Bloggin' Ain't Easy

I hope you all appreciate the consistency with which we bring you your daily bread...I must admit, posting about funny/weird/stupid/annoying things every day is a lot of work. It would be really nice if our reader's showed their love and commented a little more. (Yes, I am complaining both about your lack of creativity and my own time-management.)

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated even if it's raunchy, critical or evil. Actually, we prefer when it is. It makes us feel warm and fuzzy...

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There's another birthday boy today!

OMG, I just found out that it's Justin Timberlake's b-day today too. Born on the same day as my little bro in 1981. Justin, Flan is out of town unfortunately, but you can come enjoy birthday cake at my house!

Happy Birthday Flan

Enjoy!

Scrabble sucks

I hate that game. It shouldn’t even be called a game because it’s devoid of fun. And we all know “fun is the name of the game,” if it’s not fun, it’s not a game, then it’s just practice, or basically a test. It takes forever to finish one match. If there is a time limit to take your turn, then that’s not how my friends play, it just goes on forever until someone throws all their letters on the floor, or cries, or gives up and just starts putting down words like “on” or “to” just to finish. How many words can you make out of “x, r, o, e, u, k and n” (Pants this is a rhetorical question, don’t bother commenting with all the variations of words you can come up with.) And then the board gets all closed up, and when by some miracle you have an amazing seven letter word like “q,u,a,r,t,z,y” there’s no where to put it down, so you end up placing “rat” somewhere. Then there’s the requisite fight about what’s really a word or not, “vots” is not a word. And since I don’t have a dictionary in the house, it goes on all night. So the only way to make it bearable is to cheat. I insist on being the first to put down a word in every game, to get that first word double score bonus. Then of course when I choose an all vowel set of letters, they are going right back for another draw, and I’m not losing a turn for that shit. Then whenever I win it’s totally discounted because they say I cheated. Whatever, it’s all not worth it. And for the record 2 and Husbandette we are not playing Scrabble on game night no matter how much Pants begs. It’s Pictionary and Scategories all the way.

American't Idol

I love it. I love it so much it hurts. Really, mostly, just when they do auditions. I stop watching when the true talent land in LA and really open up the diaphragms. Who cares about them...I like the raw, ridiculous antics of idiots around the country who shame themselves and their families by dressing up like chickens and goth-wrestling yodelers to try to squander a seat in the finals.

The best is when they go on and on to the camera before-hand about how great they are, and how their family has always told them they should try out for Idol. And you're watching with bated breath just so you can listen to their mumbled off-kilter rendition of some terrible Bobby Womack song. And then it comes, and it's so juicy and terrible that it makes you need to pee it's so much fun. And the ones who do nothing but a sort of half-hearted mumble/breathy/humming? That takes the absolute cake. I have to get dessert and a glass of milk with the DVR on pause just to prepare myself for those treats.

I am more interested in these people's families, to be perfectly honest...mostly the ones who travel to the auditions with their sons/daughters/baby mamas/great grandkids...they always seem even more interesting than the actual "singer." Usually they have disabilities, or else they just play a disabled person on TV - you can never quite figure it out. I am also enamored b/c these are the people who provided the positive reinforcement to their "Idol," thus propelling them to make a complete buffoon out of themselves on national television. I need to know - it kills me - are these people pimping these kids out because they truly believe they are going to land in a pile of gold dog poo by virtue of singing? I need to know..it kills me. Especially those from Literally-Nowhere Nebraska. Does pitch and off-key not mean anything to you people? Just because little Marla sang her heart out at the Church Bingo Night and the Chili Eating Contest does not mean she is talented. It means you guys need to stop drinking that moonshine.

Ah, American't Idol...couldn't you just give us a season's worth of rejects one after another? Oh wait...you do!

Me and thousands of gay men and packed into the WAMU theater at MSG last night to see Kathy Griffin perform 2 hours of completely new material – that girl works hard for the money. The show kicked off with a video montage of all her TV appearances, she one voiced a Simpson character, she’s been on Seinfeld a few times, that dumb Brooke Shields show and of course her own reality show. She sashays out onto the stage to Britney’s Gimme More and then jumps right in. We touched on Britney of course, little Jamie Lynn, the Tom Cruise video, insider Scientology craziness, she did a killer rip on Oprah’s favorite things episode and the segment she did in Mississippi about being fat, etc, a ton on her billionaire boyfriend and we wrapped up with a Liza Minnelli joke. In all it was completely juicy and satisfying. I continue to LOVE her, and still aspire to be her, also because she’s totally skinny and cute.

The only drawback was not enjoying the show from the comfort of my couch. I guess I’m like a thousand-year-old woman these days, but I can’t tell you how annoyed I was by all the qays shrieking laughing in the audience, and of course there was one girl who sat right behind me who repeated every goddamned thing Kathy said. “OMG she said vagina, did you hear that, she just said vagina.” “Oh no Scientology, she’s talking about Scientology,” I wanted to kill this girl. And then we were sitting by the aisle and for some reason every freaking person in my row wanted to get up at least twice during the show, then of course they have to come back and we have to stand up all over again. I know I should just suck it up and enjoy a fun night out for a live performance but that’s not in my nature.

And yet, it was an awesome night. Thanks Felize and Babies!

The Girl I Was is the Girl I Am - Minus A Lot of Cool

I used to be pretty cool. I know that. I don't revel in it often, but every so often I think back to memories past, outfits worn, shoes scuffed...and I think I was prettttty hip; most of the time at least. I reminisce back to the days when I used to brave NYC sidewalks morning noon or night with my four-inch cockroach killing stilettos - I could rock a pair all day long straight through the evening's festivities with nary a blister. I took chances, man. I put together outfits that bordered on bizarre, but always managed to come off as interesting - at least that's how I like to remember it.

