...No escape from reality

Reality television has penetrated our culture like a fat hairy guy in a 70s porno getting in on with a jungle-bushed skank. If I weren’t so lazy (and I was getting paid for sharing my random thoughts with you) I’d figure out how many hours a day are devoted to “unscripted” programming. However, since I am (indolent) and I’m not (compensated), I’ll guesstimate that it’s a hell of a lot.

So it’s not surprising that at some point reality would seep over into the fashion world. Here are my top five examples of this tragic influence:

1. Spring 2008 runway - agnès b.

Add some tights and this could be Highlander Man - a new contestant on the next season of Who Wants to be a Superhero. Giant Sword not included.

2. "Heidiwood" by that chick from The Hills

I am very proud to say that I have never watched an episode of this show. Ever. However, I did catch Age of Love, and this little number from the Heidiwood “collection” looks like something the cougars would love to slip their silicone into.

3. Floor Length Tie Gown - Donna Karan Collection

Who knew Donna Karan was a Big Brother fan? Jen made the red unitard famous last summer and Sharon donned it again this season (although I don't think Sharon enjoyed the “punishment” as much as her predecessor). Now - for a mere $2,695 - you, too, can sport the spandex. Self-centeredness optional.

4. Stripe Shorts with Suspenders - Hinge

In Amish in the City, the Amish collide with the city kids during Rumspringa. Chaos ensues. Much like the pinstriped shorts/scoop neck T, suspenders combo shown here.

5. The “Tight Sag” by Soulful Commandoe

OK. This has got to be a joke, right? Right?!? The inspiration for these was obviously taken from Flavor of Love. You’ve got the sag of Flav’s trousers, with the tightness of New York’s painted on skinny jeans. And, much like Flav and NY as a couple…this just ain't right.

Why don’t we get drunk and…

This was our big Buffett weekend and, as usual, it was a blast. Cowboy, SuperHusband and I took the RV on Friday and were set up and ready for drinking – in a prime spot I might add – by 5pm. (We questioned the greatness of our location the next day, however, when we learned the chunky girls across from us couldn’t keep their shirts on…)

Our Friday night was pretty tame…although we stayed up much too late. We ended up playing RockBand until about 3am with some people a few RVs over. I sang Wanted Dead or Alive about 4 times. Poorly, I must add and, of course, extra loudly (ed: why is it you are always about 30 times louder after a few beers?).

Since we drank dinner on Friday (and aren't anywhere near 21 any more), we were hurting on Saturday morning. Thankfully, another RV-er, who watched the hockey game with us Friday night, came over and brought me a huge plate of eggs and potatoes. Oh. My. God. They were so freakin’ good (we paid him back in Bloody Marys). All of the people at Buffett are like that – share and share alike. It’s awesome (and one of the things that makes it so great).

Anyway, our group came throughout the early afternoon. We probably had about 35 or so friends from college, high school and others. It was awesome. We spent a lot of time catching up and, of course, cruising the parking lot. A few highlights:

1. We took random shots of rotgut tequila from strangers
2. Did several Jello shots ($1 each to support breast cancer awareness – genius!)
3. I saw the biggest pair of natural boobies I’d ever seen in my life (with a big ole tat around one nipple!)
4. We boarded a pirate ship
5. Danced with new friends
6. Saw way too many people dressed inappropriately (the guy in the blue speedo we see every year was there again…)
7. And drank. A lot.

Oh – I can’t forget that I FINALLY met TheProfessor’s new man, Red. He’s awesome, of course. And he drinks Budweiser, which you don’t see too often. That gave him a few bonus points right there. That, coupled with the fact that he is obviously crazy about my BFF makes him a winner in my book.

But the greatness doesn’t end there…It wasn’t until the concert that the absolute coolest part of the whole day occurred.

