A Story

Working nights this week on the movie.

Get home at 4 a.m.

Grab all my crap out of my car.

Decide to clean the water bottles and useless paperwork out of my car in an effort to keep the mess from getting out of control.

Walk through my back gate.

Throw away water bottles and useless paperwork.

Walk up to my house.

Have no keys to get into my house.

Go back to my car.

Search through my purse for the key/credit card thing that my mom had AAA make for me for when I lock my keys in my car.

Have used this key so many times that it nearly brakes off the card when I try to unlock the door.

Must try 15 times before door finally unlocks.

Look throughout entire car for lost keys.

Cannot find them.

Want to cry.

But do not have the energy.

Contemplate sleeping in the car.

Realize I threw some stuff away.

Go to the garbage can, which is located in a pitch dark area.

Drag garbage can to small light on the ground.

Awaken every dog and pet bird in a ten mile radius with the dragging of the can.

Lay garbage can down.

Start pulling garbage out.

Spot keys on bottom of garbage can.

Must crawl in very large garbage can to retrieve keys.

Return garbage to can, tip can back up, excite the dogs and bird with my noise.

Trip over an unfortunately placed sprinkler head, and fall down while returning the can to its original location.

Start laughing hysterically, while dusting stale lettuce and dirt off my jacket.

The End.

I’ve Got Nothing

I have nothing funny to say today. Usually something funny happens during the day and I make a mental note to blog about it later. But there are now two things wrong with that practice: 1) Given my insane work schedule lately I haven’t had time to engage in anything funny and 2.) Even if I did engage in something funny I don’t have the mental acuity to make any sort of mental note about it.

Also, I fear that my sense of humor is becoming altered a bit. I’m surrounded only by other people who are severely sleep deprived and overly sun burnt. I’m assuming that the things we find humorous would not be nearly as entertaining to people whose brains are actually functioning properly. For instance, today I stole the entire tub of Laffy Taffy from the catering table and proceeded to read every one of their jokes (two laffy's per taffy) to a co-worker who also has a melted brain.

We were laughing so hard we attracted others to our ‘group o’ funny’ and they were only slightly put-off by the fact that we were hysterically laughing over, “What do you call a tick on the moon? A lunar-tick.” Ba dup bup baah! Thank you, thank you, we’ll be here all week. “What school do you go to to learn how to greet people?” someone guessed, “Hi School.” And she was right. You would think she had won Jeopardy, for as many high fives as she got. After, “What did the snail say while riding on the turtle’s back? Weeeeeee.” everyone was laughing. Hysterically. In that way you laugh and when someone asks you what you’re laughing about you say, “I really have no idea.” Picture 10 people in that state. Then picture someone directing them to the shaded area where they could find bottled waters and a moist towel to put on their foreheads.

When the wit and sublime humor of Laffy Taffy push you over into fits of laughter you have to question your funny meter and wonder if it too might be sun-damaged. So I fear that anything I write will only be funny if you stick your head in a microwave before reading it.

“Why did the golfer wear two pairs of pants?”

“Cause he had a hole in one.”

The popcorn setting of the microwave should be just enough to make this entire ramble absolutely HILARIOUS.

Kids’ Movies

I have a young cousin who I spend a lot of quality time with. I also spend a lot of not really that quality of time with her in many a movie theater. If there is a kid movie out, we’re seeing it. And we’re finishing the bag of popcorn before the movie even starts. (This talent is obviously genetic.)

I find these kids' movies quite amusing. Not only because of their storyline or fun songs, but also because they usually star some actor that I’ve seen previously in some profanity/nudity/violence laced project in the past. And it seems quite bizarre to me to now see them getting kicked in the groin and giving group hugs.

I just saw an ad for the DVD release of “Are We There Yet?”. Didja see this movie when it was out in the theaters? No? Well, you didn’t miss much. You missed kids puking and people falling and oh, yeah, you missed Ice Cube decide he wants to be warm and fuzzy. What the?

The whole time I was watching this movie I kept hearing Cube’s rap song, “Today I didn’t even have to use my A-K, I have to say it was a good day.” How on earth did we get from A-K’s to being head first into the sunroof of a spinning Escalade? Where did Cube go wrong? “Today I got my head stuck in an Escalade, I have to say I hope I’m getting paid.”

Then I was watching that ice skating movie with Some Teenage Actress and Kim Catrell. This was another one I was having trouble with. Kim Catrell will forever be Samantha from Sex in the City to me. I have seen every inch of her body in every possible contortion on that show. And now I’m supposed to buy her as a mean ice skating coach with a heart of gold? Please.

It took me the first three years of Sex and the City to stop thinking of her as the Mannequin from that movie ‘Mannequin’. Every time she came on the screen I started singing, “Take it through the good times, see it through the bad times, whatever it takes is what I’m gonna do!” God that was a great movie. Why don’t they make great crap movies like that anymore?

Probably because all the crap actors are too busy rehearsing their “very special moment” and icing their groin.

Cracked

So I have good news and bad news.

Good news: After 48 hours of pretty much doing nothing but sleeping I think I’ve finally caught up on my rest.

Bad news: It is now 12 a.m. on Sunday (well, Monday) and I’m not the least bit tired…which might make tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. a little unpleasant.

This has always been a problem for me - the whole planning for an early morning thing. I remember when I was a kid my parents would advise me at the end of summer to start getting up earlier the week before school started, so that I would be ready for the upcoming early mornings I was going to face. I never understood the point of doing that. Getting up early makes me miserable, why would I want to do it for any more days than absolutely necessary? Getting up early today because I have to get up early tomorrow makes about as much sense as getting a root canal today because I’m getting a root canal tomorrow.