Not anymore. I don't know at what point dressing myself became a difficult chore, but I'd quite prefer to do a load of laundry than actually wear the clothes. Not that I'm saying I'd rather be nude, because I actually don't like being nude much - I hate sleeping nude, for one...I wake up from strange dreams when there is no layer between my VJ and the pillow wedged between my legs, and I think nudity in general is overrated, unless you have a sick pinup bod and you have found a way to master that famous position where you are kind of sitting on your heels, hip gyrated to the side, one arm on hip and one arm up behind your neck...but that's neither here nor there....

My point is, my friends tell me I've got pretty good style. My fam thinks so too, but that's their job to make me feel good about myself. (They also tell me my poo doesn't smell, so their word doesn't carry it's weight per se.) I personally think something has gotten lost in translation somehow. Nothing seems to work. I dress myself so slowly and laboriously these days, one watching might think I was choosing my deposition outfit - or deciding on my wedding day attire...now of course when it came to my wedding, I tried on 2 dresses and ended up having one made, but again, neither here nor there.

My closet is full of interesting unique finds. I have a Zac Posen jumper that screams chic every time I open the door. I have vintage Yves St. Laurent cardigans and Marc Jacobs pumps that would make some girls cringe with jealous envy. Yet putting together a proper outfit leaves me staring into the abyss of fabric like, "ummmm, how exactly do we make this work today?"

I think I must be going through a phase. It's like being a good cook and then going on sabbatical out of boredom or just plain being over it and cooking Kraft Mac for days on end. My fashion days hit a roadblock. Now I need to get out of the car, fix the flat tire, put on my YSL Spectators and sashay myself into tomorrow - a day when I will be the girl I was - but much more cool.

So here me, blog readers. I vow to be a styletto. (Which is a word I created and tried to sell to Fashion Week Daily and they were not so interested...screw them.)

Be warned, this is gross

Is it really bad to pick your nose? I mean I know it’s sorta gross, and unhygienic, but it’s not really hurting anyone and who cares what parts of my own body I touch?! This thing is I love to pick. There is nothing more satisfying when you know something’s up there, you can just feel it, it’s big and kinda wet, and then you pick and out comes this giant mass of bodily fluid and hardened inner nose junk. And you can’t get it with a tissue or by blowing. Especially in the dry air during winter, and colds running rampant, it’s prime booger time, and nothing does the job like a pointer finger can. Then when you get it, the questions is what do you do with it. Sometimes you want to squeeze it between two fingers, get a real feel for the thing; is it mostly snot, is it mostly hardened? Then if a tissue is around I’ll deposit it, but more often then not, that thing is getting flicked. Sometimes when it’s unflickable it gets stuck between couch cushions or under a chair, sorry but it’s true. So I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m a picker, and I try not to do it in public. I live in fear that there are cameras in my office and they capture me with my finger up there all day. But when I’m at home, I don’t even think about it, I’ll watch an entire episode of Jon & Kate plus 8 with my finger up nose, unconsciously digging away and then flicking. Poor Pants thinks it’s disgusting, but then I remind him that while I’m picking he’s farting into the couch cushions so the point is mute. All of this is really a non-issue but I had a flash forward to when I’m a parent and what my kids are gonna think. It’s all fine and good when you are young and it’s sorta cute to be gross, but no one wants a middle-aged fat woman on the couch picking her nose. Hopefully by then they’ll invent some sort of booger-be-gone nose spray or something so you avoid the picking all together. Till then, I'm picking.

Kathy Griffin

So freaking excited to see Kathy Griffin at MSG tonight, got tixs as a Hanukkah gift - way better than the electric toothbrush I got, or the nothing my brother got me. I know that people hate her but I don't get why. She is basically who I aspire to be. She makes fun of everyone and it's always the same people that I can't stand, I mean Clay Aiken, come on, he deserves it.

Here are topics I expect her to address this evening. I'll report back tomorrow to let you know how accurate this list is.

-Britney (obvi): There's a shit storm of crazy there and there is no way she's letting this go
-Politics: I'm sure there will be some discussion on Hil vs. Barak
-Brangelina: Totally pregnant again, must be outed, but I hope she addresses how annoying they are having 25 kids and all and how they probably won't last anyway
-Writer's strike: Could come up, and the lack of good TV to watch these days
-The View: She's been banned again for dissing Barbara too much

Let's Talk About Bam

As Ette1 is obviously severely threatened by Leia the Wonderdog's talents, interest in other humans, ability to obey numerous commands in succession, and general friendly demeanor, we are gonna have to take it to the streets, because Leia don't play like that.

Thoughts on Bam:

• She's cute, I'll give her that. Something about shivering uncontrollably no matter the weather makes her cute, I guess. Or it means she should try eating more, cuz bitch's bones are not coated.


• Her snarl is bananas...it begins when you are as far as 10 feet away, then she masks it in a "hmm, I guess you can come closer kind of way," and when you are right up on her she breaks out the meanest, leanest gnarly snarl you've ever seen. For a dog of her size, she certainly knows how to freak a sister out.


• She is such a tease. She tap dances across your lap, and when you think she is going to settle in and be snuggly, she snarls and flies off you; which you can't feel anyway because she weighs less than a pencil.


• Her booties are cute, yes, but I imagine those little hand knit things have to be hand-washed as well, and as they are so tiny, they could slip down the drain very easily. Hence more money needs to be spent on the dog's wardrobe than her owner's.


• She turns Ette1's entire apartment into her lair; wee wee pads everywhere. It's an interesting take on wall to wall carpet, but I prefer my dog doing her business out back in the pachysandra.

And a side note from Leia:

" Bam, I tried to be nice. I tried to play with you. I am 150 times your size and like the gentle giant I am I let you walk all over me. Those days are done. Next time you show up here in your little wussy carrying purse I'mma wrestle you down with my paw and just hold you there where I will lick your face for an hour, biatch."

