Mummy and me.

I love my mummy! She is kind of crazy and obsesses too much about keeping the house clean and nags a bit and likes to force feed me food so that I'll always be fatter than her...but other than that, she is a nice mum. I would post about my dad, but I can't find any pictures of Faye Dunaway playing Joan Crawford playing a crazy dad.

Don't ever be in a relationship.

This is what that shit does to you.

Want to feel like you're on drugs?

Let's have a dance party.

am I a serial killer?

Because I'm watching the Showtime series 'Dexter' and I really identify with him. He's played to perfection by Michael C. Hall, formerly of 'Six Feet Under'--another show I love. Who knew the gay brother with issues could be so...hot? I love the strawberry blonde scruff and deep-set eyes and pale pink lips. And I'm all about showcasing the city where TV shows are set. Forget Nip/Tuck, this is Miami! Ai yi yi I've never wanted a mojito and pork sandwich with pickles so badly. So, job well done, Showtime. And I hear they're going to start re-running it on CBS, which I think is a terrible idea, but so be it. I really want to work on a TV show. I'd like to write, or cast, or dress, or location scout. Pretty much anything. I need a job. Preferably a bombass one.

I do not have a heart of stone.

Proof: when Ricky won the challenge on Project Runway Wednesday night, I got a little choked up. I know he's a crybaby, but I'll take a softie over a bitchy queen like Christian any day. And Ricky rose up from the ghetto! I also love love love big Chris. Christian got all the credit for the haute couture gown when it was totally the brainchild of Chris. Christian needs a spanking. Badly.

p.s. I really do need Ricky to stop wearing those terrible '92 Julia Roberts hooker caps though.

Edit: Okay, I just read the Q&A with Kit on EW.
http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20172293,00.html
So Christian did make the couture dress. Well, he's still a brat. And I still believe it was big Chris's idea. And just because you're talented does not mean you can act like a little biotch.

I just think they are really cute.

They best not get divorced.

I'm going to punch Ellen Page in the face.

I just watched Hard Candy. I was so excited because I love love love Patrick Wilson. Patrick seducing 14-year-old girls? Sign me up! And Mr. Wilson was, of course, amazing. He's a beautiful man who can sweat really well and has lovely forehead wrinkles. But I had to watch Ellen Page for 120 minutes. Oh, sweet lord. She's even worse than Paul Dano. I want to sucker punch her in that pert little button nose of hers. URghhhh vomit vomit vomit. She is so SMUG. She is mentally patting herself on the back after every line and thinking how goddamn cool she is. She's basically masturbating onscreen. I don't know why I dislike her so much. I think it's because she reminds me of those annoying Theater and Speech kids I hung out with in high school. They read David Sedaris and namedropped Pitchfork-happy bands and deep down worry that they aren't cool enough. Some might say I'm jealous of Ellen Page. No, I'm jealous of Scarlett Johansson. If she'd been in this, I might have liked it. Or Lindsay Lohan! That would have been amazing. I'll even take Paris Hilton. Or Eddie Murphy. Ellen Page annoys me like the Olsen twins annoy me. It's a very special, not even fun annoyance. I can't talk about it anymore because my blood pressure is rising. I'll just say that when she mentions she's reading a book about Jean Seberg in the first five minutes, a mouthful of bitter bile rose up in my throat. That should have been the warning sign. Next time, if I want Patrick, I'll stick with Little Children and my lovely Kate Winslet.

p.s. if she wins the Oscar for Juno, I'm going to throw my bottle of champagne at the TV.

and one more thing

What is it with people who put pictures of themselves up in their room? I went into my friend's new house today and was poking around (being nosy) in his roommate's room and almost threw up looking at her picture wall. Yes, she is attractive and blonde. So is everyone in Texas. But she has portraits of JUST HER (no grandma, no brother, no dead baby) everywhere. Like, she's even holding the camera herself and taking the picture. And it's like the, I'm trying to look really pretty smile. Creepy. Who is that in love with them self? Yes, if I had amazing nude photographs of me I might put one in my bathroom. Or if Warhol did some badass portraits of me in a bikini, that would go in the kitchen. But...whyyyy? Is it self-affirming? I need to know I'm pretty, and goshdarn it, looking in a mirror isn't cutting it anymore! I need photographic proof! Me! Pretty! All time!