Not that I’m getting a root canal tomorrow – I don’t have the time. I’m going to be too busy drinking energy drinks and trying to find a catering table to sleep under.

But one thing I do have time for tomorrow is getting my head cracked. Or something. Remember the vertigo I told you about a couple weeks ago? Wherein my brain felt like it was swimming in my head? Yeah, well, it’s still there. I got kicked in the head with a soccer ball twice in a soccer game awhile back and apparently that was enough to move the contents of my brain or ear or something out of whack. And the whole spinning thing is starting to get a bit old. My doctor gave me some motion sickness medicine. But since I’m not on a boat it’s not working quite as well as I’d hoped.

So apparently there is some sort of head cracking thing that can be done to fix the vertigo. My friend is a chiropractor so I asked her if she knew how to do this cracking thing - she being a certified cracker of all body parts. She said she could in fact crack me. So I went to her house, she checked my blood pressure (I have pretty much the lowest blood pressure one can have and still actually have a beating heart, I told you I was mellow), made me do the drunk walk with one foot in front of the other (I had no idea how drunk I was until I did that walk and nearly fell over), checked my feet, checked my tail bone, checked my spine and then cracked THE HELL out of my neck. Sweet Jesus that is not a comforting sound to be coming from the top of your spine.

But I’m still spinning. She said that I might have to get “adjusted” a few more times before it works. (I wonder if she can “adjust” my attitude as well – people have been telling me I need one of those for years) So basically she has to come crack me three times a week until my brain stops swimming.

That seems like a lot of work. I think I might just have someone kick me a couple more times in the head with a soccer ball. That might jar everything back into place, right? Plus it might knock me unconscious, which would give me a chance to catch up on my sleep – killing all sorts of birds with one ball.

Life Plan

I just got home from work. It’s 12:30 a.m. on a Friday night. Or Saturday morning, I guess. Today I went from being so hot that I was sticking my arms in a bucket of ice, to being so cold that I put a coroner costume on to stay warm. (FYI, coroners are very warm. And they have plenty of pockets, for body parts and stuff probably. Or in my case, plenty of pockets for Chips Ahoy cookies and Amp Energy Drinks.)

I worked 75 hours this week.

I missed Rob and Amber’s wedding on CBS.

And the season finale of LOST.

At one point I uttered the words, “Today I got to sleep in until 7 a.m.” Sleep in. Till 7 a.m.

My life plan seems to have gone dangerously off-course.

I am going to sleep now. I am taking out my hearing aides and if anyone attempts to wake me within the next 14 hours I will hack them to bits with the ax I stole from props.

Peace out.

Mickey D’s

We ran out of food the other night on the set so I ran to McDonald’s and ordered 30 double cheeseburgers. The woman at the register said, “Is that for here or to go?” I said, ‘blank stare’. Then I said, “For here. I’m really, really hungry. Oh, and is there any way I can purchase a new circulatory system off your value menu?”

As I stood watching the alarming speed at which McDonald’s is able to make 30 double cheeseburgers I also began surveying the restaurant. And I discovered one of the coolest inventions of our time. It is a cup holder/turner/filler crazy little robot thing. From what I could tell the drive-thru window guy puts a cup in the cup holder/turner/filler crazy little robot thing and the crazy little robot thing turns the cup to the right soda, fills it to the top of the cup, then returns it to the drive-thru guy. And you can put like 10 drink cups in it and it will just keep spinning and filling. Does this invention seem crazy complicated to anyone else? How does it know what soda to put in the cup? How does it know what size the cup is? And do you think it’s steady enough to hold my body weight, cause it looks like a fun ride.

Also, how much do I love that the display case on the register has a fake salad sitting next to a huge fake cinnamon roll? Because even though McDonald’s has been running a ridiculous amount of ads trying to convince you that they have somehow transformed into a health food store, let’s be honest – you didn’t come to MickyD’s for their produce selection. Even if you walk in the door with the intention of buying a salad there is no way you are actually going to purchase one. The obstacles are too great. All of your senses are bombarded at once and you become very weak. You smell the french fries, you see the cinnamon roll, you hear the beeping of the deep fryer – alerting you that deep fried goodness is ready for you to eat. Its rhythmic sound hypnotizes you into ordering the entire value menu: BEEP BEEP BEEP. MUST HAVE CARBS. BEEP BEEP BEEP. FRIES ARE GOOD. BEEP BEEP BEEP.

In other news, thanks to some more inventors who are finding a need and filling it, our french fry eating has just got a little easier. Or at least a little more organized. I was at Target the other day and in the car section, next to the cup holders for your car you can now find a French Fry Holder. I kid you friggin’ not. You are to clip the device to your dash and voila! your french fries are as close as your radio/phone/navigational system/PDA. Cause apparently the whole reaching into the bag for french fries was too much of an effort for the inventors of this product. I personally like the reaching maneuver. It adds a little bit of excitement to the eating, “Will I get a fry or a chicken mcnugget or perhaps a straw wrapper when I reach in here?” I just dip it in ketchup – it all tastes the same.

Once the fry holder inventors see the cup holder/turner/filler crazy little robot thing they are sure to invent something similar for the car dining experience. You will put the food on a crazy little robot thing and it will unwrap your food, open your mouth, put the food in and help you chew. It will be great. And it will effectively put an end to all that silly moving we’ve been doing. Start stocking up on those circulatory systems now – they’re going to sell out quick…

Entertained

Uhhh, I just tuned in for the confetti and tears portion of Idol. And all 500 million of you people who voted for that girl (actually just 7 teenage girls in Arkansas who have been speed dialing since last night) are smoking some of Bo’s crack. Cause that girl can’t sing for poo. She’s cute though. And that’s all Britney Spears needed, so maybe this girl will be okay. As long as she can master that hair whip thing Britney does she should be fine. I’m thinking that Blond Singer just choked on her last song, cause she was so emotional. Or because she was afraid of what may happen if one spark from that pyrotechnic effect landed on the gallon of hair spray covering her golden locks.