Oh no you di'in't

Pants, they are taking to the internets to diss our dog. We must refute:

Here’s what’s good about Bam:

• She is not rodent-like, she’s actually incredibly cute and lovable
• We don’t torture her by making her actually stand outside in the freezing cold just to pee – she pees like a civilized person in the house
• She’s an awesome guard dog, she protects her loved ones when they are drunk and passed out
• She doesn’t trample other smaller dogs and scare the shit out of them
• It takes her more than one second to enjoy a treat, she takes her time and savors it
• She has cool clothes
  
• She doesn’t have dreams about pooping, and then actually poops, ON OUR BED – ew!

Long live the Booz!

Why is Carvel ice cream cake so good?

One fun thing about working in a mid-size office is they love to celebrate birthdays. Every month we gather in the large conference room to sing the HB song and eat cake. Today we had Carvel, my most favorite of the cake varieties. I'm breaking it down to show you why it's so freaking good, let's take a closer look.

Bottom layer: Chocolate ice cream
-Delicious and rich, cool chocolate ice cream is the perfect base in this cake masterpiece.
Cookie layer: Chocolate crunchies
-We don't know what they are made of, probably a proprietary mix of coco and cocaine, but some argue they are by far the best part of the cake. Satisfying, little, dark chocolate crumble pieces are wedged in between the layers of chocolate and vanilla ice cream. They soak in just enough moisture from the ice cream to make them a bit chewy but yet retain their al dente crunch to mix up the texture profile of the cake. Be sure not to get an end piece where the crunchies may be sparce, but too close to the middle you are looking at a full inch of crunchies, too much for my taste.
Top layer: Vanilla ice cream
- Whatever, vanilla ice cream is boring, but it helps break up all the chocolate.
Topping: Whipped cream icing
- There is something about this insanely good icing that makes me want to bathe in it. It's a cross between cool whip and like the best sweetened whipped cream you've ever had. The light texture is the perfect contrast to the hard ice cream, and it doesn't melt! Now here's the issue, you get the most icing at an end piece, but as stated earlier you run the risk of not getting enough chocolate crunchies at the end. My tip is to befriend the slicer; cozy up to him/her, offer to plate pieces and pass them out. That way when you are getting around to your slice you can have her do a little surgery and make sure you get the proper proportions of both icing and crunchies.
Decoration: Sugar confetti
- The one downside of the Carvel ice cream cake is those hard little sugar pieces they sprinkle on the top around the edges. The texture is always weird, too hard to really enjoy and they get stuck in your teeth. They're also not sweet enough to mesh with the other ingredients, it's like you end up chewing cardboard on top of your creme brulee. And if you try to scrape them off you run the risk of losing some of the precious icing. I wish they would do away with them all together. We should start a letter writing campaign to get them stricken from our ice cream cakes. Who is with me?!

Send correspondence to this guy:

Steve Romaniello, CFE President and CEO, FOCUS Brands, Inc.
		Steve Romaniello is the president and CEO of FOCUS Brands, Inc., majority owner of Carvel Corporation, Cinnabon, Inc., Schlotzsky’s Ltd., and Seattle's Best Coffee International. Prior to accepting this post, Steve was president and chief operating officer of US Franchise Systems (USFS). Before joining USFS, he was Holiday Inn Worldwide’s youngest vice president, responsible for franchise sales in the U.S., Canada and the Caribbean, as well as for the franchise services, support and training for 1,700 hotels in the region operating under the Holiday Inn and Crowne Plaza brands. From 1988 to 1991, he held various positions with Days Inn of America. A native of Stamford, CT and a Tufts University graduate, he is a member of the Board of Directors of Fast Signs, the leading franchisor in the sign and graphics industry; the International Franchise Association (IFA); the IFA’s Diversity Institute; and the Atlanta Franchise Alliance. Steve also serves on the Leadership Advisory Council for the Elliot Leadership Institute. Carvel Retail Stores/Food Service Toll Free: 1-800-322-4848 301 Congress Ave., Suite 1100 Austin, TX 78701 512-236-3829 Fax: 512-236-3700 Hours: M-F, 8am-6pm CST

Where My Dog At?

My dog is awesome. She's super well-behaved and trained to do just about everything short of making pancakes. She has tons of energy, can catch a Frisbee 100 yards out mid-air, loves other dogs, and her favorite activity is to snuggle up between myself and husbandette during TV watching or bedtime. However, something has always bothered me about her. I don't know why, but I sometimes get this creepy feeling that she is the reincarnation of someone. Not that I know who exactly, but could it be possible that she is a human stuck in a dog's body? Like, when I am getting out of the shower and pull open the curtain, and she is sitting there on the tile floor just staring at me in all my nude glory, I wonder what she is thinking. Or when I am going to the bathroom with the door open and she just sits there with her big brown eyes watching me - I wonder, was she human in her former life and she is analyzing my loo ettiquette?

She's six years old. Which would mean she could be John Gotti..he died in '02. Except that her personality doesn't really reflect an Italian mobster. She could be Linda Lovelace; she does act occasionally slutty in her affections....Dudley Moore? hmmm...I will have to ponder this and get back to you. All I know is, the hills have eyes and so does Leia the Wonder Dog. From now on, I am keeping the bathroom door shut when I poo.

Dear Abby

Dear Abby,

My husband is a liar and a cheat. He has cheated on me from the beginning, and, when I confront him, he denies everything. What's worse, everyone knows that he cheats on me. It is so humiliating. Also, since he lost his job six years ago, he hasn't even looked for a new one. All he does all day is smoke cigars, cruise around and shoot the bull with his buddies, while I have to work to pay the bills. Since our daughter went away to college, he doesn't even pretend to like me, and even hints that I may be a lesbian. What should I do?

Signed: Clueless


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Clueless:


Grow up and dump him. Good grief woman! You don't need him anymore! You're a Senator from New York running for President of the United States. Act like one.

Churrascaria

Ever been to one of those Brazilian steak houses? It's basically Mecca for really rich fat people. So Pants and I went last night, it's been a hell of a week and we needed a little pick me up, and figured eating our combined body weight in meat was the way to go. Now that I think of it, we should have invited Babies, he'd love nothing more.

