Did I Mention That I Hate You?

“Kendall is… wearing a hideous sweater with shiny crap all over it. It looks like she made it herself, while doing drugs with Donatella Versace and Björk.”
– Jacob, TWoP

Dear Mall,

Okay, you got me. Haha. Cropped hoodies? That’s cute. Capelets? Precious. Sweaters created just for the arms and upper back? Hilarious. But now it’s winter. It’s cold. I can see my breath. I know that my state was cut in half during the Civil War, but I live in the North and it’s freezing up here and in case you haven’t heard we won, so get with the program and create clothes that actually cover our bodies.

I’m working very hard to prevent Office Ass, or as the ladies at SBC call it, Bell Butt. But someday I may fail or fall dangerously close to squish territory, so could you offer at least ONE pair of pants that isn’t uber-low-rise and ONE shirt that hits below my belly button so that I won’t have to flash my tat at everyone who walks by my office or hide under my desk when Top Secret Work Crush stops by? The pressure on my midriff is reaching Orange-Alert teen pop star status and today is Cake Day, so knock it off.

I know I gave you a CHUMPS card the other day, but seriously? I found not one, but THREE racks yesterday full of hoodies that stop just below my armpit. Why. And they were not shrunken accidentally, nor did I mistakenly wander into the children’s section. They were created INTENTIONALLY. What the hell for? Are these the new dickies? Are we wearing dickies OVER our clothes now? Oh god, you’re writing that down, aren’t you? I knew it. And I hate you.

And if you’re going to stop selling my bra, could you warn a girl? I have a crate in my Armageddon bunker specifically set aside for back-up bras, and if you were going to clear out the whole shebang, you could have at least sent me a letter. Um, perhaps you’ve never heard of the Famous Barr Bra & Panty Club, of which I am a card-carrying member? Six stamps equals a free bra, not a heart attack, and I hate you. I’m going to run around town rocking the worst case of quatro-boob you’ve ever seen and tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend. And when I got home I found my bra online so nyah nyah and eat it. Nice try.

The one thing you did succeed at was playing every single Christmas song EVER CREATED in the same building at the exact same time, remixed with a little flava from Abercrombie & Fitch. This is not something for the record books. It is just stupid and most likely will cause permanent brain damage for your employees (I will give props to Abercrombie & Fitch for their shirtless male mannequins, though, who were rocking Santa hats and serious funnels a la “Jarhead.” That was pretty hot, albeit somewhat ridiculous and creepy).

And sequins? Are ugly, especially gold sequins combined with SILVER PUFFY PAINT so could you please stop sprinkling it all over every fucking thing that you carry? I really hate winding down after a long day of shopping by picking a parade’s worth of confetti off of my clothes with thread snips. Those purses made entirely of giant sequins are the most fug-assed creations I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I’m from a generation that welcomed jams and neon Hammerpants with arms wide open. And if I ever see anyone wearing a sequins beret again, they will get punched in the face. Don’t test me, mall. Don’t.

And while you’re at it, could you ask Victoria’s Secret why they insist on putting pictures of dogs on their underwear? Stripes: cute. Polka dots: cute. Dogs on underwear, even puppies: not cute, and I am worried about you. And going back to the low-rise pants – I don’t feel like advertising to the world that I am wearing a thong with hearts and golden retriever cameos. And also tell the Mac store that I glanced in there as I walked by, and they owe me new retinas. And also, I hate you.

Sincerely,

Stephanie and the rest of America

P.S. I will thank you for my one happy mall memory, which is the night that Rachel had to work in the Hose Department at Famous Barr, and we called up there like 800 times, just to hear her say “Hose Department”. Haaaha. But I still hate you.

Like a Big Pizza Pie

So you know what I’m thankful for? I’m thankful that I didn’t die from the tornado that blew through town last night… the tornado that I slept through because NONE OF THE SIRENS WENT OFF. Jesus. Thanks, K-Wood. Can I have a refund on some of my tax dollars or something?

Although my Thanksgiving didn’t end up as interesting as the one with TSGoC, it was an amazing time. I love Tony’s family so much, and while I missed my family, I had a blast eating with the Guilfoys. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. The night featured blackmail-worthy stories, dominoes, constant ribbing, and Bonnie’s spinach recipe, which is a new prized staple on my refrigerator.

I think the Biggest Party Animal award goes to Seamus the dog. After Nick got up for seconds, Seamus promptly stole his seat at the table and waited patiently for us to pass the turkey. We offered him brussel sprouts as a consolation prize, but he turned up his nose at that and retired to the living room to watch “Survivor” and poop out.

Saturday night was pretty fun. I discovered that they sell my favorite wine in cute four packs with tiny bottles, so the beginning of the night consisted of playing Trivial Pursuit, visiting with Katie and Joe, falling in love with Klaus the kitten, and simultaneously getting drunk and reveling in my girlie love of all things itty-bitty.