If Bo would have won he would have sung great, cause the stress of this situation would have failed in comparison to his nine drug arrests. After you’ve had a knee in the back of your head, pushing your face into gravel you tend to develop a higher tolerance for stress. He would have won, french kissed Paula, thrown Ryan Seacrest across the stage, lit a cigarette on the pyrotechnics and then stage dove into the crowd. But he would have crashed to the floor, because he’s teenage fan base would have already moved on to the next Super Hot Hotty.

In other pop culture news I haven’t seen Star Wars. Honestly I could give a poop about Star Wars. I know, I know, with my lack of both Star Wars and Idol enthusiasm it is a very good possibility that I will be deported. I’m sure there is something in the Patriot Act that would make my deportation legal.

You know what I did see this weekend? The musical The Lion King. I may be a theater dork but I’ll tell you one thing: George Lucas spent hundreds of millions of dollars and many years of his life trying to create the exact feeling that the audience gets during the first five minutes of Lion King. If you get the chance, go see it. Just the first five minutes. That’s all you need to renew your faith in entertainment. See if you can get some sort of discounted ticket. Go in. Watch the entire theater turn into a stage, watch the kids put down their hand held video games and stare in awe, take bets on whether the dude on the stilts is going to fall.

In fact, in the spirit of ‘From Justin to Kelly’ I think Disney should get to work on a new musical for Bo and Blond Singer. It could be a cross between Cops and Wizard of Oz. Blond Singer will hit the yellow brick road with her delinquent husband who is on the lam from the authorities. They will survive only on their love and the occasional cover song and dance number. I know it sounds like a crazy idea, but the storyline did wonders for Britney’s career – so it should work well for the Idols as well.

I smell Tony Award!!

Crunk!!!

**WARNING: This blog was written while under the influence of a dangerous combination of energy drinks, Doritos and Tootsie Rolls. This blog could either be brilliant or horrible. And at any given time my stomach or heart could explode, causing a halt in this dispatch. Thank you for your support during this difficult time.**

I don’t not want to talk about how few hours I am getting to sleep every night. And I do not want to talk about the fact that although I’m working 16 hours at one job I still need to come home and work on my freelance design projects because people need their stuff to be pretty, no matter how little sleep I’m getting. And I don’t want to talk about the consequences of mixing Doritos and Toostie Rolls in your stomach.

What I do want to talk about is how high I am off of an energy drink right now. Today on the set we had an energy drink called Crunk!!!. I think that’s how you spell it. I do know for sure that there were three exclamation points in the name. And I’m pretty sure anyone who drinks this beverage is guaranteed to develop at least one nervous twitch for every exclamation point.

Let me do a quick back story on my normal disposition. My normal disposition is like negative three exclamation points. Or maybe just “….…”. When I take care of my young cousin I limit the amount of sugar she eats, so I don’t have the Tasmanian Devil on my hands. But when I was a kid no matter how much sugar I ate my parents still had to come poke me with a stick every once in awhile to make sure I was still alive. So, basically I’m pretty mellow.

Caffeine doesn’t affect me much and I’ve never really tried energy drinks because mellow works for me. (Peer pressure was lost on me, “Wanna try some speed? It’s a great drug.” “I don’t go much over second gear, thanks though.”) But when you are sleep-deprived “mellow” can very quickly turn into “curled up comatose on top of the catering table”. So I started thinking maybe an energy drink would help me from napping on the rubbery chicken. Or it would at least give me the energy to move over to the more comfortable tray of mashed potatoes.

I started thinking this about the time I looked over and saw a case of Crunk!!! sitting on the table next to me. I picked up the drink and read the can to discover that Crunk!!! would revitalize me both mentally and physically. The name of the beverage made me a bit unsure, but I was quite sure that I could use some exclamation points in my brain – so I drank it. It tasted like a weird combination of apple juice and crack. After I finished the can I sat back and waited to be mentally revitalized. Sadly it did not happen. Or if it did happen then I must have started out reeeeeaaaaaaalllly unvital.

Since the initial Crunk!!! didn’t affect me I assumed it didn’t matter that all I could find to drink with dinner was another Crunk!!!. You know what they say about assuming. It will make a twitching - yet sleep deprived - Speedy Gonzales out of me, not you. Ay carumba.

I just got off the phone with my friend whom I nicknamed Chipper Jen. Cause she is uh, chipper as hell. The woman’s head could be on fire and she’d still find a way to be positive about it. And she’d still find a way to talk on and on about it too. Our normal conversations consist of her talking without spaces between her words and me throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment when she is forced to pause to take a breath and/or simply passes out from a peppy-induced brain aneurysm. Tonight our conversation involved her saying, “Oh my God I think you just talked for 15 straight minutes. You usually just say, “uh huh” a few times, make fun of me a few times and then say “peace out”. What’s up with you?”

“Crunk. With three exclamation points.”

“Punk’d? With Ashton Kutcher?”

“Crunk. With three exclamation points.”

“What the does Crunk even mean and what has it done to your brain?”

“It revitalized my brain.”

“Well, it’s hurting my brain.”