Mr. Jellyneck says...

If wishes and buts were clusters of nuts, we'd all have a bowl of granola!

put ya stunna shades on.

I REALLY don't like Johnny Depp.

The little punk got nominated for an Oscar. WHERE IS JOSH BROLIN? WHERE IS JAMES MCAVOY? I'm pretty angry about this. I am sick to death of Johnny Depp. Yes, he was good in Edward Scissorhands. And Ed Wood. But it's like, the same old schtick. Look at meee! I'm Johnny Depp, and I'm playing a fanciful, childlike figure! Wheeee I'm so amazing and awesome and I bought my wife a vineyard in France and I wear zoot suits tra la la la! Ugh, I am so disgusted by the Oscars right now. And Ellen Page in Juno? She's just playing herself! A precocious, smug little brat who listens to (OMG!!) The Moldy Peaches.

I don't know why I'm so hostile today. Must be the rainy weather.

I don't like Paul Dano.

Sorry. But I don't. I just watched There Will be Blood. Daniel Day-Lewis, inject children in my womb right now. Paul Dano...rip your mouth off and stick it on a cat's butt. He's a mealy-mouthed, slack-jawed, sourpuss baby face. Some people have faces I just want to punch. Paul Dano is one of them. And I know his career is taking off. This vanilla, affected little bore-ass is sticking around. And he's going to be in all the cool movies. Damn you, Paul Dano. Damn you.

I gots a crush...

On Mike Rowe. The man is a sexy beast. His broad, hairy chest makes me swoon. His deep, no-nonsense voice is a lullaby to my ears. His sense of humor makes my heart swell with desire. Mike...I want to marry you when I'm 35. Let's have a cottage in the Appalachian mountains with lots of goats and pugs and ducks and cows. But no babies. Definitely no babies.

emotional breakdown.

Oh. Sweet. Jesus. On. A. Bike.

I saw "The Savages" today. By myself. I was just expecting phenomenal acting from Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney, two truly talented actors whom I want to be best friends with. And the film was great. Fantastic. Beautiful.

But I could not stop crying. It was worse than Sophie's Choice or Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet or Terms of Endearment. And I'm not a crier. But at the final scene, I was a soggy, emotional mess. I should have just stayed in the darkness and wept for a couple more hours. But I thought I'd be fine with a little walk. I blow my nose, go outside to call a friend. I start sobbing uncontrollably when I mention the dog in the film to her and have to hang up. THE DOG!! It hit too close to home. I myself have a pug with partially paralyzed legs. I can't talk about it anymore. I'm getting choked up again. But...jesus. Sweet, sweet baby jesus.


p.s. the poster for the movie was illustrated by Chris Ware. Seriously. It just doesn't get any better than this.

insomnia.

Don't sleep with an obese pug. It may seem like a good idea because it's cold and sleeting outside and your pug is so fat and warm and generates heat like a wood-burning chimney. But the pug also has a ragged stuffed animal pig that it must suckle every night because it was taken away from its momma pug too soon. My ex-boyfriend once made the insightful comment that her suckling sounded like "a butt munching on diarrhea." Yes, my friends. He was a poet and didn't know it.

I can't get over...

How stunningly beautiful Marilyn Monroe is. I'm tired of all the cliche, art.com poster wall art dorm shit pictures. I'm talking about the last photos ever taken of her, taken by Bert Stern. They could be the only wall art in my house and I would be happy. There's something about sixties photography that can never be recreated. I'm sure there's a technological reason for this, but it's just richer and older and sexier and raw-er. Is rawer a word? No it's not. Today's photography is just really sleek and modern and air-brushed and robotic.

Looking at these photographs is like taking a hot bath, drinking pink champagne, and rubbing expensive shea butter all over your body.