Afterwards I stopped by Two Nice Guys for karaoke. My friend Jake rocked the house as usual and ended up winning a free bar tab (although one of the other contestants tortured us with “Careless Whisper”, so the competition wasn’t too hard. Seriously, dude… talk about killing me softly).

I ended up bumping into one of my MySpace friends there, which was a nice surprise. The majority of my Myspace friends are actually friends of mine, but there are 3 or 4 people who share mutual friends with me that have won me over with funny messages and great personalities, so I added them. At any rate, he’s a really nice guy and it was cool to meet him, even though the encounter is a little fuzzy.

The TNG’s crowd was a good one, full of people I haven’t seen in a while. Mike usually works nights, so it was nice to see him out and about. I can’t really say the same for his ass, which was out when he mooned me later, but whatever. Tony was there, and we’re all pumped that he’s moving back in three weeks. And although Peter failed to party with me when he pounded on my window at like two in the morning last week, he was there too, and my favorite bar nights are the ones that I get to spend with Peter.

Warren invited some strangers back to the apartment to jam, so after accidentally setting off my panic alarm (hee) I went over there to listen to music, have some beer and pizza, and enjoy some quality drunk time with my favorite frat boys. And this was ALMOST the night where I passed out on their couch, but somehow I managed to walk home. Good times.

This week is going to be pretty hectic, what with leaving for Mishy-gan on Thursday (!), but hopefully I’ll find some time for fun in between work and errands and all that crap. Then again, I have to go to the f-ing mall tonight, so I may have to call in sick for the rest of the week to recover.

Double Dare To Be Different

Since the Jersey boys are coming to visit in a month, Jen and I have been super-excited, and we’ve all been talking a lot more about the good old days in London.

It really makes me miss Kevin a lot. I mean, I’m really happy for him and Monica and I’ve heard fantastic things about South Korea, but damn, Kev. I wish you were here.

I officially met Kevin at the airport on our way to London, but we didn’t start hanging out until a couple of weeks later. We instantly developed friendcrushes on each other and were BFFs soon after.

During those first couple of weeks, we spent a lot of time drinking wine and getting to know each other. I started going down the list of things that I usually tell people when we become friends, including:

1. I’m the Intercontinental Champion of Tetris, Simon Says, and Egyptian Rat Screw.
2. I can say all the books of the Bible in 23 seconds, and the alphabet backwards in 4 seconds.
3. I have a double uvula.

“Oh.” Kevin said, nodding. “So is that like a vagina thing?”

The uvula, in case you don’t know, is that weird thing hanging from the roof of your mouth in the back of your throat. It’s also what cartoon characters grab onto so they won’t get swallowed when they are eaten by a giant. Yay, uvula! Mine splits in two, and at any rate, this is when I officially fell in friendlove with Kevin.

For the next month or two, whenever he saw me (even in the halls or a crowded refectory) he’d smile and wave and in a sing-songy girly voice, he’d yell “I have a double vagina!”

I wonder if there are any kids from Regents who, when talking about the good old days, ask “Hey, remember that chick with the double vagina?”

Fast forward two years…

I was sitting outside of ScholarSh*p, having a smoke break with my friend Brandi. Brandi had recently received a full-ride scholarship to Wash-U’s Med School, officially making her the smartest friend I have. I asked her why she wanted to become a doctor.

“Everyone in my family, except for me, has some kind of weird medical… thing.” she explained. Her sister had a skin disorder I’d never heard of, her mom had something I’d never heard of, another sister had something else, etc.

“And my OTHER sister?” Brandi sat up and beamed proudly. “Has two vaginas.”

I’ve only done a spit take twice in my life, and this was one of them. “Are you shitting me?” I asked. “That’s actually possible?”

“Oh, she got it fixed eventually. But she’s in medical books and everything. My sister and her double vagina. How neat is that?”

I forgot to mention that Brandi had a six-year-old son, so she’d always say things like “snacky-foods” and everything she said came out in this hilarious “mom voice”. Including calling a double vagina “neat”.

A few months later I went to her graduation party, and by the time she got around to pointing people out to me, she was hammered. I met one sister, then another…

“And this? Is my other sister.” She told me. Then she ducked behind her sister and did this hysterical eyebrow wiggle and flashed me a peace sign, like “YOU know…” Got it. Thanks.

That was the most awkward “So, what’s your major?” conversation I’ve ever had in my life. Jesus.

ANYhoodle… Kevin, I miss you a lot. If I could e-mail you a hug and some candy, I would.

Suicide or Stuffing?

I resent the fact that I’m socially obligated to gorge myself silly once a year. What if I’m not hungry? What if I just don’t feel like it? Screw you guys.