Jen wondered what the word Crunk means (and I have nothing better to do while I wait for my leg to stop twitching) so I went to the online urban dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com) to find out. The site says Crunk (a) is a mixture of the words ‘crazy’ and ‘drunk’, or (b) the word in Yiddish means “sick”, or (c) did I just read correctly that the Jewish people influence urban slang? I can’t wait for P. Diddy to start mixing the word “Oy” into his songs.

You must be careful not to confuse ‘Crunk’ with ‘Krump’. ‘Krump’ “involved fast, seizure-like dancing”. Although I bet Crunk!!! could help you Krump. I know I’m so hyper right now I could do three or four dance routines. And at least two of them would be from Fiddler on the Roof. (That’s a joke based on the before mentioned Jewish influence on urban culture. I’ll try to explain the difficult jokes to you people whose brains haven’t been revitalized.)

I just wrote this blog in like 5 minutes. Holy stream of consciousness Mr. Fiddler.

No Bueno

Hello people. First, let me commend you on you excellent job in the comment area as of late. You have been posting top notch, entertaining and funny comments. I encourage comments from all of my readers, even if they aren’t top notch, entertaining or funny. In fact, I’d prefer they not be, because some of the comments are far exceeding my writing abilities and my fragile pride simply cannot take it. In the future, if your comment is too funny I will have Blogger instantly delete it. Some people erase offensive comments from their blogs - I say offend away, just don’t be funnier than me. Oh and don’t be offensively funny either.

Now that we’ve protected me from a world in which there are people funnier than me (aka: reality) let’s move on to some very important news in the world where I’m the funniest person (in reality, where you all reside, this in not so much news as it is a sentence with some words and a period.) I started working on a movie today.

It’s an independent horror movie that is shooting right here in Sactown (Sacramento, for those of you who don’t think every person, place or thing in this world should have a catchy nickname). I am assisting the director of the film and I’ve been instructed not to give away any details of the movie. But I’m a rebel, so I’ll tell you the whole thing:

Pretty People
Reeek Reeek Reeek
Scary man with an ax
Dead Pretty People
The End
Credits
Credits
More Credits
The Person in Charge of Making 10 Axes’ Credit
My Credit

So anyways, I’m working on a movie, I’m a mover and a shaker, I’m way too cool for pretty much everyone. Oh, and I’m friggin tired. Yeah, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but most of these blogs are posted in the early morning, or in some cases even later morning. This is because I’m a bit of a night owl. My work allows me to work when I want. And I very rarely want before noon. So I end up staying up all hours of the night. But it’s not like I’m up all night partying or anything. (Unless you consider blogging “partying”. In which case please leave me off your next party invite list.) It’s just that I function better when the only a.m. hours I see are the dark ones. And believe me, the a.m. hours function better without me too.

So yeah, this morning I had to be on set at 6:30. 6:30. In the morning. No bueno.

This morning I made a vow. Someday when I make my own movies they are going to be all set at night. I’ll be known as a very “dark” artist, it will be my calling card, so to speak. I will be a dark and mysterious and cutting edge artist. AND I’ll be well rested. And the way I sleep is truly a thing of art. So it will all work out great.

A Fun Game

One of my favorite shows on TV is Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I tune in every week for the last 15 minutes and play the game that is sweeping the nation - “Extreme Makeover Home Edition – Guess Who Died!” Because every week they build a house for some family who has survived some horrible tragedy. “I know that your whole family was eaten by wolves Jimmy but look at this game room!!”

So the game goes a little something like this: You tune in right when they say, “MOVE THAT BUS!!” and then you have to be the first person to identify the family’s tragedy. You lose points if you don’t guess until the scene where the surviving members of the family are standing in front of a beautiful picture of their departed loved one which is now hanging beside their new flat screen tv. However, you can still win if you can correctly identify the cause of the person’s demise (horrible disease, horrible accident, while saving 14 children and a puppy dog from a burning building).

You get 524,458 points if you can watch the last 15 minutes of the show without crying. Why is it such a weird number? Because it’s a progressive jackpot that goes up every week. No one has ever won. Because it’s impossible to watch this show and not cry. Impossible. You do however win the Bonus Round if you can make it to the end of the show without falling into a deep depression.

Man, do I love this show. It’s got crying and hammering and plumber’s cracks and the occasional musical number from a random musical artist. Usually the musical artist is a country singer. Probably because it’s the only music where you could actually find a song that includes dying, crying, hammering and plumber’s cracks in the chorus.

Idon’t Idol

American Idol is down to the last two. I suppose I should start watching it now.

Every Idol season I vow to watch it from the beginning, get caught up in the mayhem and be able to participate in conversations for the duration of the series. Because try to find a conversation that doesn’t somehow end up back to Idol, “Have you heard we are in a war?” “Yeah, I think so, but can you BELIEVE Constantine got kicked off last night? The nerve of the voters!” “The nerve of his mother for naming him Constantine.”

So for months I’m out of the universal loop because I can’t quite get into the Idol. I always start strong, I watch the auditions and laugh at the people who thought bringing an inflatable sheep really might help their chances at becoming a superstar. Then the show explodes into like three nights a week and they lose me. That’s just way too much of a commitment for me. I’m sorry, I’ve got other things to do with my life. (Like watch Gilmore Girls and LOST)

The great thing about Idol is that you don’t really have to watch it to know what is going on. I didn’t watch one episode past the top 30 or so, and I could still tell you who got kicked off every week. And I didn’t even search the information out, it just appears EVERYWHERE. It’s a subliminal message sent to all of America through our tv’s and radios and Coca Cola cans.

So now that they are down the final two I guess I’ll check it out next week. Well, I’ll tape it and fast forward to the crying and confetti, cause that’s my favorite part anyway. I had been rooting for the kid with the tracheotomy, cause I thought that would make for more crying. The kid had a tracheotomy when he was little and couldn’t talk or something but now he can sing like an angel. Or an Idol, I guess. And he wore glasses. I loved this kid. I’m such a sucker for a good story. And glasses.