What's up with weak tea bags?

I feel like everything in the U.S.A. is of a slightly shittier quality. I'll start with tea. I'm currently drinking Sugar Plum Spice, "a holiday herb tea", by Celestial Seasonings. This first cup is actually pretty good. Granted, I'm drinking it out of a styrofoam (cancer) 8 oz. cup. I try to re-bag it, and it tastes like muddled bath water out of Louie Anderson's tub. The point I'm trying to make is that European tea is re-baggable.

The best tea in the entire world is P.G. Tips from (who else?) The Brits. I was introduced to it during my month-long sojourn in London. It's basically the Coca Cola of England. I got a little bit addicted. It's best served with buttery scones and chocolate digestives. No wonder I gained ten pounds over there!

I can't decide if Celestial Seasonings is the real deal (i.e. mellow yellow granny wearing a patchwork skirt and hemp shoes brewing up a batch in Boulder, CO) or an evil corporate tyrant with great marketing. Probably the latter. The word on the street is that Boulder is full of assholes. If you don't have the perfect calf muscles and newest kayak, get out. I'm trying to find a nice, large-ish town with not a lot of assholes.

I can't stop drinking these.

I've had a nasty, dribbly, leaky, wracking hellhole of a cold for a week. Granted, I was drinking for seven days straight while I was on vacation BUT that is no excuse for my body to treat me so horribly. So to cure myself, I've been drinking even more whiskey. To be precise, I've been drinking hot toddies. To quote Wikipedia:

Hot toddy is a name given to a mixed drink that is served hot, believed to have originated in Scotland. Although there are many variations, essential ingredients are:

1. a hot beverage--which may be tea, coffee, cocoa, or water, etc.
2. an alcoholic spirit such as brandy, rum, Scotch whisky or Irish whiskey.

3. usually a sweetener, such as honey, sugar or syrup.
Other ingredients that are often added:
4. spices, usually "brown" spices such as cinnamon or cloves.
5. citrus, such as lemon or orange.

Lemonade can be used instead of hot water and citrus; this is a modern variant.
6. a little butter.

Butter and whiskey...God Bless America.

When it's overcast and cold...

Have a library party! Today I checked out three books. They are:

I love you, Beth Cooper by Larry Doyle

I got this because Tom Perrotta is a badass and he is quoted saying, "An instant classic...freakishly smart and wickedly funny." Good enough for me! Also the cover looks like an r. crumb illustration.

Celebrity Detox by Rosie O'Donnell

This is a riveting coming-of-age novel by a young Russian girl in the throes of an existentialist Communist crisis. AND it's a juicy tell-all about Barbara Walters!!!!

Choking on Marlon Brando by Antonia Quirke

At first, I thought this was a tell-all about a girl who had dated Marlon. Don't ask me why...instead, it's a memoir about a girl who likes movies. Like me! Okay, apparently she is a London film critic and her author picture makes her look pretty hot so now I'm skeptical. She's too young to be writing a memoir and she has a sexy, myspace-y picture. She's British, so I'll give her one free pass for now. Bitch best not be frontin'.

And tonight on the ole' Netflix queue is Picnic, a racy melodrama starring (gay) William Holden and ice queen Kim Novak. Good times shall be had by all!

I can't believe I'm doing this.

First of all, I don't like this font. I need new century schoolbook stat. Other than that, I'm not too sure what I'm going to write about. Nothing too personal. Sexytime is best kept only to myself, and my diary that I casually leave laying around for people to read. (It's great for early morning coffee poos on the toilet.) BUT I digress. I think this will be rambling about bullshitty things like TV shows, movies, music, pugs, and my quarter-life crisis. Most importantly, what am I going to eat for lunch? I'll end with that earth-shattering thought.

p.s. my crippled pug is being really crippled right now. It's sad. I wish Jesus would swoop down, take her mangled body into his arms and heal her broken spine. Instead, Jesus is probably partying with Ted Haggard in a gay bar.