OK. If you’ve ever been to a Buffett concert, you know that throughout the day they film the parking lot shenanigans and play the best clips on the jumbotrons during one of the songs. Well guess who made it to the ‘tron this year? My very own SuperHusband!!!! They filmed him cooking sausages on the grill, doing his Aggie “Gig ‘em” thing. When it came on, I was SO excited I was screaming to everyone, “That’s my husband!!! Oh my God!!" He was at the very end and they stayed on his picture longer than the others. (Obviously because they could tell how cool he is!)

It’s kind of funny that of all of us, SH made the cut…he can’t stand Buffett (he does, however, enjoy drinking outside during the day and loves me a lot, so he goes with us). But at least we had one family representative up there!

So there you have it. Another great year with the Parrot Heads. Or as SuperHusband categorizes them...Deadheads with Money.

Flashback Friday: I get whiskey bent and hell bound…

But it wasn’t always that simple.

It took me a long time to become the “whiskey and water” girl you all know and love. In fact, I spent the first 5 of so of my drinking years (which all occurred before I was legally permitted to imbibe, by the way), experimenting with a range of really, really bad shit. Granted, it wasn’t always by choice…when you’re 16 and it’s Friday night, you take what you can get. But I do recall loving a few of these god-awful drinks.

1. I grew up in a small town and, while I didn’t personally live on a farm, I did tend to visit this one pretty often:

2. I can’t tell you how many Camp Beverly Hills and Swatch shirts were ruined by the purple stains thanks to this grape mess:

3. If you’ve ever eaten red hots, while chewing cinnamon gum and drinking a Big Red, you’re familiar with this one. We liked to pair it with a Route 44 Sonic Sprite – we were classy like that:

4. The drink of choice for alcoholic bums and high schoolers who could get wasted on less than $5. Bonus: fits nicely in a brown paper bag.

5. When you’re looking for a smooth malt liquor with a little something extra, reach for the big mouth. Granted, it doesn’t have the street cred of, say, Colt 45 or OE 800 (“8-ball”), but it does have the famous jar-lid rebus that is pretty ingenious. Were they catering to the more educated malt liquor drinker? Or was the marketing director a former puzzle maker for Highlights for Children? Either way, everybody wins on this one.

I hope this pub crawl down memory lane has you ready to take on the weekend. As my good friend Blondie would say, “Everybody drink two!”

Cheers!

Its a son of a gun of a chorus...

So this is the big Buffett weekend. TheProfessor (and the new boyfriend I get to meet Saturday!) touched down at 4am this morning (seven hours later than planned thanks to the crappy weather). I talked to her this afternoon and she'd just opened her first beer and was getting ready to kick off vacation. I thought she'd be further along...it was 4pm after all. I guess we're getting older.

So the Buffett concert...only a few of us are actually going. The group gets smaller every year, but as long as TheProfessor goes, I'm there, too. Interestingly enough, I do like him and even know a few songs, but my favorite song he sings at the concert isn't even his...it's Southern Cross by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Not sure if Young was in on that one or not, but Jimmy definitely wasn't.

Anyway, despite my sinus infection (which is much better...thanks for asking), I'm excited. I've been fielding e-mails from the girls figuring out who is bringing what on Saturday, what time we're meeting in the famous Buffett parking lot, what we're wearing and other important details. SuperHusband, Cowboy and I are leaving tomorrow afternoon to secure our spot in the RV parking lot and get everything set up (the t.v. is a critical detail as playoff hockey is tomorrow and the NFL draft is Saturday).

Did I mention I'm bringing my rollerskates?

Not sure how cocktails and skating will work, but as long as I don't step on a poptop, I think I'll be alright.

I shall never breathe again...

Sinus infections suck.

Amuse yourselves.

I'll make a shoehorn outta your skin...

