I guess...just waiting to win the lotto

finally. finally, i've been hit with pure inspiration to revive this atrocious excuse for a blog.

and apparently in these uncertain financial times, inspiration comes in the form of a 5'4" long island guido.

that's about right.

ok, well, wait...rewind. whenever i get a little bored/get down on myself/run out of things to blame on my parents divorce 20+ years ago....i online date. so i joined nerve.com. (there's a pun in there i can't quite land....anyone?)

long story short: i end up hearing from this kid let's call him bill. we share a few emails. seems like a 4 on a scale of 1 to charles manson. so i agree to meet up with him. date night arrives. i decide, like the geek that i am, to do a quick google to see what i come up with. expecting to come up with a few awkward flickr pics or a tragic facebook profile where he has no more than 112 friends or perhaps an article or two that he wrote for his college newspaper covering a local ice skating rink reopening (Ed Note: that was a great article full of brilliant pull quotes from adorable six-year-olds, and i still think i missed my calling as a local news reporter.)

but nay. i found none of the above. in fact, i found NOTHING on this kid. sketched out. i search for bill's email address. and what appears? jewish camp alumni list! thank GOD for the fact summer camp is birth right 2.0. so as i look down -- i see that his name, attached to his email, isn't bill, but bob! WTF?!

i cancel. blaming a hectic uncle in town.

he calls. and calls. and calls. i clearly didn't pick up on the fact that my phone ringing was a poorly-written metaphor for the bells that should have been going off in my head. but we end up rescheduling for the next week -- last night, if you're following this not-at-all-complicated-or-particularly-relevant timeline.

ok, so i meet him at a random wine bar. he's awkwardly standing outside. (Hint #896826: any self-respecting man would be sitting at the bar. and any man i'd be remotely attracted to would be flirting his face off with the bartender at said bar). back to reality -- i'm a good 2" taller than him [in heels]. reminder: i'm 5'3". i sprint for a seat at the bar to even the playing field. he strolls to a table. i did NOT sign up for a table.

conversation 1 and three things are immediately apparent:

1. he's a cast member on Jersey Shore (if this makes me Snooki, i'm self-defenestrating)
   
2. he's the most unambitious, lazy dude i've ever met. life goal: "to win the lotto and lie around."
3. i can't believe i'm sharing a plate of hummus with this kid. though i'm sort of impressed he could pronounce it.
   

i spend the rest of our time together chugging wine, thanking the good lord that i took the reins to order the vino so i'm not swallowing razorblades of a $24 bottle of merlot.

deciding to end the one awkward silence occurring because he's stuffing his face with chicken (Hint # 898464 who orders chicken?!), as the entire rest of the date he was complaining about one thing or the other -- though thankfully that meant i didn't have to feign interest. anyway, i ask what he has planned for the week. to which he replies, "nothing. what are we doing?"

walked. into. it.

i ask for the check. he insists on walking me home. i complain about my heels, offering up sexual favors to every occupied cab that painfully, rudely flies past.

and here it comes. the doorstep, which in typical nyc fashion, sits snugly between a deli and a graffiti'd indian restaurant, so we had no shortage of audience members for this little show.

i throw out my hand.

he grabs it. and pulls me in. for a kiss.

i. DIED. then threw him the peace sign. pftc.

ready for my close up!

8:00 Jen Savage: dear unopened entemanns cake. you are abt to get demolished.

that can only mean one thing -- it's oscar time!

8:01 can we start every oscar red carpet with kate winslet in ysl?
8:02 i can't ever look at diane lane without thinking about her taking it up the butt in the stairwell in unfaithful
8:04 sjp just introduced america to "matthew broderick". first awk moment of the night. also, why are they here??? anyone? bueller...?
8:09 valentinosaywha??
8:10 'dear slumdog kids, we're not going to pay you more than 11 cents a week to star in our movie, but we'll throw down for your rented tuxes.' ps NOBODY PUTS FREIDA PINTO IN THE BACK ROW!!
8:12 zac efron and vanessa hudgens = sjp and mattbrod part deux. if the jonas bros show up, sohelpmegod.
8:16 anne hath. on board w/ the armani. sending rachel zoe a quick thank you for that dress choice.

best dressed vote check in: tie btw anne hathaway and amy adams























































8:23 marisa tomei: magic records and a baboon heart. (holla atcha m&t!)
8:27 wtf is this shit about the theatre?? who cares about the history of the oscars? a bunch of jewish men got together and decided to jerk each other off. end of story. i HATE when they pull this crap. MORE TIM GUNN!


