laugh lines. I digress.

To say that FOX's Little Show That Could strikes a chord with me (and most people I know) is an understatement. I love that show like a fat kid loves cake. From the very first episode, I've fantasized about getting to be one of the McKinley High kids... And now, I actually have a chance -- a slim one, but a chance nonetheless.

That's where YOU come in! Yes! *You!* Be a part of history!!

In case you haven't heard, the producers of Glee are holding a nationwide casting call on MySpace. Yep, MySpace. Memba that place of wonderment? Well if you don't, that's ok. I've figured out a way for you to help me anyway. (See the bottom of this entry.)

Basically, the premise of the audition is as follows: be between the ages of 16-26, be a member of MySpace, upload a <1 minute monologue and a short musical audition (singing a song from a limited pre-set list), and sit back and rake in the gold stars. Yep -- GOLD STARS!! Ahh, and thus enters the part of the equation wherein you shower me with enough gold stars to sew together a 2nd hideously ugly twinsie dress for Ashley.

Umm... sorry, Mary-Kate.

Anyway, while a person's accumulation of gold stars doesn't appear to be a deciding factor in whether they win the contest, it certainly provides exposure and a MUCH needed boost for the entrant (me!) when it comes time for the producers to review select audition videos. Basically, in order to not get lost in the abyss and have any real chance at this, I need you to give me many, many gold stars, OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

Ohh unlimited voting... How I love/hate thee.

So there it is. Do me this favor, this one small favor (repeated as many times as you can, ad nauseam) and I will be forever grateful. And I may or may not give you a kidney, should your need for one ever arise. But c'mon, Votes for Krissy on Glee for a kidney (or the slightish promise of one)? SUCH A DEAL!!

Do it. Root for the underdog. Because truly in a situation such as this -- less than 4 days to get as many votes as possible when other people who auditioned AFTER me have tens of thousands of gold stars -- I am the underdog... Which makes me fit in with the Glee kids all the more. But actually, I'm not even there yet! At this point, I'm not even a full-fledged underdog. I'm like a sub-underdog. An aspiring underdog. Yes...

So now that I've convinced you to help me (and sort of insinuated there might be an eventual kidney in it for you), let me tell you how to go about it:

IF YOU HAVE A MYSPACE LOGIN:

Open up a new tab, sign in, click here, pause the 'featured video,' and click that 'Give a Gold Star' button like you're in a race to get carpel tunnel. Then convince your network of friends to do the same, either by being obnoxious and berating them with messages, tweets and Facebook status updates (there might be TWO kidneys in it for you then! I'll figure out where to get the 2nd one once I get on the show and make some money). Or, simply ask nicely and show them this post if it helps. :)

IF YOU *DON'T* HAVE A MYSPACE LOGIN:

Use the one I created for you, specifically for the occasion! Just open a new tab and go to MySpace.com

Log In: 'krissyonglee@aol.com'
Password: g1eefu1
(Note that those are number ones in the word 'gleeful,' replacing the 'l' consonants.)

Then refer to my link: http://www.myspace.com/gleeauditions?link=4723057 ...Click 'give a gold star' repeatedly!! And don't forget to spread the word. But please don't promise them kidneys too -- those are only for my first-degree Gold Star Anointers.

Also, join my Facebook Army of friends who support the Campaign to Get Krissy on Glee!

Thank you all for your time, and with putting up with the byproduct of marketing oneself: obnoxiousness. Once this is over, I promise to reduce my obnoxious quotient by at least 45.3% (79%+ if I get on the show)! I really can't thank you all enough in the meantime -- for putting up with me, for helping, for your support, and most of all just for being my friend. I truly love you.

Peace, Love, and Glee,
Krissy

16 26 Candles...