To the douchebags standing in front of us at the Blind Melon show:

I know you were super-excited that the insurance agency you work for let you off work 15 minutes early to hit happy hour on Friday. And I’m sure you were totally bummed that all the seats were taken at Dave & Busters, the Fox and the Hound or whatever other lame-ass sports bar you hit up to get your Jäger Bomb fix. And, while most folks would just throw in the towel and call it a night you didn’t. I admire that. However, your group was much better suited for Dick’s Last Resort (right across the street, I might add) than a concert of a band that hasn’t toured since its lead singer died almost 13 years ago.

Don’t get me wrong…I’m not a huge Blind Melon fan. In fact, liking them is a stipulation of my marriage contract – SuperHusband is a Super-Fan. But I do like them well enough and, even if I didn’t, I appreciate live music and have respect for all the fans who are seeing a band they love in person.

Obviously you all are not as enlightened as I am.

You were rude, annoying and frankly almost ruined the show for all of us. Should the big boss let you off early again, I have a few tips that might keep you from getting your asses kicked by someone a little less understanding than we were:

1. If your group would rather chat than watch the show, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, don’t stand in the pit. This is a fan zone…we want to hear music…not about your latest car lease/cell phone plan/designer sunglasses purchase.

2. If you ignore number 1, please remember that space in the front is at a premium. When someone leaves, the crowd fills the empty spot. If you have multiple people who are coming and going, it’s tedious (and annoying as hell) to have to keep moving to make room for you. Buy your kamikaze shots all at once (or man up and shoot some whiskey or tequila so you won’t have to go back to the bar as often).

3. If you insist on pumping your fist (out of sync, I might add) to the music, please make it a true pump – upward – and not an Arsenio Hall-style motion. You almost hit me in the face more than a few times and that’s just not cool.

4. Drunk girl #1 – Carry a smaller bag. Seriously. What did you have in that thing? I wish I knew because you almost knocked me over every time you bumped into me. Between that and your big ass, I’m surprised I wasn’t on the floor by the end of the night.

5. Drunk girl #2 – I don’t know which of your co-workers you hooked up with at the end of the night, but by the way you were kissing on all of them, I do know who was the talk of the office on Monday.

In closing, I’d like to remind you there are scores of bars in this city that cater to your kind. Try one of them next time. Or I really will have to kick your asses (or at least push you into a big guy who will take care of you for me.)

XOXO,
Ro

Flashback Friday: Ain't it funny how a melody can bring back a memory…

Because I neglected to post Flashback Friday last week, I’m making you all a mix-tape to repent for my slight and ask for your forgiveness.

I kind of miss the mix-tape. What do kids do these days? I’m sure the mix CD is passé…an iTunes playlist, maybe? Whatever it is…the “click and drag” is a lot damn easier than what we went through. Sure, it isn’t walking to school 4 miles in the snow like our parents…but still…

Mix-tapes were a lot of work.

Especially if you were like me and didn’t have a dual deck tape player. This meant you had to call the radio station, request the song, wait for it to come on, hold your tape player up to the radio and record it. There were numerous false starts, rewinding and starting over (you didn’t want to miss the opening notes of Kharma Chameleon, did you?). It was a chore…but the end result was worth it. And if you were on the receiving end of one of these babies…well you knew you were special. Just like you, gentle readers. You are special (most of you in a good way). That’s why I took the time, not only to compile a few memorable songs, but to also tell you why they have a special place in my heart.

1. Borderline – Madonna
One of the first 45s (remember those, kids?) I ever bought.

2. Wild Boys – Duran Duran
The theme to Birthday Slumber Party ’84 (15 squealing girls + late-night dance contests + 2am ghost stories + too much caffeine = last giant sleepover).

3. Girl Fight Tonight – Julie Brown (The comedian. No, I’m not kidding.)

Many a jr. high dance routine was choreographed to this catchy little number. If you’ve never heard it, you must check it out. That’s an order (if for nothing else than JB's amazingly 80s earrings).

4. Believe It or Not - Joey Scarbury
I loved the Greatest American Hero and I loved the theme song even more. One of my claims to fame is that I can sing the lesser-known second verse (I was known to do this in college. A lot.). Interestingly enough, on a school-scouting trip my senior year of high school our hotel room got Skinemax and we saw a soft-core porn with William Katt in it. Not great (nor heroic for that matter).