Here's the concept:
You sit at a table and each diner is presented with a little round card, one side is green for go and the other is red for stop. Men rush by you with giant skewers of meats and sharp knives. If your card is green side up, they stop at your table and offer you a slice, if it's red, they rush right by you.

We decided to start slow and hit up the salad bar first, Pants almost fell over when he saw the mound of pre-shelled shrimp on ice. He went back three times for seconds, or thirds in this case, all-the-shrimp-you-can-eat is like Christmas morning for him. So we finally surrendered our plates and prepared our minds (by telling ourselves we weren't already full from salad and shrimp) and bodies (by loosening our belts) and got ready for the meat parade. It began to rain down grilled meats on us, pork sausage, chicken thighs, beef tenderloin, grilled lamb and it goes on. Then the carts roll by, beef spare ribs, a whole roasted suckling pig - I want to vomit. Before we can even say no more our sides are delivered. For two people they served mashed potatoes, broccoli, fried bananas, deep fried onion rings, some sort of dried corn meal hash and white rice. They place it all next to the special cheese bread already on the table. Meat mongers are swirling around us like a whirling dervish, they offer flank steak and porkloin, and it just keeps going. It doesn't take us long to turn our card over. We are clearly meat novices, and don't have the mental fortitude to take on the churrascaria. Before they could even whisper mention of dessert, we grab the bill and hightail it out of there.

I'm eating lettuce for the rest of the weekend. Babies I know where we're going for your birthday, in the six months between now and then I think I'll probably develop a taste for steak again, but we'll see.

Ette1 Tried To Talk About It

When she shared her nostalgia for old school Sesame Street a few weeks ago...I found this NY Times article which I thought I'd share...basically, old school Sesame Street was full of homosexual, drug-addicted and inner-city stereotypes. New school Sesame Street is full of overly-hyper ADD characters (Elmo) and clean streets. Who knew?

Hurry Up and Wait

I am really ferklumpened today. That is my accelerated version of frustrated, fyi. I am developing a chip on my shoulder for the work force; more specifically, the peeps who seek out talent and then disappear post-interview/post-email-correspondence-feigning-interest. What is with the New York hiring tour-de-force? Are you soooo busy, Ms. Elitist Editrix that you can't show the courtesy after I trek to your way-inconvenient offices in the slushy gross NYC rain no less for a face-to-face and then even follow up with you with a sweet "thank you" note for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me and then you just fall off the face of the earth? After, mind you, you inflated my hopes by actually expressing to me in person what a "great match" I would be for your endeavors, and telling me that my writing style is incredibly "unique and marketable" and "exactly what you are looking for," why then do you do a disappearing act? Are you Houdini? Are you trying out for a David Blaine reality show? Or are you too important for follow-up correspondence? I'm sorry, I thought we were discussing fashion-y marketing copy, not finding a cure for cancer or handling White House security. Didn't realize how important you really were.

I mean it would be one thing if we slept together on our first interview and you thought I was "easy" and became uninterested after the fact - but since that ain't the case; lord knows I am no slutty project-seeker; I am wondering why the hiring game has become one of cat and mouse and grossly mirrors that of a guy trying to woo a girl into bed only to turn her down after she sleeps with him?

A big WTF is what I leave you with to ponder.

The Whole Truth and Nothing But

Watched Moment of Truth last night. This is testament to the age we live in. Nothing is sacred, no stone left unturned for entertainment sake and shock value. Basically the show is pretty much perfect. Granted, I would feel a lot better if I had come up with the formula for such a TV show; it wouldn't have been too hard as I helped pioneer the "Two Truths and a Lie" game on the Howard Stern Show. Alas, making a gazillion dollars for a ridunkulous idea will have to wait a little longer. I'm just saying...

Now if you haven't heard about the show, go ahead and crawl out of your hole where you are knitting and turn on the telly; there's basically a commercial for it every 32 seconds. If you did not watch the season premiere last night, here's a quick little synopsis - Mark Walberg hosts (not the hotty actor, the dude who basically hops around to different game shows and hosts half-heartedly). The contestant is pre-screened off-camera with a polygraph test where he/she is asked about 50 personal questions. Then the contestant comes on stage and Mark chooses 21 of the 50 questions to ask on stage in front of the audience, in front of the contestant's family and in front of all of America. Their answer is determined either true or false based on the results of their prior polygraph. Duh.

Now all in all, this show rocked. However I was under the impression that these lab rats were gonna be strapped in to the polygraph right there on stage and we'd be able to see the little squiggly lines moving up on some big overhead or something like that. Now THAT would have been sensational.

Last night an ex-pro football player sat in the hot seat while his gorgeous wifey and two friends sat on the sidelines...he was asked such questions as "If your wife developed a fat stomach would you encourage her to have lipo?" Big football star dork replies "yes." He's asked "is the reason why you haven't had children yet with your wife is because you don't see being with her in the long term?" Pea for brains answers "yes." He's asked "As a personal trainer have you ever touched a woman client's body inappropriately?" Stupid athlete answers "yes." All as the audience sits on their hands in anticipation of hotty wifey's reactions to each question. She managed to keep cool for the cameras, but I have a feeling that the $10k this loser walked away with won't be enough to cover his divorce attorney's fees.

Sigh, reality television is so rewarding.

Hump Day Humor

With the strike in it's gagillianth week or so it feels, there's only so many Family Guy reruns you can watch before you need to branch out. My sister got me hooked on this crazy TLC show called "Jon & Kate plus 8." It's about this couple that had twins then tried for another baby using fertility treatments and ended up with sextuplets. They are crazy religious and had some rule about not reducing so they had all six. (It always surprises me that you have no problem with manipulating your body and going through intense treatments to get pregnant but then insist that it's god's will that you have a litter and won't reduce. But to each his own.)