2009-10-27T15:43:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-06-30T23:18:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-29T23:59:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-22T00:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-19T21:12:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-29T17:50:00.000-07:00

...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

2009-03-24T21:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-15T23:42:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-03-11T22:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-06T11:46:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-24T23:15:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-02-22T00:07:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-20T12:42:00.001-08:00

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

2009-02-19T20:25:00.000-08:00

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.crackis~~whack~~archerfarmskettlecorn.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

2009-02-17T17:07:00.000-08:00

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."

2009-02-16T19:14:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-02-16T18:20:00.000-08:00

(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.

2009-02-15T19:38:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-02-12T22:24:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-02-12T11:28:00.000-08:00

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.

My Birthday Wish

2008-10-24T10:01:00.000-07:00

In less than two weeks, I will be 25 years old. A quarter of my life hereby passed, provided all goes well and I make it to 100. Some of you have asked me what I want for my birthday this year. I'm touched by your love and generosity; that you would even think of me in times of such upheaval and economic turmoil is touching. But none of us are rich, so save your money.

That being said, there is one thing I would like for my birthday.

I want this man to be President.

In addition to being my date of birth, November 4th is Election Day. Though I know I'm largely preaching to the California choir, I want to take a minute to ask you all to bestow upon me the best birthday present you could possibly give -- your vote for Barack Obama.

Change. It's a word that both nominees have fought over to claim as their own. But John McCain is not change. He is at the center of the very same corrupt Washington world he portends to want to amend. Maybe back in 2000 he was a maverick -- not to me, but to some of you, perhaps. But now he is one of Them -- a puppet of the Republican attack machine which turns everything it touches to pure and unadulterated shit.

Don't get me wrong -- I don't want you to vote for Obama just because he's a Democrat. Hell, I don't even want you to vote for him because I want you to. If you care about your future... Your children's future... The environment, the economy, women's rights, health care, the working classes, and our place in this world (yes, we are a member of a global community -- or at least we used to be), then you should vote for Barack Obama. Even if you're "rich," and make over $250,000 a year or own a business and take issue with the idea of taxes. Remember that individually we are but small parts of a bigger picture -- I am just as responsible for contributing to this country (by way of taxes, volunteering, voting) as you are. If we only think of ourselves as being in a microcosm then we are doomed to failure.

Most of you have met my mom over the years. And even if you haven't, I've made no secret of the fact that she is far and away my best friend. As much as I love my friends, there are plenty of times when I choose to hang out with her instead of keeping a social schedule. What you may not know is that my mom is one of the millions of Americans without health insurance. The divorce hit her hard and cost her everything. Though she owns her one bedroom condo, the bottoming out of the housing market has essentially trapped her. She has no job (and at her age, very few prospects) and no means of income other than my dad's measly $1K/month alimony.

Health-wise, she has her good days and bad days -- but the last few years have been tough on her. She rarely sleeps more than four hours a night and eats even less. I'm guessing she weighs no more than 90lbs. For all we know, she could have cancer and be dying... But without health insurance she can't just go and visit a doctor -- much less receive any treatment. She hasn't had a routine mammogram or doctor's exam for at least three years. She complains that her teeth hurt all the time, and she is very often in pain in her hip. Yet in this incredibly rich country she cannot see a doctor. So instead we hope for the best, and I do everything I can to help her out and have happy days... But I have an incredibly overwhelming feeling that things are not okay with her, and my hands are tied to help. If John McCain is elected president, our hands will be further tied -- as even with the so-called "5K credit," no one will insure her; she's almost 60, with a history of lumps and bumps and other small maladies that will make her undesirable to insurance companies.
...If you don't believe me, here's some food for thought -- at 24 years old, I am uninsurable. Why? Because I was hospitalized once almost four years ago for 6 days. Even though I am an otherwise healthy young woman, insurance companies have labeled me a risk -- even Kaiser Permanente -- the paragon of cheap and affordable we'll-take-anyone health insurance, has denied me. If it weren't for my membership in the California Farm Bureau (that I joined *specifically* for the access to health insurance), I too would have no health coverage. Luckily, as a daughter of a naturally-born Canadian citizen, I am automatically one as well. So if I ever have a catastrophic illness or debilitating injury, I could fly up North and receive the proper care that I would otherwise be unable to afford. What an incredible commentary it is on our country that I would have to leave the place I've lived in my whole life and cross the border if it came down to saving my life from a disease I couldn't afford to treat. Unfortunately, my mom has no such luxury. Neither does Justin, neither will our children, and as far as I know, neither do you. I hope you don't get sick.