However, this morning I discovered that I weigh five pounds less than I thought I did. Which means that I have five pounds to spare, so I won’t wake up tomorrow feeling fat. I’ll wake up feeling the same as I did yesterday. So today is a good day.

~~~*~~~

Last night I picked up my prescriptions from the store. I also grabbed a bottle of wine to bring to dinner, and while I was there I figured hell, I’ll grab a couple bottles of rum for the weekend parties, too.

While I was waiting in line, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my old friend Eric, who I used to party with in high school.

“So, what have you been up to?” he asked…

… before spotting the nice pile of booze and birth control I had laying on the conveyor.

“Ah.”

Happy Thanksgiving!

~~~*~~~

I just had brunch with Grandma, which was awesome as usual, and I’m taking advantage of the big empty house right now because my parents get home from Vegas tomorrow. In a few hours I get to party with the Guilfoys, which means this will probably be one of my top three Thanksgivings ever.

Also in my top three is the 75th Annual Thanksgiving Ultimate Frisbee Extravaganza that the Jersey Boys, Jen, Ron, Kevin, Ian and I experienced while in London.

The game was Pilgrims vs. Indians, which meant that in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, there was a lot of inappropriate trash talk:

“We’re going to scalp your buckle-wearing asses.”

“We’re going to stone you like it’s Plymouth Rock.”

“I hope you choke on my corn.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you like smallpox.”

It was a muddy, rowdy, and we probably scared the shit out of the Brits in the park. Afterwards we had to suffer through the “feast” that the Refectory provided for us. If you’re going to celebrate Thanksgiving outside of the country, I don’t much recommend that you celebrate it with English cafeteria food. But whatever. It was worth it.

And btw, the Pilgrims can Eat It. I demand a rematch.

Also, this has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, but Kevin once wrote a paper in London about euthanasia titled “Suicide or Cake?” It was mainly just a giant love letter about double German chocolate fudge, but it was fantastic paper and totally worth more than the C- and the “Kevin, please see me after class” note that he received. So the blog title is a shout-out to Kev’s paper.

~~~*~~~

The most INTERESTING Thanksgiving I experienced was two years ago, when The Secretary General of Cool and I first started dating.

TSGoC lived in the most scandalous apartment complex in Webster Groves, and a lot of his neighbors were pretty rowdy. He lived two doors down from a couple that had a cute little baby girl, but eventually they broke up and the dad, who I’ll call “Bill”, moved out.

Bill had a lot of problems, but TSGoC is so laid back and chill that he didn’t care, and he’d let Bill come over and hang out sometimes.

We went on a date the night before Thanksgiving, and just as we were about to go to bed, there was a knock on the door. It was Bill’s babymomma and another couple.

“Um… has Bill called you yet?” they asked.

“No. Why?”

“Oh, good. Maybe he’ll talk to you. Can you call him?”

Bill was apparently wasted, and had been driving around, calling everyone he knew and threatening to kill himself. His friends had called the cops, but no one could find him.

TSGoC, being The Man, got a hold of Bill and talked to him for a couple of hours, calming him down and convincing Bill to meet him at the Fuel Man across the street.

TSGoC and the other guy took off, and I was stuck on the balcony with two babymommas and all their drama. Awkward.

“Umm… nice to meet you”? “Happy Thansgiving”? I mean, what the hell are you supposed to say in that situation?

We saw a car pull up and screech to a stop, we heard lots of yelling and screaming, and then a bunch of cop cars appeared out of nowhere.

The babymommas were stressed and out of cigarettes, and I was feeling a little out of my element, so I offered to go for a run. When I pulled out of the complex, I saw about six cop cars, and TSGoC was standing there, like “WTF?”

When I got back, I heard the whole story: Bill got out of his car and started walking towards TSGoC, but he spotted a cop car in the distance and freaked out. He pulled out a knife and tried to cut himself. TSGoC knew that if the cops saw Bill with a knife he’d get shot, so he jumped on Bill. Bill tried to stab him, but TSGoC wrestled the knife away and hid it in the bushes, and basically saved Bill’s life in more ways than one, even though Bill just tried to kill him and just kind of sucks in general.

This is one of the reasons that I love TSGoC.

(I totally cracked up as I typed the paragraph above. I mean, this is really a holiday story for the grandkids. Yikes.)

(Happy Thanksgiving!)

So anyway, after we calmed down the babymommas, TSGoC and I went back to his place and watched a movie. It was about 4am when the phone started ringing, although we missed the calls. Bill was apparently pissed off that his plan was thwarted, and had called TSGoC from the mental ward to yell at him.

“I kinda feel like a dick.” TSGoC said. “Should I try to talk to him?”

TSGoC called the mental hospital, and they put him on hold. He paced across the room, but then he stopped and gave me a weird look.

He put it on speakerphone… and I heard Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away”. Haaa ha.

Happy Thanksgiving!