So the show chronicles their life and it's total madness. At any given time there are kids crying, screaming, pushing, pooping, running, laughing - you get the picture. And the parents totally hate each other, they basically don't communicate unless they are barking orders at one another. But there is something sort of heart warming about them and I can't look away, it's like watching a car wreck. And it makes me happy for my life, with just my yappy dog to annoy me and a niece I get to visit at my leisure.

My other TV recos:

MTV: Real World / Road Rules Challenge: It's back in a big way, CT is crazy and drunk as ever and Beth's face looks like it's been hit with a hot frying pan even more times!

Project Runway: Fun to watch gay guys make clothes (Bummer though to find our big gay Rami from Israel isn't Jewish)

Moment of Truth: I'll let 2 fill you in on this one, but it's AWESOME.

Insider TV tip: for reruns of your favorite shows that you forgot to DVR, check out HULU, they've got the Office and SNL but also classics like Who's the Boss and I Dream of Jeannie, you have to register for the site.

Man, thank goodness 2 posted something funny this morning. How are you supposed to follow posts about death and connecting with loved ones... oy, it's all too much, this blog is basically about things that annoy us and vjs, not sure how to handle when something sad happens. I almost brought up Heath with my therapist last night, but then I remembered that I'm paying $175 a pop for these 50 minutes and I'm not wasting but one of them on anyone but me. If insurance were kicking in for it - then maybe fine I could express my feelings about celebrity news - but when it comes from my pocket we're talking about the dream I had last night when I was an ice cream cone being chased by a lactose intolerant dog - what the hell does that mean?!

Aren't Some Things Better Left Alone?

Members Only has relaunched. Yes, you heard me correctly. They are going for another spin around the proverbial block - but this time they want to charge consumers about $950 for a snug jacket.

All those stupid magazine articles that tell you "if you haven't worn something in a year, throw it out or donate it" should be sued for advising you to rid yourself of valuable resurging memorabilia and fashion statement pieces. No, this is a lifelong lesson. Get rid of nothing. At some point even underwear with skid marks might make a comeback. At this rate, you really never know.

I am going to never get rid of a single article of clothing, shoe or accessory for as long as I live. This is the vow I make to my readerettes today. (Sorry, Husbandette) My Kazal sunglasses? Check. Stirrup pants? Check. Fingerless lace glove (singular; I only had one)? Check. Banana combs? Check. Hypercolor t-shirt? Check. 5-inch platform stripper shoes? Check (added bonus as these can aid me in a possible ego-boosting career change in the near future before my girls start to head south)

So...if like me you threw out your Members Only Jacket in '91, here's your chance to whisk away the next three month's 401k $ and get yourself a new one - available at Henri Bendel.

So fresh and so clean.

People Die Every Day

On a serious front. Life is short. Shorter for some than others; overdosing on drugs doesn't help. Reckless lifestyles don't help. Believing you are invincible certainly doesn't help. But in the end we ALL die. Obvious, I know - but hear a sister out.

A very dear friend of mine was a troubled drug addict. He has since passed on, and all I have are memories and pictures. No more phone calls. No more hysterical laughing fits. No more of anything new; only what has already been and what my brain is capable of remembering and what my photos remind me once were.

What is my point? Life is too short. Enjoy every fekking day like it's your last, and treat everyone you love as if it's their last day too. Because you just never know. Be eternally grateful for the people in your life who love you, support you, stand by you and listen to you wank on about life's mundane complexities. Each one of us has a support system - how fragile or solid each of our support systems are is a different story. But we each have one. Love it. Respect it. Nurture it. Appreciate it.

Big up...

Heath Ledger has died

Wow. Didn't see this one coming. Heath Ledger, 28, has died of a suspected drug overdose. This is sad, sad news. He and Michelle had just broken things off in September; he has an adorable daughter Matilda who's two years old.

You just never know. Such sad news...

Lesson for our readerettes: Tell someone you love that you love them today. Hug them - hard. And don't do drugs!!!!!!!!!!!!!

C'est Duckie

So yours truly and my girlfriend (she's not an Ette, although she certainly is quite bitchy...instead we have coined her a "Spice" because, well, she's spicy) decided to plan a surprise outing for husbandette and fiance-ette because life in the "fast lane" of marriage and suburbia certainly has us wrapped up and sometimes we forget to make time for ourselves. I mean, sometimes we forget to have a social life. Yes, it's true. Personally, there is nothing I would rather do than sit with an Entennmann's Dutch Coffee Cake and my DVR wearing my comfy clothes and not a care in the world on a Friday night, but sometimes we have to make compromises, and pretend to still be interested in the outside world. And culture.

SO...we decided on dinner and a show; C'est Duckie, a Parisian cabaret-style production was in its last two days of running in NY and so I snatched up four tickets for the 10:30 Friday showing. What could make us ladies look more cool, confident and sexy than taking our mens to a burlesque-esque show on the Lower East Side? After feeding them with steaks and scotch to boot?? We were definitely winning brownie points with our dudes for this one.

Dinner commenced at 8:30 at THOR (cleverly named the acronym of it's hotel space; The Hotel on Rivington). Not much to note on here short of the decor which is whimsically dark (in a goth way; not a creative lighting way) and the service (which is poor at best) and I guess a footnote on the culinary experience which was unmemorable (except for the bill, which was huge, so I will definitely remember that). Anyway, a good time was had by all, and our carnivorous appetites were sated so that's good...

On to the show...we were ushered to our table, where we were seated with 6 other revelers ready for a sexy Parisian showdown. We wanted some T&A, if you know what I mean. Upon taking our seats we were given a menu and Duckie dollars to spend ordering our entertainment for the evening. The menu was brash enough; entrees such as "Nacho Snatcho" and "Glockenspiel High Leg Kick" were being served, so we were psyched; our palates ready for excitement. The cast, a group of three women and two men sauntered on stage in full nude bodysuits that looked like they had been used and abused; ill-fitting and torn, they weren't the sexiest of costumes, but nonetheless, we had high hopes. Our table chose Nacho Snatcho, Art Class, Lionel Richie's Opera and the Leg Kick. Let's just say, eating nachos from between a stranger's toes and dipping it in salsa set on her crotch whilst she stands on her head on your tabletop is certainly entertaining, albeit a little unsanitary. A geeky guy stringing Lionel Richie lyrics together while squirting his bare puny chest with red dye, however, not so much.