Life is ephemeral. We have a short time on this planet to make our mark and hopefully leave it a better place than how it was when we were born. I am worried for our future. I have actively considered putting off having children (or adopting) unless this country changes for the better. I will not bring children into a world where the top 2% of the richest people own everything while millions of others live in relative squalor. I will not bring children into a world where they cannot breathe the air and drink the water. I will not bring children into a world where I have to worry about everything they put into their mouths -- as thanks to Republican deregulation their bottle may have BPA, their toys may have lead paint, and their food may be tainted by E-Coli. I will not bring children into the world when I live in a country whose President believes that if we have to be in a 100 year war, then so be it. I will not.

But there is hope.

Like many of you, I have the audacity to hope. To dream. To commit myself to a cause of monumental importance. I will do anything and everything in my power to get Barack Obama elected the 44th President of the United States. I am committed to Change -- and so is he.

I am committed to educating everyone I meet.
I am committed to standing up for those who can't do it for themselves.
I am committed to doing my part; recycling & giving time and money to charity.
I am committed to good journalism and reporting what is true and important.
I am committed to leaving this world better than how I found it.
I am committed to my mother.

I am committed to hope.

So please, no presents this year. Take an hour off of work, stand in line, and let your voice be heard by voting. Do this one thing for me. For my mom, for our children and for our future. Do it for yourself... Because no one else will.

Happy Birthday to me, indeed.

--K.

People...

2008-09-26T15:40:00.000-07:00

...And you thought I forgot about you.

Silly blog, writing is for those with time! Alas, I have none of that. Even so, I've been inspired to blow the dust off from this little project and try again. And the source of that inspiration, dear friends, is a talented writer who goes by Pudd'nhead Nathan.

Much like your very own Princesse Désireuse, Nathan hates people. Not persons, but y'know, *people.* Groups of them. Crowds of oxygen-breathing, polluting, loud, ugly, sweaty, red-faced people.

I couldn't be more in line with his sentiments.

Though I've always maintained that I'm a person person, I am so NOT a people person. Do I want the best for humanity? Yes. Do I live out my life in a way that works towards a greater good? Yes; I recycle at home and for my workplace, I donate time and money to charity (when it permits), and if I could I would rescue every dog in 250 miles and put them in good homes or into a self-built rescue ranch full of love, sunshine, and grass to poop on. ...Ok, that last one may not be about humanity, but the point is my heart's in the right place.

But people. Ugh... PEOPLE! Call me an elitist, but I think my general distaste for my human compatriots comes out of my lack of patience for their collective stupidity. And they are -- by and large we Americans are a society of over-spending, overeating, selfish, highly uneducated fools. I feel like if I was a student in a 5th grade classroom with the assignment to answer the writing prompt "People are ______" I would fill in "just as they are on the 405 freeway at rush hour on a 100 degree day with your windows up and no air conditioning." Stifling. Obnoxious. Drones. A sea of stupid, fat sheep in 'roided out SUVs.

But to follow in the footsteps of dear Nathan (because that's another thing "people" inherently are -- followers), I've compiled a list of who I hate specifically.