5. I’ve Got A Crush on You – The Jets
They sang this on Dance Party USA, which was by far one of the highlights of the 80s…I SO wanted to be on that show! Attention DPUSA producers: I have my AquaNet ready if you’re planning a comeback!

6. You’re Makin’ My Dreams Come True – Hall & Oates
The all-time, number one, best roller-skating song ever. Not for couples’ skate. Regular, fast, balls-out skating only.

7. Take on Me – A-ha
No list of 80s songs would be complete without this one. It’s by far one of the most memorable MTV videos of my youth. Speaking of which…remember when MTV played videos? A friend and I got into a fight in 6^th grade because she said I didn’t really like her and was using her for her MTV. She was right.

8. I Wanna New Drug – Huey Lewis and the News
I didn’t love this song, but it is burned into my memory because I thought it was SO scandalous that he wanted drugs (this was after Nancy Regan taught us to “Just Say No” to drugs without making the distinction that some drugs (i.e. prescription, a little weed or a Valium on a bad day) are ok).

9. Naughty Girls Need Love Too – Samantha Fox
The song epitomized bubblegum pop in the 80s. I loved it…and I loved Samantha (who should not be confused with the porn star of the same name). She was everything I wasn’t – short, blonde, giant boobs, in a Commodore 64 video game. British. God, I wanted to be her. The singer. Not the porn star.

10. Up Where We Belong – Joe Cocker & Jennifer Warnes
In 1982, every little girl with feathered hair wearing a Laura Ingalls-style dress wanted this song at her wedding. I was one of ‘em.

Bonus track: Black Velvet - Alannah Myles
True story – the first alcoholic beverage I ever drank was Black Velvet (stolen from my friend’s dad’s “liquor cabinet” – i.e. under the kitchen sink). It’s a whisky that is almost as bad as the fat girl who sings this song at Karaoke. You know the one.

So there you have it. I hope that you'll accept my apology and give me back all those friendship pins you made me return after last week.

LYLAS,
Ro

Dude looks like a lady…

Don’t you hate it when you’re watching a movie or TV show and there are two characters who look alike? It drives me crazy because I am easily confused.

Case in point, this year’s Top Chef. There are too many lesbian-like girls with brown hair. I can’t keep them straight (no pun intended). And these two…

Richard & Jennifer (or is it Jennifer & Richard??)

Interestingly enough...both are 35, originally from New York state, attended A.O.S Culinary Arts, C.I.A. (for "top secret" chefs??) and list variations of lamb as their "favorite simple spring recipe." Hmmm...

There are just WAY too many commonalities here for this to be a conincidence. Methinks I smell a Big Brother-esque twist. Agree?

Someone saved my life tonight...

Reason #456 why I love HippieSister: She, without prompting, wrote a fab guest blog for today’s post. I am so burned out from work that I have zero creativity and can barely keep my eyes open, let alone be darling and amusing.

Here’s a little background on HS…

Back in the day, she and I used to send our reality TV episode recaps to one another to entertain ourselves. We were so clever, in fact, that we thought it would be awesome to start a blog and share our hilarity with the world. Then she had a baby (HippieBaby is cute as hell, by the way) and was too busy cleaning up spit-up and nursing to keep up with The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll, let alone blog about it.

Lucky for us (and HS), HippieBaby is sleeping more and is finally off the tit, which means HippieSister is catching up on her TiVo. She’s even up-to-date on Rock of Love 2 and has provided her take on the finale for our reading pleasure.

I know you’ll enjoy her as much as I do. You can even like her a little more than you love me, but she doesn’t have her own blog (yet?) so you’re stuck with mine for now…

I agree with Ro, Rock of Love 2 has been a bit of a disappointment.