But my dorky guy with the hole in his throat got kicked off so now I’m rooting for Bo. Cause if the kid with the best story can’t have the confetti moment then I think it’s only right that it go to the kid with the best rap sheet.

My Big Break

I’m sure some of you have been coming to this site for weeks, looking at the picture to the right and wondering to yourselves, “Wait, I was trying to get to David Duchovny’s blog, what the hell is this crap?” Then, after you look at the picture a little closer you think, “Have I seen this girl somewhere before? Possibly in major motion pictures and/or quality episodic television?” Then you think, “No, I sure haven’t.” But, “She really should be in major motion pictures and/or quality episodic television.”

And I agree with you.

That is why one day I read about an audition in town for an independent film that would be shooting locally. I thought, “What the hell, might as well go check it out, I got nothin’ better to do.” So I went the audition, I gave it my all, I ripped my heart out and handed it to the director with a talent and passion that was reminiscent of a young Meryl Streep. (Except without the Polish/English/Australian accent.) A day later I (as expected) received a call from one of the producers of the film. He stated that he enjoyed my audition (Can one be nominated for any awards for an audition? I hope so.) and they had a part in the film that they thought was perfect for me. So here it was, my big break! (Someone call everyone I know and tell them not to talk to the tabloids, for surely they would be calling at any moment trying to get dirt on me.) The producer said he would send me a script via e-mail and that my part began on page 17. (A little late for the star to be making her appearance, but movies don’t get good until the second act anyway.)

I got the script, scanned down for my part, it should be easy to find, because it will probably be just pages and pages of monologues for me to inhabit…. Hmmm, there only seemed to be one female character on page 17 and she’s not even important enough to have a name beyond “Todd’s Wife”. Well I’m a thespian, I will make Todd’s Wife into a multi-dimensional, truly expansive character. I began highlighting my lines. Well, line. I turned the page and saw that my character was not meant to expand beyond two pages. I died. And I didn’t even get to haunt anyone afterwards.

But I was not going to let this temporary setback detour me from giving the best one-lined performance in the history of cinema. (Well, perhaps second to Rob Schnieder yelling, “YOU can DO it!” in every Adam Sandler movie.)

I arrived on the set ready to create art. The director said, “I want you in just a man’s shirt, no pants.” Okay, so his art was a little more free than most. So I took off my pants. (And replaced them with tiny spandex shorts.) Normally I would have a problem with someone blatantly wanting to show my legs. BUT this shoot was taking part while I was training for a marathon. I had run something ridiculous like 150 miles in the previous 6 weeks, if I were ever going to show my legs on film, this was definitely the time to do it.

So my big break went a little like this, “Honey, you almost done with the shower?” x 10. Big, large, scary, tall man dragging me down a hall by my hair x 35. Me being thrown on the ground by Big, large, scary, tall man x 20. Me being thrown into a pile of cardboard boxes and then falling to the ground x 42. Me yelling, “PLEEEEEAAAAASSSSEEE, NOOOOOOOO!!!!” and then getting shot x 15.

It was all quite exciting. My only real problem was that the director wanted me to get thrown on the ground and stay there while my husband is getting the poo kicked out of him. I didn’t think that was very realistic, cause you’d think I’d try to fight back a little. But they said no, so the last shot of my husband and I has him dead - beaten to a pulp, with blood and bruises everywhere. And there I am, laying beside him dead with my hand on his chest where I tried to stop the bullet that killed him. My only noticeable wound is the gunshot on my hand. So apparently I died from a shot to the hand. Outstanding.

BUT – although I was weak and sad, my calf muscles looked fantastic.

Deep Thoughts

So I’ve been perusing some other blogs and I’m starting to wonder if therapists are worried at all about this blog boom that is going on right now. Cause I’m thinking they might be losing some money as more and more people turn to blogging instead of therapy when in search of life’s answers. Have you checked out some of these blogs? People are confessing their life’s tragedies on here. They are posting heart wrenching poems and stories and pictures. For the whole world to see. That is, if the whole world were to do a keyword search for “depressing anecdotes”.

I guess there is something strangely freeing about spewing your innermost thoughts into the world wide arena. I mean, I know I felt better once I got my whole midget fascination confession off my chest. And the support I felt from my (two) readers felt like one big cyber-hug. (Although my flat screen computer monitor lacks a little in the way of substance as far as something to hug back.)

Some people have taken their blogging to an even more depressing level. They’ve decided to use this forum to reveal unspoken loves or plead for the return of lost loves. Cause nothing says “I love you” like a shout out on a blog. I read a famous person’s blog today in which Famous Person was basically expressing her regret over losing the friendship of a family member years ago and asking for a reconciliation. On a blog.

Blogging: When you don’t care enough to send anything at all.

Warning: Tangent ahead…

I once heard of an online service which allowed you to write five letters to whomever you wanted. This online service would hold on to these letters for you and upon your death would give these letters to whom they were written. I told one of my friends that this was a fabulous idea and that I was going to write 5 letters and tell her where they were and then if I died she was in charge of handing them out. Her response to my request was, “You’re an idiot.” (her harsh tone will be one of the issues discussed in the letter I write to her) I said, “Why, it’s a great idea, gives you the chance to say anything you’ve ever wanted to say.” She said, “Then why don’t you just say it when you’re alive?” I said, “Oh, that’s a point. And on that note your skirt is way too short for the workplace. Sincerely, Dawn.”