All in all, we enjoyed the brash comedy of C'est Duckie. We left with illicit portraits we had drawn of a gender-confused "member" of the cast and our dignity still in tact; which was what we were hoping to have left at the table. The best part of the evening? Celebrity sighting Seth Meyers of SNL sitting at the table next to us. He was the most interesting part of the evening, as we all tried our hand as the SNL announcer dude, thoroughly annoying our "too cool for school" table mates.

Bottom line - we should have taken the boys to Lucky Chengs. We would have had a lot more illicit fun and everybody knows gay karaoke/cabaret clubs are where it's at.

Update: Yes, readerettes, you found an error in my posting. It is Seth Meyers. Not Seth Cohen of the late "The O.C." fame. I believe I must have been having flashbacks to my wanton crush on Adam Brody. Apologies all around. Our kvetchette fact-checker has been fired.

Stupid pet names

Don't know about you but in my family we like to designate dumb nicknames for our loved ones. There's something about having your own and giving other people nicknames that brings you all just that much closer together. It says to the world: "We are connected in a unique and quirky way, we are a part of a special little club all our own - it's not for you to understand or approve of, but if you get close enough we may just give you a nickname too and you know you want one!"

Here are some examples of dumb nicknames in my circle:

Random names (No real good reason for these names, they just happen):
I call my ex (potentially future) boyfriend: Pants (Why you ask? Because he wears pants)
He calls me: Face (Similar reasoning)
My sister and brother-in-law call their kid: Monkey (My sister totally stole Face and tries to call the baby that, but I put a stop to it, nicknames cannot be shared, more on that later!)

Rhyming names (Sometimes just adding a prefix or suffix to a name makes it funnier, or just saying a word that sorta sounds like a name):
I call my brother who's name is Elan: Flan (It has a cool Mexican flair)
Same for my sister: Felise
2 calls her husband: Honna (I'm assuming this is some form of honey)

Combo names (This works for couples only):
We have friends named Stacy Sarfatti and Paul Rustin, so we call them: Paul Giammati
Then there is Pamela Sandler and Alan Echtenkamp: Sandlerkamps (or as I penned last night PAL)

Bizarro names (There are reasons for these names, but they basically make no sense):
I call my brother-in-law: Babies (The reason is, one day I overheard my sister on the phone with him and she called him Babes, so I made some snide remark about referring to him in the plural, then decided to take it a step further and call him Babies - and it stuck.)
He calls me: Babies (For no good reason at all, I just started calling him Babies and he started calling me Babies right back. I tried to tell him that you can't just steal a nickname like that but he doesn't get it. It makes family functions a little confusing and also totally weird.)

Nunchucks are banned in three states

Frozen pees help the swelling go down.

MLK Day activities

My company finally did the right thing this year and gave us the day off for MLK day... so why you ask am I sitting at my desk in my office, not wearing pajamas and catching up on my DVR'd shows?! Well because my boss thought it was a busy week and the beauty team should come in to prep for all of our events. So here we are, all eight of us, we set our alarms, put on some makeup and braved the subzero temps and got our asses into the office today. It's not what MLK would have wanted I'm sure, but in his honor I'll do my best to try not to slack off the entire day.

For those of you who are not working and are considering how to spend today, here are some suggestions based on MLK's most popular speeches.

A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.
- Watch Oprah, her's is a program of social uplift if I ever saw one.

Nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral questions of our time.
- Practice yoga, it's a non-violent form of exercise and helps tighten your gluts.

We must combine the toughness of the serpent and the softness of the dove, a tough mind and a tender heart.
- Take your dog for a walk, but bundle him up because it's cold out there.

If a man hasn't discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live.
- Take a trip down to Rice to Riches on Spring Street, their chocolate cheesecake pudding is "To Die For."

And try to do something nice for someone else today, today should be recognized as a day of service. My contribution is of course this site, as always you're welcome!

Nunchucks are dangerous

for children and adults.

Waiting Rooms

Had an appointment with the VJ doctor this morning. Everything is in order, thanks for asking. Whilst waiting for Dr. VJ to call my deli number, I sat huddled amongst 30 or so pregnant bellies in the waiting room. Finding a seat was a challenge, as 8-month pregnant women donning parkas and bags big enough to hold twins and a dog within their cavernous holes certainly does not make it convenient for little un-pregnant patients to find solace in a seat. Nonetheless, I managed to swap one just before some chick's water broke so all was well.

As I sat waiting patiently for Dr. VJ, it occurred to me that doctor's waiting rooms are always the most bland, depressing spaces. The carpet always matches the drapes and the walls are always some varietal of the eggshell family. Artwork looks like it was pawned from a gypsy yard sale; always the cheeseball thin brass-esque frames and the prints that don't even actually fit into an art category. Is it possible that Bob Ross (of PBS paint-by-number fame) has a monopoly on doctor's waiting room art? Do the doctors really not have enough taste to choose some more thought-provoking art such as the cat hanging from the branch with text beneath it saying something like, "Hang in there, that STD is curable!" or something to that effect. I'm just sayin'.

Additionally, I raise the issue on waiting room reading materials. I am thoroughly confused why every doctor's waiting room offers the absolute lamest periodicals in existence. Things like Old Computers Digest and Scholastic. Where does one even order these magazines, and better yet, when was the last time you picked up Scholastic to kill time? Do these magazines cost less yearly? A magazine subscription costs on average $12 a year. My doctor charges my insurance company $500+ a visit to peer at my VJ. Can she not afford a subscription to People? Or Us Weekly? We'd all be much happier campers if we knew that our 2-hour excursion to the doc's would leave us filled-in and up-to-date on the Britney trainwreck.