Has that stopped me from watching? No. I did, however, manage to tear myself away from yet another season of Flavor of Love, so I hope that gives me a little bit of street cred.

Anyway, after watching the season finale, my reaction:

What??!?! Bret chose AMBRE?!!!? I mean, let's face it. Is Ambre really rocker chic material? Soccer chic is more like it.

First of all, she is a little mature for BM at 37 (I am knocking on 37's door myself, so I am allowed to say that!). I know she is giving it the good college try with the rocker girl hairdo (bleached out on top, dark underneath) but, h e l l o, she somehow managed to middle-age that up as well by styling it a la blowout. Everyone knows rocker chicks use the Chi flatiron, they do not have blowouts!! Lastly, there is just something about Ambre that is more "Bret, you left your dirty socks on the floor and now the living room's a mess, dammit!" than "Bret, you left my vibrator on again and now the batteries are dead, dammit!"

Bret would have been much happier with, Daisy. Everything about her screams hard rock arm candy: fake boobs, hair extensions, plumped lips, neck tat, family estrangement. Shall I go on? And come on, she is obviously devoted to Bret if she is willing to move out of the one bedroom apartment she shares with her boyfriend.

What should have happened is that BM should have chosen Ambre as his nanny and Daisy as his ROL. That way, he would have someone who could read to his children and someone who could talk dirty to him. And I am willing to go out on a limb to say that if Bret ever did decide he wanted a little Jude Law-esque nanny action, I bet he could figure out a way to pull one over on our scholar Daisy.

I can't help but wonder if the ink is dry on Bret's ROL Season 3 contract.

Hmmm…

You and me and my old friends, hoping it would never end...

I have a really good excuse for not blogging last night...I was at the Daughtry/Bon Jovi concert! (As you may recall...Bon Jovi was one of the stars featured in my celebrity sex dream post a while back. I swear he's the only man that can pull off a lame-ass Superman tattoo. Well...he doesn't really pull it off...but you can kind of look past it.)

Sister and I really wanted to go together, but it sold out quickly and tickets were super $$. So when my boss...who we'll call Clairee (that's her alter-ego who drinks too much wine and has a serious shoe shopping addiction), told me one of her friends backed out and there was an extra ticket, I was in!

I'll admit... I was a little hesitant to hang out with a bunch of small town 40-somethings with kids...Clairee is super cool, but I'd never met the three friends who were driving in from out-of-town to join us. But I'd heard the stories of their wild girls' weekends...so I knew I'd fit in.

We had a suite at a hotel near the venue and started the night with several glasses of wine. Then onto the show...which was fab - even though the only thing I know about Daughtry is that is was on American Idol and has a kind of chubby wife (which makes me like him). And our seats weren't great, but they weren't terrible. Still, once Jon and "Richie Samoa" (as Clairee calls him) came on, it didn't matter. They were great and played everything I wanted to hear!

After the show we had our cab driver (a sweet older lady who admitted to sex with her man 5 times a week!) take us for some fast-food Mexican. I ate, went to bed and woke up with the worst heartburn I've ever had in my life.

As I was driving into work this morning (after stopping at a convenience store to buy some Pepsid), I realized that 40-somethings are actually about my speed.

I'm a loser, baby...

I'm a bad blogger. You probably noticed there was no Flashback Friday last week. Not to make excuses...but I will. Work was extremely busy, then we left for the in-laws' house right after. I was going to do it today because it's super fun to write (so I know it must be super fun to read), but I am tired and lazy. So you'll have to wait until Friday.

I promise to make it worth your while.

Be-ware (s)he's possessed to skate!

I just returned from my first trip to the roller skating rink since college. (We had a "date party" at a rink about 12 years ago. BTW - beer+skates+hard floors=not our best idea). Before that, I hadn't skated in about 5 years. So basically I'm saying that it's been a LONG ass time since I strapped on the skates.