So in the spirit of Famous Person and People in Need of Therapy everywhere I give you my five letters I’ve written, but could never muster up the courage to send. That and people keep moving without leaving a forwarding address…

R come back to me.
S stay away from me.
T remember that time we did that thing? Good times.
U how do you expect me to get close to you with that silly restraining order in the way?
V wanna go get some tacos?

Scary

I am officially scared of TV commercials. I usually make it a habit to tape all the shows I want to watch so that I can fast forward past commercials. But even in double time commercials are freaking me out. I say we need to organize a serious intervention at the advertising companies who are obviously partaking in a very dangerous combination of hallucinogenic drugs and Fun Dip while coming up with these ad campaigns.

Prosecution Exhibits:

Please explain the scary Burger King Guy with the plastic head. Please. I’m thinking this is an attempt to create a fun little character to identify with the company. Like Ronald McDonald, or maybe more like Jack of Jack in the Box. But this King Guy is not fun. Jack of Jack in the Box is round and has a red smile and I don’t know, he has a fun little voice over that calms me. Maybe that’s the difference, the voice over. Scary King Guy just stares at people, occasionally offering them a selection from the value menu – WHILE IN THEIR BED. He seriously freaks me out. Oh my god, what if they turn him into an antenna ball like Jack? Oh no.

Can someone, anyone, please call Quizno’s and tell them that their ad agency is high? Awhile ago they had these two deranged puppets on their commercials that looked like the brain child of Marilyn Manson and some sort of epileptic puppet artist. Thank the lord those two freak shows were pulled off the air. But what do they replace them with? Baby Bob. Have you seen this Baby? He’s trying to be like the Look Whose Talking baby. Only that movie was like 15 years ago and the baby in that movie didn’t sound like patron at a strip bar. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this freaky baby got some other side TV work. On The Sopranos.

And this one is a cry out to all the drug companies. Please. Please. Please stop. I do not need to see an animated toe fungus lift up and animated toenail and have mosh pit with his fungi brothers under the nail. I also do not need to hear the word “erectile” EVER while watching Gilmore Girls – let alone three times. And I do not need to see an older couple in separate bathtubs reaching out to each other while on a cliff overlooking the sunset – who the hell has bathtubs on a cliff? (And to be on the safe side a man probably shouldn’t be near a cliff after taking his medication. His balance change may cause an unfortunate accident) Also do not market a menopause pill to women and then say, “If you have a uterus, this pill may cause uterine cancer.” Uh, a lot of women have those uteruses. And a lot of women might prefer hot flashes over cancer. Thank you. Also, please stop with the writing on peoples’ stomachs. I’d be okay if I never saw the word “constipation” in print across someone’s stomach. Although I must commend these constipated people on their tremendous abs. If there were a pill for those abs I’d take it in a second. To hell with my uterus.

Information from My Weekend

I feel as though my blog should be about more than me rambling on and on about whatever is on the TV right before I decide to write my blog. I feel as though this blog should be a place for people to gather helpful information that they can then use to better their lives. (Although I did tell you guys about my love of Bags O’ Salad and midgets, so I haven’t exactly been leaving you to wander the earth with no helpful information whatsoever.)

So in an effort to educate you, my two readers, I offer you this very sound information I gathered from my weekend. Go ahead and grab your pen and paper for note-taking purposes, I’ll wait…

Okay:

If a child who has gotten her ears pierced 5 weeks ago takes those earrings out for her entire soccer game her earring holes will not close up by the end of the game. This is simply a fact. So when the child begins to cry while taking the earrings out and/or while putting them back in you can inform her that you heard from a very reliable source that her earring holes would not close up in one hour’s time. If I had had a reliable source to reference perhaps I would not have been putting earrings back into the ears of a 9 year-old every time she came off her soccer field in a panic over her rapidly closing earring holes.

When you go to Chevy’s Mexican Restaurant do not bother ordering and actual meal. What is the point really? You are only there to eat as much chips and salsa as can fit into your body without your pants beginning to cut off your circulation to your lower extremities. And then you are adding muchas margaritas in order to re-hydrate yourself after all those salty chips. By the time your actual meal gets to your table you are so full all you really feel like eating is the free tortillas. And you only eat those because you’ve run out of chips and need another transportation device for the salsa. So save everyone a lot of effort (mostly the paramedic who is going to have to revive you from a carb-enduced coma) and don’t order a meal. Just skip straight to dessert.

If you are going to go see the new Lennon musical at the Orpheum Theatre in San Francisco and you’re going to go to that restaurant that is about 7 blocks away and you’re going to walk that whole way and get kind of tired – don’t. It’s not open on Saturday afternoons. And if you decide to go to Subway instead and the guy in front of you orders 12 sandwiches – just leave. Cause a 12 sandwich order is just the exact amount of sandwiches needed to throw Subway and its employees into a full scale panic attack. Bread will be thrown, lettuce and cheese will be flying, curse words in foreign languages will be whispered. And you will still be waiting for your lunch.

If you are going to see the Lennon musical I will warn you now – he dies at the end. I know, I know, I hate to ruin things. But it really shocked me, things were going so well, he had turned his life around, he had a new baby boy, he’d uttered the words, “I feel like my new life is just beginning.” So there is no way anything bad could happen. But it did. And I don’t want you to be as crushed by it as I was. Power to the People.