I think I've got a solution. I am going to fill out and mail in subscription cards in the name of all my doctors, for all my favorite mags, and check "Bill me Later." That way when the magazines start showing up there, they will be waiting for me when I arrive, and I can happily wait my turn among all the knocked up chicks.

PediCab terror

Was running late (of course) to meet 2 and and our third - she's the ultimate kvetchette but like Scarlet Johansson is too cool for school and won't blog with us. We were meeting for our monthly dinner to bitch about our lives, discuss husbands / ex-possibly repeat boyfriends, home ownership, jobs and the lack or potential thereof, and of course vjs, as per our usual. The sleet and rain storm that began instantaneously as I stepped out onto the street prevented me from finding a proper cab in the afternoon rush, and I was forced to consider alternative transport options. Subway was no good: 1, because it's for the chickens, and 2, because I was only going about 15 blocks, hardly made the walk to the station in the rain worth it. Buses weren't a great option because midtown traffic at 7p.m. is like how long it takes to get through a New Yorker article - way too long, boring and uses lots of words I don't understand. (Well the traffic doesn't use words I don't understand but there is a lot of honking so it huts my head none-the-less.) So as I stand on the street sans umbrella, getting poked by other peoples inappropriately giant umbrellas, I had a decision to make: Hoof it all the way there or risk my life in a PediCab! I choose pedicab. So the guy unzips the sad little layer of plastic that protects the seat to let me in while he's suffering outside in the cold and wind and rain. I plop down and pray. He zooms forward with a lurch and a bump and we are wedged perilously close between a mammoth MTA bus and a cab that looks none to happy to share the road with us. We make sad progress as people on the street pass us by, rain leaking in from the top of this thing and wind blowing in from below. The worst part is I can tell this guy is struggling hard to get my fat ass up the hill. I sit and try to hold my breath as to make myself weigh even less, but it doesn't seem like it's working, I feel like the fattest cow on earth as he's lumbering up the street and jerking side to side with each painful peddle stride. We finally get to the destination, 25 minutes and 25 bucks later and he unzips and let's me out. I step promptly into a puddle and then slosh on to meet the girls, a little dizzy and little chilly but glad to be alive. I think that will be the last PediCab ride I'll take for a while.

Sore throat

I have very mixed feelings today. I've come down with a bit of a bug and have a sore throat, which is mildly uncomfortable and annoying. However - it makes my voice sound so cool! All of the sudden I sound mysterious and worldly, like I've traveled, I have a past , I have stories to tell and you'll want to hear them. Sick voice is so much better than high-pitched, whiney normal voice. (Yes, I am aware that Phoebe had the same issue on an old episode of Friends, and yet my current day situation is no less relevant.) So I'm spending the day calling friends, getting in touch with some folks I haven't talked to in while, making sure I linger at co-workers desks to discuss feedback on documents (thus also passing on my germs, and giving those bitches a reason to call out of work tomorrow)... I'm hoping it doesn't turn into full blown strep or anything but I do love my voice today. Maybe I'll smoke tonight to get it really good and damaged, and tomorrow I'll be even hotter!

Time . . . Is Not On My Side

Poor Readerettes...we have neglected you these last couple days. What with the exciting, uber-busy and important lives of Ette1 and Yours Truly, time has simply slipped through our manicured fingers.

So in an effort to better serve you, we extend our feelers again to remind you to submit guest posts! We know we can't possibly be the only kvetches out there; surely you have something that has tickled you the wrong way lately - tell us! We'd love to hear your rants, raves and every moan in between.

And in the meantime, here is something to ponder:

Somewhere in the world, our today is their tomorrow. And vice versa. So to not save for tomorrow what you could have done today is a fine concept, unless you got peeps in Kuala Lumpur or Auckland or something, in which case you could just ask them to do it. And it would be done today. Think about that.

This is your spider on drugs...

Props from Pops

Aw, Papa Ette gave his kudos yesterday on kvetchette's unique, humorous and witty personality. Well Papa, this one's for you - big ups and respect.

Gifting qualms

When your little brother asks for nunchucks for his birthday it puts you in a bit of a moral quandary. They are banned in three states! Below are the questions I asked myself...

-What might he want to do with nunchucks:

• Perhaps he's into martial arts training and this isn't at all a cause for concern on many levels.
• Might he be stockpiling weaponry and ammunition in preparation for some sort of government overthrow?
• Is it possible he simple appreciates the art of Asian combat tools?

-If I purchase said gift:

• Does this make me an accessory in ensuing legal action should the nunchucks be used for evil instead of good?

-What would Chuck Norris do?

• Chuck would say get the nunchucks.

I shall obey.

Commercial I Love

Last week I shared with you commercials that I abhor. Today, I share with you one that I love. I don't know why, but this one gets me off the couch every time like Grease used to do in 1984, and I mimic the moves and the song. Husbandette loves it; at least he did the first five times I did it; now he is hoping I have bored myself with the game and will move on. Oh no, this one's a keeper. Really my favorite part of this is when the male "buyer" kicks in his smooth retort to the agent. Enjoy.

My new boyfriend

Check me out with my new boyfriend Gossip Girl's Penn Badgley. It may not seem like we're in love in this picture, but trust me we are. Though he doesn't even look like he's talking to me, or even knows I'm standing next to him, the truth is - he is and he does. Our romance started several months ago when Gossip Girl premiered and blossomed this weekend as he attended my GG swag lounge. We're deliriously happy together and I hope you all will respect our privacy as I'm sure you understand how difficult it can be to have a high-profile relationship under the critical eye of the media. Sorry pants.