THE SHOW
8:30 the stage looks like the laser background i had for my 3rd grade class picture.
8:33 here's where things get awkward. live-action movie montages. especially since the quality looks like my 3rd grade (big year for me) diorama of my town...
8:34 cheap "pubic hair" joke. -50
8:36 anne hathaway hitting that note +50
8:42 this pack of estrogen reminds me of the scene in minority report when the precogs freak out.
8:45 whoopi goldberg:

1. sister act jokes NEVER get old
   
2. tit tat
3. not apologizing for killing off the world's cheetah population for that tarp you're passing off as a dress
4. the only person who can upstage tilda swinton

8:49 wait, penelope, i thought math was the universal language...
8:55 love this script overlay. you've got me so far academy...
8:55 dustin lance black = jack mcbrayer?
9:02 am i the only one that thinks it's sad that a bunch of brits are getting all the credit for an indian film?
9:03 aniston's on stage -- where's the angelina shot? also did LC do jen's hair?
9:04 THEEEERE it is. the first (completelyfakeforcedyou'vegottobekiddingme) smile ang has cracked all night.
9:11 best sanku speech of the night
9:19 i feel so bad for the duo-acceptances. the second guy barely gets to thank god before he's rushed off the stage. and he somehow looks like the asshole.
9:24 there's not enough weed in the world to get me through all of these predictable visual arts awards.
9:26 vampire looks bored to be here. get over yourself. the second book sucked.

and now a word from our sponsors:
CLY: i shotgunned two sapporos in the street last night... CLASSY.BROAD.

9:32 philip seymour hoffman's in a doo rag?
9:33 hasidic meth lab. heh. tina fey wrote that one.
9:35 slumdog dp has flock of seagulls hair and a tiger in his pocket (or is that a mini whoopi goldberg?)...gotta have a schtick.
9:48 rage that sjp and jen aniston each had 40 mins of stage time but james franco got 12 secs and a german title to read?? unfair.com
9:52 second reference to sister act tonight. wtf is going on??
9:53 beyonce at the oscars?? am i drunk? (Jen Savage: you're high) anyone who knows me knows i bleed a kick-ball-chain'd, chorus line-filled falsetto-laden musical. but this is making my head spin, eyes bleed, and ears hurt.
10:01 text from my brother: jackman has officially taken his tony too far.
10:03 this award ceremony NEEDS MORE COWBELL! and less mullet madness, walken...
10:04 question is...what happens if it's not heath?? Savage: you can't beat a dead guy. too soon?
10:08 where's matilda??
10:11 angelina crying! bet it's b/c she doesn't own matilda...
10:15 werner herzog needs to be president of the world. at least vice 'bama.
10:17 Savage: the final inch - THATS WHAT SHE SAID
10:18 megan mylan is a poor man's kelly cutrone
10:27 someone needs to streak across the stage. this is boring as hell. and i'm sick of all these shots trying to make pitt look like juror #9 in 12 angry men.
10:36 where's MIA? slumdog is cleaning house. i need her to rap about it. being in labor is no excuse.
10:39 abc's "real motherhood" show totally stole postcards from yo mama! HORSESHIT.
10:40-10:44 savage explaining the difference btw jerry lewis and jerry lee lewis to me.
10:53 best score at 11pm is the worst thing for my heavy lids...
10:56 quote from jbels' live blog: Sadie: efron is looking like a seedy casey affleck. which is redundant.
11:12 this thing is going to be over at 6am. this is effing ridiculous. this is why i hate the oscars. why why why do i watch this every year??
11:19 reese confusing the fuck out of me in clear bra straps and a scarf dress.
11:27 loving this alum award group presentation. especially when it involves a smokin' halle.
11:30 sophia loren looking like the chick who got 47 surgeries to look as much like a cat as possible.
11:32 kate better make this speech count. get after it winslet! shampoo bottle speeches and whistles from dad. amazing. but i have to say...her hair looks like zach morris's during sbtb the college years...
11:37 one of these alums is not like the other: brody. i'm looking at you. and halle is sprinting away from you back stage. she has NOT forgotten.
11:40 christ. brody just got busted by the TSA backstage. Savage: hey brody, jesus called. he wants his look back
11:43 pattinson doing rails off of rourke's back
11:44 penn's hero shot. jack mcb lookalike crying in the background. mickey rourke FU'ing the academy. this speech already blows. ugh. get to best movie already for the love of jesus mary and holy st. joseph.
11:50 digging this thematic best picture montage. appreciate that this is the first actual intelligent thing i've seen all night.
11:53 slumdog just became the new titanic. in 6 mos everyone's going to be bitching about how terrible it was. but for now -- danny boyle is the shit. the kids are adorbs (eassssy ang...). freida is gorgeous. and this thing somehow wrapped before midnight.

overall score: C

disturbia

i came across this chicago tribune article via jezebel. personally, i could only get through the first nauseating paragraph, so i'm not encouraging you to try to stomach the whole thing.

but apparently teenagers -- mainly girls -- actually BLAME rihanna for getting knocked around. and other teenage girls are wearing their black eyes and bloody noses with pride -- a new, sick meaning to love bites.

what do you get when you cross a hooker with a drunk?