This tip is mainly for the gentlemen readers: If you are at a club and you see a girl that you really want to dance with and then you go up behind her and start dancing and never get close enough to her that she actually KNOWS your are dancing with her – you have not shared any kind of special moment with this woman, and your future together is not going to be quite as bright as you are imagining it. I feel I must share this information with the fellas, cause when I’m out dancing with my girlfriends so many of you come up behind one of us and start dancing. Then another one of us – the one that can actually see you – gives your dance partner a look to let her know that she is an unwitting partner in a very uncoordinated dance. At this point the dancee gives her friend a look asking if the dancer is good-looking and when her friend gives a grimace as a reply the dancee immediately moves away from her suitor. Note to suitor: If a girl does this – for the love of god, do not follow her, your work here is done.

This is for everyone: If you are going to be designated driver to a group of friends who are planning on crashing at your house – make sure you have plenty of microwavable food and/or spring rolls. Nevermind. Just make sure you have plenty of spring rolls. And water. Lots of water. Oh and time. Make sure you have lots of time to listen to the newly realized revelations that can only come once one has reached the perfect combination of vodka, rum, beer and spring rolls.

When you are listening to these revelations until dawn – remember that you have to get up at 9 am.

When you are playing rec soccer and you realize that you don’t really have any defensive skills beyond slide tackling try not to partake in the tackling until you are defending someone other than a 250 pound man of steel.

After you regain consciousness show off your bruises to everyone who will look.

If you are in the market for a Bouncy House make sure you research all that the Bouncy House product has to offer these days. Today I witnessed the mother of all Bouncy Houses. It had like four sections, an obstacle course, a rope ladder, a bouncy house and a slide. It wasn’t so much a Bouncy House as a Bouncy Compound.

At some age it becomes pathetic to call up your parents and invite yourself over for dinner. That age is definitely much older than my current age.

If you are looking to volunteer your services to a foreign country you are going to have to spend like $3000. I have been trying for weeks to find an organization to volunteer with this summer. All I want to do is travel internationally and do something of value. The few organizations I found want me to pay $3000 to volunteer. There has got to be a more economical way to save the world. I mean, according to my late night infomercials I could save like a whole generation of kids with that much money.

When posting your used furniture on craigslist please remember – OLD does not mean RETRO. Thank you.

And lstly Pillsbury PastryStrudels arereallly goodd. But they are hard to eat while typing.


Now go children! Embrace the world with your newfound information.

You’re welcome.

Baby Daddy

I just saw a commercial tomorrow’s all new Maury Povich show. First of all, how is Maury Povich still on the air? Who is watching this show everyday? I’ll tell you who – baby mamas who are unsure who their baby daddies are and/or baby mamas with abnormally large babies. On most talk shows they’ll put up requests for viewers to call in if they meet a particular criteria. AKA: Is your husband emotionally unavailable? Call us today and we may have you as a guest on our show. (Dr. Phil) Do you want to hit your cousin/boyfriend/step-brother over the head with a chair? Call us today and you can come on our show. (Springer) Do you think I look fabulous for my age and are willing to weep on national television? Call us today. (Oprah)

I’m thinking that Maury puts up requests like these but for some reason the ONLY people who call in are women who are uncertain of the paternity of their children and/or women who have 200 pound 5 month old children. Cause those are the ONLY guests that are EVER on this show. Every night I watch Letterman and every night there is a “next time on Maury” commercial. And EVERY time it’s some guy saying, “No, that’s not my baby.” Or, “Yeah huh, that is my baby.” Or, “Damn, that’s a big baby.”

Now, I realize that Maury has been on the since the Mayflower landed, and I understand that it’s hard to come up with new show ideas all the time. But it seems as though Maury just isn’t even trying anymore. He seems to be completely resigned to the fact that he has become the go-to guy for figuring out baby daddies. “Doctor, I have a very sick child.” “You should go to Shriner’s, they are the best.” “Doctor, I have cancer.” “You should go to Cedars Sinai, they are the best.” “Doctor, I don’t know who the father of my baby is.” “Go to Maury, he’s the best.”

My favorite Maury commercial is the one they ran right before the new season was about to start. Maury is walking down a softly lit, friendly neighborhood street while smiling and giving passersby high-fives and hugs. I think he even stops at one of their porches to chat and laugh exuberantly at “unknown, but universally funny and non-offensive” joke. I love this commercial. Who does Maury think he’s kidding? He gives paternity tests and traipses oversized children across his stage 5 days a week. The only thing Maury could possibly laughing about is if one of the porch people is saying, “Remember back when you had a career that didn’t require women to pee on a stick? Ah, those were good times.”

Unfortunately I don’t think we’ve see the Maury’s low point yet. I’m waiting for the show where Steadman is hitting Dr. Phil over the head with a chair because his kid with Oprah now weighs 100 pounds and has a funny looking mustache and receding hairline.

Eye of the Tiger

Okay, so The Runaway Bride is on the cover of People magazine. Why? Just cause the magazine is called “People” doesn’t mean you have to put ALL people on the cover. How ‘bout we stick to the pretty people? Their photos are never as scary as the Runaway Bride’s. Have you seen the pictures of this lady? One flip through her photo album and I could have told you she was cookoo for cocoa puffs. Look at the eyes. It’s all about the eyes. When you can see white around the ENTIRE eye, you should probably get off your knee and put the diamond ring back in your pocket. Cause it’s never a good idea to marry a woman who is already crazy. That takes all the fun out of a long marriage.

Joychenna

Ahhhh. Uchenna and Joyce won the Amazing Race. Which only seems right. The woman shaved her damn head. He had to shave his head too. But seeing as though he was already bald, it didn’t seem to be quite as dramatic for him. A couple seasons back a team made up of two models had the chance to skip ahead of everyone if they shaved their heads. They said they just couldn’t, cause they had to be beautiful. Uh, pretty people: do you know how many wigs you could buy with a million bucks? Also, from my experience with hair I’ve found that it actually grows back. Come to think of it, it’s probably better they didn’t shave their heads. What’s ON their two heads is definitely worth more than what’s INSIDE them.