Republicans. They pretty much encompass all I hate about humanity.
Religious zealots who piously tell me I'm going to hell for being an atheist whilst their preacher rapes 13 year old boys behind the altar.
Advertisers and mass marketers, who have perpetuated an unattainable (by most) image of beauty that has retarded ours and our daughters self esteem, body image, and emotional depth.
Cops who like to write me tickets for things like turning right into shopping plazas between the hours of 3-5pm, just to fill their quotas.
Students who open their big mouths in class over and over again, despite being totally empty-headed.
Students who NEVER open their mouth, or -worse- are called upon, don't know WHAT the hell to say, and inspire the teacher to give a pop-quiz to the whole class.
People who talk just to hear themselves talk.
Illiterate folk. Aka people who (despite having received the same education as I have) still can't read or write well. Or who think I'm some sort of scholarly geek cause I know "big" words like "superfluous." Or "cacophony."
Animal abusers. This is right up there with Republicans, in my book. I'd like to tie them up with choke chains and put them in the heat and cold alone for 24 hours a day and see how well they do.
Misplaced elitists who act like because my peers are young/poor, they're automatically smarter or higher up on the class ladder. Most assuredly, they are not.
Any and everyone who doesn't care enough about the future of this planet to do even the most simple things like recycle or replace an old lightbulb.
Wal-Mart.
People who don't say thank you after you do something nice -- or even something simple, like holding open a door for them.
Representatives from credit card companies who prey upon young, mathematically challenged college students who are poor and thrilled to be "pre-approved!" for anything.
Slow drivers in the fast lane. Also drivers who go the *exact* speed limit in the fast lane.
Bureaucrats -- at schools, in the government, in health care, everywhere. They're like an endless supply of double-sided red tape dispensers.
People waiting in line. If there's space in front of you -- whether you're in you car, holding the handle of a shopping cart or are unencumbered, SCOOCH THE DAMN LINE UP.
Irresponsible members of the media. Note I didn't say "journalists," because in order to qualify as a journalist, you're supposed to uphold your integrity, have a sense of ethics, and always be in search of the truth -- bias be damned.
Men who take advantage of women emotionally, sexually, and financially... And women who allow or encourage it.
People who are easily "offended." I don't think I have ever used the term in relation to myself... I just don't get how people find that certain things occurring in every day life somehow "offend" their sensibilities (assuming they have any to begin with).
Sarah Palin.

Ok, now for something ridiculously fun to lighten the mood...

Dear Shirtless Dog Park Man...

2008-05-31T18:16:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry. I really hate to be the one to have to break it you. But...

*Dog Parks*

...plus...

*Fit-like-soft-serve shirtless man*

DO *NOT* MIX!!!!!!!

I mean really, dude. I know that you likely used to weigh over 300lbs and so you're really thrilled that you've lost the weight and all. Good for you! The fact that you hit the gym six days a week and have some muscles you'd like to show off (in spite of your still-slightly-soft center) is great. Kudos for you for working so hard. But honestly Keane -- can I call you Keane? -- do you hafta do it at the DOG PARK??

There are women! Children!! DOGS!!! You're just asking for Judo the Jindo to think you're a standing piece of turkey jerky. Or a huge snausage. Either way, it's bad news for you, buddy.

Please don't get me wrong; I'm sure you're a nice guy. After all, you took it upon yourself to schlep your dog to the dog park on a sunny day when you could be doing other things. Clearly, you are mensch. I send many a mazel your way, Keane.

Now put your damn shirt on.

That's all I ask.

Sincerely,
An Advocate of Appropriate Apparel

Boys Will Be Boys

2008-05-25T19:03:00.001-07:00

Alright boys, it's time to make a decision. And it's a toughie.

Do you want me...
Or the Xbox...

I know, I know. It's like asking Britney Spears to make the ultimate choice between frappuccinos and sugar-free Red Bulls. Impossible. Unthinkable. Inhumane.

Luckily, underneath my icy blue-eyed and pale skinned exterior, I do have a heart.
And so I shall happily help you with what may ultimately be the hardest decision of your young 20-something life.

VOILA! A handy dandy comparison list of Pros, with the presupposition that you will indeed choose the Xbox over having a girlfriend.