FASHION WEEK!!

i absolutely love kelly cutrone, our drunk, average-looking (yes, i'm in a good mood today) owner of people's revolution. she's relatively hilarious, recently quoted as saying '[michelle obama] is the first lady in the white house in 50 years who actually looks like she's getting fucked.' so also incredibly ballsy (might be that she's got a pair wrapped under all that...black). get a good look:


what do you see? that's right: genius. it's written all over those gals. so the story is, this brilliant tall drinka vodka got fired this weekend for sitting spitzer's call girl (who apparently has an album coming out soon, praisebetojeezus!) front row at the yigal show. i repeat GENIUS. who the fuck knows/cares about yigal. weeeeeelll everyone does now!

say what you will about pr stunts, but i'm always onboard. well, actually, not when it involves chris brown right-crossing rihanna. but if it's some naked dude w/ nothing but a target logo on his ass running across the court at wimbledon or joaquin phoenix becoming eminem and the shoebomber's love child or sarah palin, generally, i'm down.

the thing is, it's a recession. and haute couture + a cold market does not loads of money make. for example, this is the first time in a handful of years the puppy fashion week was canceled for lack of sponsorship. so i get it. we need some juice. some spice. some sex. and everyone knows sex sells. and what screams sex more than ashley dupre (i'm assuming jenna jameson was booked).

so, i stand firmly behind you and all the new business you're getting from this move, kel. keep it up. at least to distract the media so i dont have to hear about the size of jessica simpson's ass ever again.

bells of peace

i don't really love the grammys. they're too long (3.5 hrs?!?) and i tend to be over 90% of the songs performed.

but i find myself here, watching chris martin and jay-z perform in the second performance of the night after JT and al green rocked it out together. we're apparently doing the 'white guy plus black guy equals peace on earth' thing.

figured it was worth a blog post.

i'll try this nymag-style and throw arbitary points up for my observations. there's no way in hell i'm busting out my calculator and tally them at the end though. so don't hold your breath for an overall point....

• timberlake is obama. everyone effing loves him. thanks mickey mouse club. +50
  
• only one shot of the BACK of boyzIImen. +10
  
• carrie underwood has a bedazzeled mic. bitch, who do you think you are? diamonds are reserved for dame whitney houston and lady aretha franklin. -5
  
• and bedazzeled legs. -2
• her lezebel guitarist. +10
• leann rimes. -1000
• bairam breaking out baklava for jhud. +50
• duffy = poor man's amy winehouse (thanks savage). +100
• and thinking she's a better singer than al green. -1000
• coldplay as a poor man's sgt. pepper's lonely heart's club band. +50
• mi-lor's bff performance. +1,000,00000000000
• "no air" getting robbed. and the fact that there's no "best song for a sytycd performance" category -50
• jhud. +40 the earrings. +10 gospel singers. -10 (personal issue) TEARS!!! +500
• nicole kidman being coked out and the first person to sit down post jhud's shutitdown performance. +20
• kevin jonas close up count: 1. (which he stole from stevie.)
  
• stevie's expression while being forced to perform with 11 year olds. no one told him?? +60
• not realizing i should have made this into a drinking game until 9:16 pm. -50
• CBS's sound team. jesus christ. -1000 (jobs)
  
• "lesbians go to hell!!" reaction from jobros to katy perry's fruity (too easy) performance. +5
• kanye rockin' the lionel richie hair cut from the "hello" video. +50
• the fact that "this will be...everlasting love" still reminds me of while you were sleeping. +20
  
• wtf is the difference between record of the year and song of the year if there's still an album of the year?? -500 for pure confusion.
• queen latifah. the end. +100
• love mia. hate the polka-diaper. +4500 for due date performance. -150 for diaper.

yeah this is about the time i start passing out and realizing if i'm up there are more important things to discuss...like chris brown beating the shit out of rihanna??

i'm too fired up to comment on this. i'd still like to think that ri could take him. he's 5'1" and she's never in anything but 6" gladiator boots, so at the very least she could literally kick his ass.

also, what if you were directing this show. and 5 mins before -- oh, hey, rework THE GRAMMYS to cut out the 5 performances these two were supposed to be in. i'd puke then quit.

so, boys, don't hit girls. it ruins a lot of people's lives.