A Shameless Self Promotion

Why Ette2 is a stellar writer candidate for grandparents.com:

1) Because she is a sassy, smart writer, dangit. She has spent eight long years using her written word to influence people in all sorts of ways – via product pitching, celebrity-teasing, marketing mumbo-jumbo, tugging at the emotional heart strings, and all that falls in between.

2) Because ette2 (hearts) grandparents. She personally has two grandmama’s and one nana-in-law who believe that she is the coolest thing since sliced challah and are looking for another reason to be proud of her (to add to the very long and laminated list they currently share with their gal pals on bridge-and-poker night).

3) Because she likes happy people, and everyone knows grandparents are the happiest people on earth. Talk about a positive audience! She’s used to writing for jaded, bitter and aggressive 18-36 year old female consumers. What a nice change of pace Bubby and Zayde would be!

4) Because it would give her the perfect excuse to seek the best recipe on earth for Grandma’s Chicken Soup. She believes this is surely a contest in the making…

5) Because she rocks. Seriously. Not only is she a cool person to be around, but she is probably the best spell-checking machine and proofreader that has ever walked the street. She can spot a misspelling 18 1/2 city blocks away and will ensure grandparents.com passes the error-proof-test (and we don’t mean the kind you pee on).

6) Because she needs to work or her husband is going to throw her out on her head, which will leave no opportunity to have children of their very own, thus rendering their own parents grandchild-less. This would be devastating for all involved. Surely you understand her predicament.

Have your people call her people. Let’s brighten everyone’s day, why don’t we?

Things that suck about taking the red eye:

• They sit you next to the galley and the air waitresses spend the entire night banging trays and glasses from the first-class service.


• Pilot insists on updating you about altitude when you are trying to sleep (who freaking cares about your altitude on a flight anyway, as long as you aren’t hitting any buildings I’m pretty much ok with how high we are).


• Seat reclines like not at all, trying to sleep sitting straight up blows.


• Just as you doze off the guy in the window seat who monopolized the shared armrest the entire flight shouts “Excuse me” in your ear so he can go pee, then he takes forever, not returning until you just about fall asleep again and he says EXCUSE ME even louder to get his big butt back in his seat. If you think you’ll need to pee during a flight then get an aisle seat dude!


• That same guy insists on keeping the window shade open so when the sun rises an hour and a half before you reach your destination you become blinded by the glare.


• The flight attendants actually wake you up to make you put on a seat belt during turbulence. Has anyone ever fallen out of their seat on a flight, and even if they do where are they going to fall to? You are packed in so tight it’s not like you’ll be rolling down the aisle.


• You took the ambien a bit too early and missed the "fall asleep" window, so instead of sleeping through the flight and arriving all refreshed, you are in a weird zombie, medicine-head coma the whole night and end up sleeping the whole next day anyway, voiding the purpose of taking the red eye so you can get shit done on Sunday anyway.

Next time, I'm extending my trip, taking a flight during normal waking hours and then calling out of work on Monday to recover. It's the only way to travel.

What About When Life Doesn't Give You Lemons?

Is it still possible to enjoy lemonade? Think about that one, readerettes. Nothing much to kvetch about this morning. Things are pretty good in life; I have a great husbandette, a beautiful house, a dogette that couldn't be snugglier, fantastic in-laws who love me to pieces (and vice versa)...father-in-law-ette's hip replacement surgery was a great success, friend-ette's baby shower hosted at the home of yours truly yesterday was a great success...life is good. What can I kvetch about? Should I complain just because I am supposed to? Hmm, well my coffee is cold, and everyone knows microwaving coffee simply destroys the true sanctity of the bean. It snowed a lot in Boston, so I must check in on Nana-ette to make sure she is all taken care of. The Golden Globes did not occur; instead the network gave us a lame rendition of the cinematic efforts over the last year, of which I simply say BLAH; if you aren't going to show us the fashion faux-pas' of the red carpet, what good are you? Britney has truly waded off the deep end with her new paparazzi boyfriend, Ette1 seems to have fallen off the face of the earth. I am desperately seeking new clients (hire me!) and well, my back kinda hurts. There, I kvetched for you.

Cashmere Mafia

Okay, I know it; I am addicted to television. I revel in all the golden treats that my DVR holds within it. Some people are really into working out - lame. Some people are really into baking - forces you to work out, which is lame. I on the other hand, am into pressing the DVR button and seeing what my system has recorded. Now I usually know exactly what is on the recorded list because, well, I put it there; but every once in a while something pops up that I hastily added during a moment of weakness because the advertisement looked fun or there was some form of sex, drugs and/or rock and roll being witnessed.

Cashmere Mafia was one of those off-the-cuff moments.

Now I don't know if any of you have seen this show, but I am into two episodes so far and lovin' it. The parallels to Sex and the City are extremely overt; in fact, the majority of the story line seems to have been stolen right out of the Louboutins of SJP. But here we replace Carrie and her crew with a bunch of high-powered NYC bitches (I say that with all due respect) who work it; in the office, in the wardrobe and in the bedroom, and still find time to gather as a gaggle of gossipy business-school buds daily for lunch and gossip about whose husband is snarking who and what they are going to do about it. Enter cliche about the Blackberry and the vibrator here.

One girl thinks she's a lesbian, which is kinda cool; it's a bit L-Word, with the two hot chicks making out in Cielo on the dance floor. But for the most part it's tamer hetero stuff; like just talking about it and not really doing it.

That said, I love a show with Lucy Liu (however it's increasingly difficult to take her seriously b/c I keep imagining her in Kill Bill Vol. I as O-Ren Ishii) and I love a show where a woman's husband cheats on her and she says to him plain as day, "well now I get to take a lover so we're even-stevens." That's hot.

Bottom line? I give Cashmere Mafia a thumb between sideways and up. I give it about 6.8 pts on the 10-pt scale. It may be full of stereotypes - it may be a blatant rip-off of SATC - it may drive you crazy with cliches - But the benefits far outweigh the side effects. It's juicy, it's indulgent and it's much more fun than working out.