However, I am happy to report that I'm still pretty bad ass. I started out a little shaky, but after about 5 minutes, it was on like Donkey Kong (which incidentally, they had in the "game room," along with 4 mini-skee ball machines). Like my awesome skating skills, not much has changed since I went to skating rinks as a kid. There's the super-cute little girl in her purple skating skirt and matching skates (when that girl was me, mine were pink and I had huge fluffy pom-poms with bells tied to them...Don't tell the roller derby girls). And that 30-something chick with her custom wheels skate-dancing circles around everyone is still there (she's 50ish now and STILL a Rick Springfield groupie). And don't forget the creepy dude with facial hair, who's a little too good (and a little too old) to be totally normal - or allowed around little children.

In other words, it was a damn good time.

Well, aside from the massive blisters. And knowing my legs are going to be sore as hell tomorrow. And the fact that "Love Rollercoaster" is totally stuck in my head.

It’s raining men…Hallelujah!

So the EntertainmentDirector has found yet another gem for our lunchtime viewing pleasure. It’s the PBS masterpiece Tales of the City and it’s completely uncensored and mostly unedited (in other words, if seeing boobies and an ass here and there makes you giggle, you’re in luck. If you’re interested in hearing Olympia Dukakis say “fuck” sorry…not this time, sister.)

Armistead Maupin’s engaging account of life in 1970s and ‘80s San Francisco is arguably one the best series ever written (god…that sounds like a high school newspaper book review, doesn’t it? But I speak the truth.). My friend (and Sister’s sister-in-law) - the absolutely fabulous HippieSister - introduced me to them years ago. Incidentally, HippieSister now lives right outside of San Fran. (She has a compost pile and everything.) Coincidence? I don't think so.

After I read Tales, I immediately went out and bought the other five books. I was seriously depressed when I was done with them, although I recently learned a new title, Michael Tolliver Lives, was released last year. Maupin initially denied it’s “a seventh Tales book,” but it’s written from Mouse’s perspective (who is my absolutely favorite resident of 28 Barbary Lane), so you tell me.

Anyway, I can’t believe I’d never seen the mini-series before. Even if you haven’t read the books (which you absolutely should…but I understand some people have kids, jobs, bad reality tv to watch), the television version does not disappoint. It’s all about San Francisco is its gay-day – the drugs, the disco, the decadence (the stashing of Quaaludes in Virgin Mary statues...). We’re only on part three of six (which focuses primarily on the first book, by the way), but so far, the highlights are abundant:

• Mouse, clad in tightie whities, tries to win rent money by entering a dance contest at The End-Up (where there are more mustaches than you can shake a….um…stick…at);
• Brian attempts to work his game at a bathhouse (I didn’t know people went to those for hetero-hook ups?!? I’m so sheltered.);
• Mrs. Madrigal and Mona attend the most fabulous ‘70s drag show ever (Glenda the Good Witch is a dead ringer for Mike Tyson and I think Chris March from Project Runway designed all the outfits); and
• Beauchamp’s wife realized (at fat camp no less) that she may be pregnant with the Asian grocery delivery guy’s baby.

Plus, there’s an all-male nude beach scene.

And, really, is there any better compliment to vegetable soup and carrots than some “squint-and-you-can-see it” penis action during the lunchtime hour?

I didn't think so.

I'll remember you...

Sister found out today they have to put their beloved cat to sleep tomorrow. He had an abscessed tooth and just hasn't been the same since his surgery. Turns out, he has cancer. He hasn't eaten since last week and is down to nine pounds. They took him to the vet and, despite being fed intravenously, he hasn't improved.

The vet called today with the sad news. She allowed them to bring him home for one last night, so right now they are showering him with lots of love and kisses and saying good-bye. I can't even imagine what they are going through.

I'll be back with the funny tomorrow. Right now, I'm just too heartbroken for them to be darling.

I wanna rock n roll all nite...

Since you already know all about my shameful lesbian dream, I might as well spill it about one of my other secrets. This one isn’t shameful….in fact, I think it’s pretty kick ass.