PS WHY is john corbet doing voice-overs for applebees. i'm tired...

the beauty of self-justification

it's freezing outside so i talked myself into not going to the gym. i'm sure my lungs would hurt if i tried to run, right? not gonna risk that.

but shopping was allowed....because i bought some "winter leggings" at american apparel. so that's helping the cause. fighting against the ugly backlash of the harsh elements. taking care of myself, which is part of being healthy, so it's equivalent -- nay BETTER -- than the gym. a gym trip is just an hour, but i'll be rockin' these bad boys for at least the next two days straight.

but now i'm actually feeling guilty about ordering dominos for dinner. i'm mad enough about myself for doing this, so please don't judge me. just give me an excuse -- any excuse -- to get some cheesy bread in my life right now. friends, please call me with some kind of existential crisis or tell me that your boyfriend just dumped you or that you got laid off or, christ, i'll even take that you're just hungover and have a little fear and loathing from your friday night. anything. just so i can invite you over and offer you some comfort over thin crust.

whiskey is my girlfriend

i'm always sick. i blame this city and my dismal sex life. whatever the reason, i'm always sick. this week was no different. i had strep a few weeks ago and that apparently turned into walking pneumonia. but it took a loooooooong day for me/my doctors (yeah i had a round-the-clock team on the case.....oooorrr i went to a clinic for 4 hours but they were full of the homeless so i was shipped off to the ER for a few more hours where they were full of the real kind of homeless, not the chelsea kind, and i doubt i even saw an actual doctor. buuuuuuuut i'm getting ahead of myself).

here is my average-sized tale of my night in beth israel emergency room. (Ed. note -- for a hot second i thought of making this a poem. like iambic pentameter style. but the last poem i wrote was for my grandmother for her 90th birthday. she still has no idea what it is or who gave it to her. it collects dust on her nursing home shelf next to a statue of some saint -- we have no idea which saint or who gave it to her. full. circle.).

so mid-day wednesday, i start having chest pain upon inhale. i haven't crushed dominos in weeks and i wasn't hungover -- seriously, i wasn't. dick. so it's probably not a heart attack/the DTs...

around 5 pm, i sneak out of my office and trek to a clinic by my apartment where i wait. and wait. and wait. and wait. for over three motherfucking hours. mind you, i wrote "difficulty breathing. chest pain. painful swallowing." on the sign-in card. so when i'm finally seen and the doctor deduces that i either have pneumonia or a blood clot in my lungs (thanks birth control!) and wants to ambulance me to the hospital....those 3 hours could have made a difference...

i decide a cab is faster than an ambulance (that's a little sad, huh?) and get to the ER where they treat "can't breathe" in the same "take a seat" fashion before asking me to pee in a cup. and when i ask why i need to hand over a bottle of urine when my symptoms are lung-related, i did NOT realize miguel would just assume shank me to get to the next person in line. i'm also forgetting that holding my cup of pee was not on his christmas list. so i smiled, tried to show some cleavage as recompense but am interrupted by my own gross coughing fit. miguel's had enough and allows to lie on a bed in a secret office where my PA gives me the rundown on the happs in the ER. there's a convict loose.

i repeat.

there's a convict loose in the emergency room. i'm hoping he's the type of convict who likes to steal drugs or maybe evaded a few taxes. not the type who likes to rape asthmatic chicks hiding in PA offices. before i can ask any questions she takes a few pints of blood before throwing me to the wolves in the x-ray area. the perfect place for a convict.

i'm ray'd then am sent back out in the waiting area. i try to contain the wheezing and mingle with some cops who are kicking around. i flirt a little between coughs to find out the deal with this convict. he's most certainly on the loose, and he has stolen a polka dot tie. from whom? unknown. however it is most certainly a navy tie with white polka dots. i have another coughing fit and decide it's best to sit.

it's this moment i realize the ER is really prison. the first question asked: whatchainfor? the girl to my right has swallowed a fish bone. the boy to my left has seizures, but no one believes him. he has stopped taking his medication so as to have a seizure to prove them wrong. i admire his tenacity.

and in front of me awakens a homeless man. i almost didn't see him for he has made himself a fort (fortress really) out of personal belongings bags and paper hospital gowns. but he rises and hollers for a doctor to fix his foot. i ask him what he did to it. he says he "drank it broke." logical. i've drank my wallet and soul broke before, this guy was just worried about his foot.

epilepsy tells him to lay off the booze. to which he replies "whiskey is my girlfriend". which, thank god he realizes, is best in song, for he hops up and jigs on one foot to his new tune. and as if waiting in the wings....

cue the orthodox jews!!

homeless man: RABBI!! rabbi!
(probably not a) rabbi: hello, sir.
drunk: you're jewish! you come from israel!
jew: i come from brooklyn.
drunk: i come from brooklyn too!!
fish bone girl: small world...
whiskey's significant other: jews are very very rich! my father was a jew.
jew: so you are a jew!
me to spunky seizure kid: the plot thickens...
drunk: i am not a jew. my mother is irish.
jew: then you are certainly not rich, my friend!

laughter amongst the rest of the rabbis. and as this urban rendition of fiddler on the roof wrapped, i couldn't help but think: once again, the jews punk'd the catholics.

at this moment, i'm called back into the office, handed a bottle of dimetapp and sent on my way.