Back to tonight’s episode - I can’t tell you how glad I am that Rob and Amber didn’t come in first. I know everyone was rooting against them, but I was rooting against them for a unique reason. My reason is that I’m so completely over the “Romber” nickname that has been given to this couple. I feared that a win on yet another reality series may push these kids into their 19th minute of fame, clutching tightly to their ridiculous nickname. Let’s all take a moment to hope that without a victory “Romber” does not have the momentum to survive.

Honestly I don’t think I can take another one of these nicknames. Why are they catching on now? Like everything on this planet that has outstayed its welcome this trend can be traced back to J Lo. When she was dating Ben Affleck the two of them became “Bennifer”. Whyyyyy? It’s not like celebrity gossip columnists spend any time on actual research or interviewing actual sources, you’d think they’d have plenty of time to type those extra three letters and a space instead of combining these two names. Recently Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie became “Brangelina” in some very high quality publication. Brangelina? That sounds like some sort of prescription ointment for seniors to help keep them regular. Lovely. "Caution: This product may cause you to lose letters of your name. Do not use if you currently have a name, a letter or even a symbol."

Amazing

The season finale of The Amazing Race is on tonight. How much do I love this show? Probably more than I should admit. Tonight we will spend two hours watching the final three couples try to win a million dollars. Why are there three teams left at the end, instead of just two? Because one season one of the last three teams made an error in judgment and ended up stranded in some remote part of the world while the other teams were finishing the race. These guys were so far behind that someone from the show actually came out to tell them to stop racing. “Yeah, the winning team has already won, gone on their press tour and written a self-help book. You can go ahead and stop now.” If there had been only two teams competing it would have made for a far less dramatic two hours. I imagine creative editing couldn’t even help that one.

Speaking of creative editing, this show does quite a bit of it. The hook of the show is that it’s a race. And in order to keep viewers on the edge of their seats, it’s better if the race is a close one. However, sometimes this just isn’t the case. In these instances the editors are called upon to make it at least look like a close race. We’ve got the last two teams running, scratching, struggling to beat the other team to the finish line. We’re at home, biting our finger nails, muscles all clinched with anticipation…then we realize that Joe and Deb are running during the day in August and Bob and Pete just passed a group singing Christmas carols. By the time Bob and Pete arrive to the finish line the host of the show has grown out his beard and put on 10 pounds of holiday weight. Yet, we, the home viewer, still believe it was close, because the editors cut really quickly between the two teams – each of them yelling, “RUN!!!”

And don’t worry, even if a team comes in three months later than the others there is still a chance that they get to continue on the race. Because some legs of the race are “predetermined non-elimination rounds”. What? What is the point of a race if no one is being eliminated? If you’re a contestant you’ve GOT to fill silly if you just eaten three pounds of cow intestines and shaved your head and it turns out that no one is even being eliminated at the end of this leg. It would be like Fox saying, “I know you just won game 7 of the World Series, but we’re getting really good ratings, so we’re going to go ahead and make it into a best of 9 series. Put the champagne away.”

That’s how much I love this show - I’m comparing it to the World Series. To me it’s a lot more exciting than the World Series. The World Series only gets me to the edge of my seat in anticipation when a foul ball is hit to a man eating a hot dog and drinking a beer. Time is suspended as the man makes a choice similar to Sophie’s – do I save my hot dog and beer (combined ballpark price - $89), or do I go for the ball? Given the extremely high standards of the Fox Network I wouldn’t put it past them to make ‘Dog or Ball’ into their newest reality series. And I’m sure they could figure out a way to incorporate cow intestines and head shaving as well. They are just that talented.

Crash

I saw the movie Crash this weekend. I was going to see another movie, but there were none out this weekend. That’s because every actor in Hollywood was in Crash, leaving them unavailable for any other roles in any other movies that might have been released this weekend.

The movie is an honest, intense, haunting look at race relations in L.A. I’m thinking that movies like this don’t present themselves very often, that’s why the entire population of Hollywood showed up to take part in it. Either that or they all really wanted to be part of the inevitable Crash Drinking Game that is bound to become a hit when this movie is released on DVD. The rules of the game are you have to drink every time an actor you recognize comes on the screen for the first time. It’s a great game. The downside of the game is that you are in the emergency room with alcohol poisoning by the second act.

Seriously, there were an obscene amount of notable actors in this movie. The cast includes Don Cheadle, Brenden Fraser, Sandra Bullock, Reese Witherspoon’s Husband, Ludacris, Thandie Newton, The Guy That Plays Thadie Newton’s Husband That You’d Totally Recognize If You Saw Him, and Matt Dillon. And that’s not even a third of the actors. You know how many actors are in this movie? So many that Tony Danza actually got a part. When Tony friggin’ Danza is getting parts in major motion pictures you know that every other known (and unknown) actor must already be in the movie. (And you know that Alan Thicke must have been unavailable.) You know who else I saw? That Asian guy from LOST. I think that guy is trying to see how many things he can be in without ever actually uttering an English word. He was in one scene and the camera just basically panned right past him. That man has got to get a better agent. He’s on a hit TV show and Tony Danza is getting better roles than him.

My favorite part of the movie was when, despite her efforts to be a Serious Actor, Sandra Bullock was still able to fit her Contractually Agreed Upon Pratfall into the film. Sandra Bullock has to slip and fall in every movie she’s ever in, and I’m glad the writers of this movie were able to write around that requirement. They made it look like she just tripped. But I think we all know that she was really about 8 martinis deep after playing the Crash Drinking Game.