Monthly Archives: August 2008

Vacation — and a Plea to Tina Fey

In short time, I will be headed off on vacation for a week of much-needed rest and relaxation.  Before I leave, I would like to make another plea to Tina Fey to discover me and my twisted mind.

Last weekend, I went to the local mall to search for Tina Fey.  I know that, at least in Mean Girls, she frequents malls, so I figured a mall would be as good a place as any to “accidentally” run into Tina Fey.  I first entered stores in which I believed Tina Fey might actually shop–Crate & Barrel, Pottery Barn, Nordstrom, Victoria’s Secret.  I entered each shop, covering each aisle and corner of the store, searching for Tina Fey.  In my hand was a manuscript yearning to be read.  After I was satisfied that a visual survey was not successful, I went to Customer Service to ask if anyone had seen Tina Fey.  While most just seemed puzzled by my request, the woman at Victoria’s Secret barely listened to my request at all.  Despite her attempts at ignorance, I remained steadfast and continued to pester her with questions about Tina Fey while she attempted to measure the size of my rack.

Unfortunately, Tina Fey was nowhere to be found.  I then proceeded to stores in which I believed Tina Fey could possibly enter, but was first distracted by a diversion into Banana Republic.  Five hours into my search, I was exhausted.  I began to believe that every brunette with glasses was Tina Fey.  As I sat outside the Cinnabon, stuffing my face, I felt surrounded by Tina Feys.  I took my icing covered fingers and began tracing letters on the food court table — DEAR MS. FEY, DISCOVER ME!  Eventually, I was removed by mall security, kicking and screaming.  After that quarrel, I stood outside the Payless Shoe Source and it dawned on me.  Tina Fey does not live in Virginia.  I must go to New York!  I will find Tina Fey in a mall in New York! 

What a vacation this will be!


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A Welcome Blast From the Past

As expected, Bill Clinton and Al Gore gave fantastic speeches at the DNC.  Hearing them speak made me reflect upon happier times.

Contrast the above speeches–speeches that inexplicably generate feelings of hope and prosperity–with that of Dubya, who I refuse to recognize as our current President, since the election was decided not by the people but by the idiots who formed the “majority” in Bush v. Gore.

I mean, seriously.  If I called Dubya a moron, he’d probably think he was getting some kind of award.  I will be eternally amazed at how the Republican party was able to leverage Dubya’s stupidity into a beneficial qualification for the presidency.  Why would anyone want an average Joe to act as the leader of this country (or the world)?  Seriously, if you were sick, would you seek help from the local drunk?  If you needed someone to do your taxes, would you head to the state prison and find a parolee destined for release on April 1?


Filed under Personal Pontification, Things I Loathe

Song of the Week

This week’s song is performed by Jenny Owen Youngs and is entitled, “Fuck Was I.”  As is my custom and practice (how legalese is that?), I present to you the lyrics, from LyricWiki:

Love grows in me like a tumor,
parasite bent on devouring its host.
I’m developing my sense of humor,
till I can laugh at my heart between your teeth,
till I can laugh at my face beneath your feet.

Skillet on the stove; it’s such a temptation.
Maybe I’ll be the lucky one that doesn’t get burned.
What the fuck was I thinking?

Love plows through me like a dozer.
I’ve got more give than a bale of hay,
and there’s always a big mess left over.
What a did you do?
And what did you say?
What did you do? And what did you say?

Skillet on the stove; it’s such a temptation.
Maybe I’ll be the special one that doesn’t get burned.
What the fuck was I thinking?

Love tears me up like a demon
Opens the wounds and then fills them with lead.
And I’m having some trouble just breathing.
If we weren’t such good friends, I think that I’d hate you.
If we weren’t such good friends, I’d wish you were dead

Skillet on the stove; it’s such a temptation
Maybe I’ll be the special one that doesn’t get burned.
What the fuck was I thinking?
What the fuck was I thinking?
What the fuck was I thinking?

But it’s so embarrassing
I’m in this awkward and uncomfortable thing,
and I’m running out of places to hide in
I’m running out of places to hide in

Should you desire singing along, Reading Rainbow style, here is the video to this fabulous song (note I did not post the actual video, as it has been censored!):

I’m sure we can all relate to this song.  Indeed, the chorus of this song could be the theme song for many periods of our lives.  I submit to you these examples:

1.  You voted for Dubya because you bought into the Republican fear propaganda–cue “What the fuck was I thinking?”

2.  You purchased a gun for self-defense, placed the weapon into your pants like on television and subsequently became sterile–cue “What the fuck was I thinking?”

3.  You are an aspiring pyromaniac, and at a beach bonfire while others are singing Kumbaya and making smores, you decide to spray gasoline directly on the fire and subsequently lost your eyebrows–cue “What the fuck was I thinking?”

4.  You spot some pigeon eggs on your balcony, think they’re cute, and allow them to hatch and live on said balcony, leading to a balcony covered in crap and infested with disease of the most unknown kind–cue “What the fuck was I thinking?”

5.  Despite the lessons of Dubya, you again buy into Republican fear propaganda and vote for McCain, only to realize that the Maverick isn’t much of a Maverick at all and that our economy is still shredded and that countries all over the world laugh at our ineptitude–cue “What the fuck was I thinking?”

What else would qualify as a “What the fuck was I thinking?” event?