Reasons to pick the Xbox!

Bill Gates likes Xbox, and is a very successful man (or so I'm told).
It's cheaper and more convenient than finding something new and competitive to do every day (e.g. paintballing, pillowfighting, ATVing, mattress surfing. ...Ok mattress surfing may be cheaper but having to haul it out to yer pickup truck or Chevy Blazer ain't convenient).
You can do it in your underwear, with a beer in one hand and the controller in the other.
It can't leave you, talk back to you, or ask you to take out the garbage.
Vladamir Putin fully endorses Call of Duty 4.

Reasons to pick having a girlfriend!

Girlfriends will heal your paintball wounds, help pick the feathers out of your shoes when you go pillowfighting, and will drive you to the ER after mattress surfing.
Your Xbox will cheat on you with anyone who shows interest. Your girlfriend won't.
Good girlfriends will cook for you, while your Xbox will let you starve or subsist on cold pizza.
Xbox game points are not redeemable for sexual favors. Points with girlfriend are.
Would you rather have to fight aliens or fight off chicks? Yup, that's what I thought.

In conclusion, I suggest you pick me. Because I'm awesome. And flexible.

The Knot that binds. Or makes you crazy.

2008-05-22T11:32:00.000-07:00

Let it be said: The Knot makes me crazy.

Flowers! Cake! Photographer! Chocolate-Hazelnut-Biscotti-Vanilla Ice Sculpture! Of a swan!

Honestly, where do people get the money for a wedding? Does every bride's family have $40,000 to throw away on prosciutto-wrapped asparagus appetizers and a harpist? If so, they should be shot. Or at the very least, chastised for not giving that money to charity or using it constructively somehow.

When did weddings become less about the joining of two lives into one and more about how many acrobats one would need to aptly make the shape of the bride and groom's monogrammed initials?

I suppose it doesn't help that I live in Los Angeles, where the "average" wedding entails a couture gown and an ocean view. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm slightly jealous. Ok, more than slightly. I have an appreciation for the finer things in life; I know my 2-ply cashmere from my single ply, what order to use my silverware in, the virtues of used-brick and ivy, and that a trip to the Kentucky Derby requires a big, expensive, well-made hat.

Alas, the silver spoon in my mouth is actually made of stainless steel. And we got it at Pic-and-Save -- oh wait, Big Lots. Aaah, to grow up in Van Nuys. As such, I have to come to terms with the fact that if I am to have a wedding at all, it will have to be of the K-Mart variety.

Ahh, but wait! What about parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and other generous contributors? Well, here's how our familial wealth (or lack thereof) breaks down:

Mom = makes $12,000 a year in alimony. Uses credit cards to support herself.
Dad = makes a lot more, but is a douchebag who loves money more than anything.
Grandparents = people whom I have no real relationship with, on either side.
Aunts/Uncles = I only have two uncles, and I never see either of them.

And my future husband's family?

His mom = is living happily and simply on a little animal farm.
His dad = thrice divorced, took in his own father after his wife passed away last year.
His grandparents = retired, living simply month-to-month.
His extended family = live scattered around the country.

As for me... I'm graduating from University in the fall after 7 long years of simultaneously working and going to school full-time. In the meantime, I work for $12 an hour at a physically and emotionally demanding job that has nothing to do with my career path, which will hopefully be radio/TV related. I owe $5,000 on credit cards and am eligible for food stamps.

As for him... He pays most of the household bills because I'm not in a position to. As such, even though he has a great job as a television producer, he's kind of sucked dry. To boot, we have two lovely but pain-in-the-ass dogs who cost us an arm and a leg in ongoing vet bills. (If they're not pooping in the house and requiring an antibiotic, they're going crazy with separation anxiety and biting each other in the face. But anyway...)

We have no money. I have no time to be a DIY'r, and we're attending our friends' beach side violin-infused ceremonies at a rate of three times a year.

I think I may be going mad.