I want to be a roller derby girl.

Never mind the fact that I’m not the toughest chick in the world (I was president of my sorority for god’s sake…) and that the last time I was at a skating rink I almost tripped over my friendship pins during the couple’s skate. I think it would be REALLY fun and I kind of think I could do it.

So…when I heard tryouts were held back in January, I was a little bummed. But I’m not about to let the dream die that quickly, so I e-mailed the league to see if they were holding any other tryouts between now and next January. Here’s part of the response I received:

“You can come out anytime and join! We practice ____. You should come out on Wednesday!”

Seriously?? Just like that? I really want to do this, but do I want to do it this soon? I thought I’d have a while to practice. I actually do own a pair of quad skates, but they are at Cowboy and MamaE’s house (an hour away). We’re going this weekend, so I’m planning to get them and start practicing. But there's no way I can make it this Wednesday!

But I AM going to do it. So I guess Project Roller Derby is underway. I'll keep you posted.

Flashback Friday: Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin’ world go round

Back before the whole “obesity epidemic” thing hit, there used to only be one fat kid in each grade. And when I was growing up…that kid was me.

Every year we had to go to the nurse’s office for our annual height/weight/head lice check. This was always the most humiliating day of elementary school. Especially in third grade when I stepped on the scale and the skinny little nurse looked at me with disdain (I was not imagining this) and yelled out “137!” I’m sure that after full day of hearing numbers like “65” and “70” the assistant must’ve thought she misheard Nurse Ratched. Sadly, she did not.

So began my lifelong quest to slim down. I don’t really remember dieting until much later, but I did try to exercise (Jane Fonda, Calenetics, etc.). I was already playing tons of sports (poorly…but I was playing them). Then I happened across a product that gave a glimmer of hope to me, and other pre-pubescent fatties everywhere: the Get in Shape Girl workout.

Oh how I loved my rhythmic gymnastics set (never mind the fact that I couldn’t even – and still can’t – do a cartwheel). I spent hours upon hours in the front yard, dressed a red leotard and white tights with grass stains on the feet (hey, I might’ve been chunky, but I had pretty high self-esteem), entertaining the neighbors with my routine to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go. I could whip that pink ribbon around like nobody’s business!

I had two sets of Get in Shape Girl products – the ribbon one, as well as the super-cool leg warmers, headband and 1-poundish weight set. I didn’t do much with the weights, but I loved the headband and legwarmers. They often complimented my leotard and tights (and sometimes my school-day attire).

Unfortunately, as much as I did my routines, I never got in shape. I think it was the fried Texas Toast slathered in butter and other such delicacies I ate on a regular basis. Maybe if they would’ve had a “Don’t Eat Like Pig, Girl” set I would’ve. But I did have fun.

That said, I'm happy to report I'm no longer the fattest kid in class. I do, however, still dance in my front yard to the sweet, sweet sounds of George and Andrew on a pretty regular basis.

I said Mama but we're all crazy now...

Oh. My. God.

Reality television has hit a new low (or high...depending on how you look at it) and it's called I Know My Kid's a Star. This show is absolute greatness. And it's taught me one important thing that I have to pass on. The Britneys...the Lindsays...the Dana Platos...and all the other "fallen children stars" who we hear about all the time never stood a chance. If this program is any indication of how things work in the showbiz world...their mothers are to blame. Jesus, these moms are bat-shit CRAZY.

I'd planned to post about Rocky (aka Melissa Brasselle who you probably don't know from such cinematic masterpieces as Cheerleader Massacre and Black Scorpion - she played "streetwalker #1," by the way). From the first show when she asked her 9-year-old daughter if her "tampon string was showing" (seriously), she has stolen the limelight from everyone (with the exception of Danny Bonaduce who drops "the Partridge Family" in every other sentence..ooohhhh drinking game!), especially her super-cute daughter Hayley. But honestly, the other moms are catching up fast.