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World War III

WWIII has erupted on my balcony.  I am feverishly attempting to make our balcony as inhospitable as possible to the nasty pigeons who have decided to make the balcony their home.  I am quite puzzled by pigeons.  You know the saying, don’t shit where you eat?  Well, apparently pigeons don’t abide by this adage, as they have basically shat all over our balcony, all the while partying underneath our BBQ and shitting on our Corona bottles.

We’ve cleared out the nest, yet they still return.  After doing sufficient online research on how to rid yourself of these flying rodents, I have come to the conclusion that some commonly used impediments simply don’t work.  For example, some have suggested the use of a wooden owl.  However, upon further research, I’ve found that the owl works for about a day.  After approximately 24 hours, the rodents realize that the owl has not moved for said 24 hours and is not real.  The aerial rodents return and end up crapping all over the owl–almost like an F you for buying a $10 plastic owl.

Others suggest hanging a CD or aluminum foil on your balcony.  These also don’t work.  From what I understand, the pigeons ultimately return to the area after realizing that . . . well, that you have hung up a CD or aluminum foil on your balcony.

So the war has begun.  Like Mother Liberty, I do not negotiate with terrorists.  I will not allow these flying harbingers of disease to invade my space.  In the words of Johnny Castle, this is my dance space.  The wild is yours.  If you come into mine, you will face the consequences.  I have unilaterally declared war!  Mwah ha ha!


Filed under Life, Things I Loathe, WTF?

McGosling Wedding News!!!

Ok. Well, not really wedding. But I have your attention. Here are the latest photos off the wire of Noah and Allie! I realize that, in most circumstances, I would not care about pictures of a couple eating lunch, or a couple walking, or a couple laughing together. But this is Noah and Allie–they hold a special place in my heart. And damn it, I care. They could be engaging in the most benign of activities, such as picking up doggie poop, and it would make my day!

Allie: Noah, I love the scruff. It’s hawt!

Noah: Hey Allie, let’s go back to the house I built you. We can, wink wink, you know.

Allie: Tee hee. Oh Noah!

Noah: I got another letter from that girl named Alexis Nectar. She’s freaking me out. What the hell kind of name is Alexis Nectar, anyways?


Um . . . I hope Perez doesn’t get a hold of this picture!

Allie: Hurry up and finish this so we can go back to the white house with blue shutters!

Alas, my week is complete. Thanks to Daily Mish Mash for the heads up and Pop Sugar for the pics!


Filed under Movies

National Geographic is Filming

On my balcony, that is.  Our lovely balcony in NoVa (that’s what peeps call it around here–y’all better respect!) has been home to at least two acts of wildlife.  Nothing particularly interesting like that time I saw two squirrels humping in Cambridge and how the male squirrel (assuming it was male, since it was the humper) chased after the female who ran away from shame after seeing the gaggle of humans pointing and staring at it while it did its thang.  Anyways, nothing interesting like that.  Let’s take the first instance in March of this year, when a falcon decided to rip a pigeon to shreds on our balcony, leaving in its path of destruction the pigeon’s feathers, blood, and guts (or shit–the jury’s still out on the green substance).  Below, I give you a picture aptly named, PREDATOR!

And yes, for those of you who are particularly perceptive, that is a box of Corona, which of course, officially makes us look like a bunch of college kids.  Well, not so much.  I suppose if we were in college, we couldn’t afford Corona and instead our balcony would be filled with several varieties of Boone’s (Strawberry Fields baby!), a couple boxes of wine (in a box, that is), and a mix of Natty Light and Keystone.

Now, you would think, with such a massacre occurring on our balcony, that pigeons would thereafter be permanently deterred from resting on our balcony.  Although the hubby did the best job he could in removing the feathers (sorry to anyone down below) and eliminating the other substances on the balcony, he certainly was not successful in fully ridding our balcony of Mr. Pigeon’s blood and guts.  Well, pigeons are f*cking stupid.  Because this weekend, we found out that some more pigeons had straight up set up home and shop on our balcony.  Here’s the hubby attempting to shoo the pigeons away:

Thank god our grill, pictured above, was still covered by the mover’s blankets.  Otherwise, anyone coming to our next BBQ will be in for one hell of a surprise.  Umm . . . yeah, that’s guacamole on your burger.  Mmm . . .

So what’s the point of this story?  Well, first, I hate birds.  I don’t know why anyone could think birds are cute.  They’re nasty.  They shit all over the place (this picture does not in anyway impart how foul (or fowl!) it smelt out there).  They stink.  They have nasty ass claws.  They don’t fetch.  They don’t sit on your lap.  They don’t even lick peanut butter off a spoon and lick their lips incessantly while drooling all over your feet as you laugh at their predicament.  To me, if it’s a bird, it either belongs on someone else’s farm, or on my plate.  Damn.  I want some dim sum.

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Filed under Things I Loathe, WTF?

Discover Me, Tina Fey!!!

Ok.  Not in that sense, you perv.  But for those who know me, you know that I am completely obsessed with Tina Fey.  I believe that she is one of the funniest, quirkiest, and intelligent comedians out there today.  I think that NBC saved SNL by making Tina Fey the head writer.  Mean Girls is one of the smartest movies of all time, and that was followed up by the laugh-out-loud Baby Mama.

Tina Fey, if by some miracle, like that time I farted in a crowded theater and successfully passed the blame to the octogenarian nun sitting next to me, you are reading this, please know that I am determined to humiliate myself to no end to work by your side.  Like an HBO Real Sex prostitute, I will sell my dignity for $14 and a bottle of King Cobra.  Discover me!  Discover me, Tina Fey!

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