My new least favorite is GiGi Hunter. I don't care if she was a dancer in Coming to America in her heyday, she is just plain mean to anyone who does better than her daughter on a challenge (which is most of the kids, by the way). She even got sweet little Shannon to cross over to the dark side.

Shannon's daughter, McKenzie, freaks me out. A lot. In the first few episodes, she looked like a mime with her her super white face and red lips (shouldn't a former Miss Random-Small-Southern-State know how to apply make up to her daughter a little better?).Plus, every time you see her in the background of a shot, she has this creepy pained smile on her face that cracks every so often. And then the acting. OH MY GOD THE ACTING. They compare her to an overacting to Shirley Temple...yeah...if Shirley did about 12 lines of blow or so with César Romero on the back lot of Twentieth Century Fox.

If you haven't seen this show, it's well worth 60 minutes of your time. If for nothing else than to ponder why Gian (pronounced John for those of us in the more lowbrow set)'s mom looks so familiar. It's seriously driving me crazy. Not bat-shit crazy. But crazy nonetheless.

We're a movin' on up...movin' on up...

SuperHusband and I are finally entering the 21st century...

Tonight we purchased our first-ever flat screen T.V.s! Yes, T.V.s, plural.

We bought matching 42" plasmas. His is for PS3 and NFL Sunday Ticket (and college football...and hockey...and basketball...golf...tennis....curling...). Mine is for such intellectually stimulating reality programming as Rock of Love, Big Brother, I Know My Kid's a Star (which I MUST blog about soon. If you've seen it, you know why. In a word: Rocky), Top Chef, etc. etc. Plus I can finally watch Planet Earth, which I've been holding on to until we moved into the high-definition universe.

I am way excited, but they won't be delivering it until next week. I guess we'll keep slummin' it 'til then.

Sweet dreams are made of these...

Does anybody else have random celebrity sex dreams? I say "sex dreams" but usually there isn't actual sex involved, just some "heavy petting" as Dear Abby would say. For some reason, I've had several of these...and more often than not, they are about stars I've never really thought were cute in the first place.

Case in point...Mark Wahlberg.Is it just me or does he kinda look like he ate David Spade in this photo? Anyway...if you've read this blog, you probably know I had a little thing for brother Donnie back in my jr. high days. But I never thought much about Marky Mark. For one thing, he seems like he'd be short (I'm 5'9"). For another, I've never been a fan of the third nipple. Two is plenty for this gal.

Example #2....
Long before Sarah Silverman was fucking Matt Damon, he was in one of my dreams. I never really had a thing for him. He's kind of moley (and I like to be the most moley in a relationship, thankyouverymuch). Plus, he's really into baseball, which means I'd have to pretend to be a fan for too many months of the year, which would suck.

Example #3...Jon Bon Jovi.Oh Jon. Your love is like Bad Medicine. But I'd never really thought of you in that way before (I'm more of a Nikki Sixx girl). However, unlike a fine boxed wine, Jon has only improved with age.

Now, lest you think my REM sleep discriminates, I have had a lesbian dream. Just one. And let me tell you, it wasn't pretty.
Sadly, this is not an April Fool's joke. Of all the hot women celebrities, I get Kathy Griffin. Not Angelina Jolie...or Gwen Stefani...or Gabrielle Union. Kathy-freaking-Griffin. Now don't get me wrong, she is funny as hell. I love her stand-up and even her D-List show. I'd love to hang out with her and her gays. But I don't want to be getting it on in dreamland (or any other land for that matter) with her. (Note to readers: if you ever have an embarrassing lesbian sex dream, don't share it with your significant other...SuperHusband won't let me live this one down.)

Anyway, the point of this post is...dreams are weird. And I am, too.

Please make me feel better and tell me about yours...

Edited to Add: OK, not details. I'm weird, but not that weird. I just want to hear who they were about. Bonus points to anyone who can beat my girl, KG.