~~~*~~~

Edited to say: I realize that I may have just bummed you out with that story, so to lighten the mood, I’ll tell you what happened about ten seconds after I posted this:

I was putting on my shoes, and as I lifted my left leg to adjust the heel, I straight-up dropped on my ass. Like, for no reason.

Josh asked me the other day if I laugh when people fall. When I write him back, I suppose I’ll tell him yes. Because I sure as hell did. Man, I wish someone else saw that.

~~~*~~~

I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving with people you love. I hope it is fun and exciting and interesting. Just not TOO interesting.

And to answer the question: stuffing. Lots of stuffing. Like, five pounds worth. Gobble gobble!

CHUMP Up CHUMP Up and Get Down

When I was a cook at Pizza Hut, the creative forces behind the Employee Incentives programs came up with a brilliant idea: C.H.A.M.P.S.

CHAMPS stood for Cleanliness, Hospitality, and… I don’t know what else, because it was about six years ago. Each store received a massive board with pockets where all of the employees could collect CHAMPS cards. CHAMPS cards were earned by demonstrating one of the six keywords of the program, and being recognized by a peer for your good efforts.

Oh, there was also a cheer: two slaps on the counter, two claps, two snaps of the fingers, then point Buddy Christ fingers while yelling “CHAMPS!”

Needless to say, it was super lame, and it took about a day and a half before my manager Mark (who was the coolest boss ever) started turning all of the CHAMPS cards into CHUMPS cards.

CHUMPS cards were earned for everything from “Calling in sick when we all saw how drunk you were last night” to “Officially striking out with every girl at the Hut” to “Nice haircut, yo.”

And so, in the fine tradition of the Hut (and also because I currently have both pizza and writers block) I present to you my personal CHAMPS and CHUMPS cards in full effect:

CHAMPS cards

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: My biggest complaint with the Harry Potter movies is that they usually leave out my favorite parts of the book or major details of the story that make the books so enchanting. However, my biggest complaint about this movie was just a tiny little detail about the battle between Harry and Voldermort, and I can live with that. The Goblet of Fire was my favorite book of the six, so I’m really happy that it turned out so well.

We really lucked out getting tickets for the Moolah (thanks, Jen and Ron!!) and getting there early enough to snag a few couches, load up on booze and candy, and relax and watch Mr. Potter in full effect. This was definitely the best film of the bunch so far, and the first that I can recommend to the poor souls who haven’t read the books. The only downside, however, is that you will definitely cry at the end, and considering what happens at the end of books five and six, well… just get used to it.

Phil: For single-handedly ushering the interjection “Un!” into the New Millennium.

Madonna: For giving me the best CD to run to since the Scissor Sisters. And, as Track 3 proves, for stealing my diary and writing a song about it.

Rolling Stone: Elitists get off on making fun of it, and everyone else just kind of forgets that it exists, but it’s the only magazine that takes me more than 20 minutes to finish and doesn’t make me feel dumber after doing so. The articles are always in-depth and informative, the interviews are creative, and the magazine has always featured some of my favorite writers, from Cameron Crowe to Rob Sheffield.

And where else would I find out that Jarvis Cocker’s new album is tentatively titled “Cunts Are Still Running the World”? How else could I start getting excited about the Beastie Boys’ new movie, Awesome I Fuckin’ Shot This Movie, a year in advance? And most importantly, who else would refer to Leonardo DiCaprio as “The Nard”? C’mon! Rolling Stone is chock-full of shit that just makes my day, and a subscription costs 1/5 as much as People.

Ron: For the fantastic R. Kelly impersonation that he treats me with every time I call his house to talk to Jen: “I was just standin’ here… standin’ in the closet… Jen was on the phone with Steph-a-nie… and so I PULLED OUT MY GUUUUUUN!!!!…”

Junior Senior: For making me dance in my office, and because yes, you ARE the handclaps.

Smoke Breaks: Don’t get me wrong, I hate the fact that I smoke, but when you’re at work, smoke breaks are like recess. And it gives you a chance to talk one-on-one with people you’d never get to talk to. I met my last 4 boyfriends through smoke breaks. Most recently, they’ve given me lots of alone time with Conor, because we’re the only two P Funk All-Stars of the group. Smoke breaks have become a lot more fun since Conor’s been home, because I love Conor.

Kurt Vonnegut: My favorite author in the history of the world, for finally putting out a new book, A Man Without A Country:

Here is a lesson in creative writing.
First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.
And I realize some of you may be having trouble deciding whether I am kidding or not. So from now on I will tell you when I’m kidding.
For instance, join the National Guard or the Marines and teach democracy.
I’m kidding.

Where the HELL have you been, man? I missed you!!

CHUMPS cards

Donna: For asking me if I’d like to decorate the company Christmas Tree after describing how fun it is, and also for failing to inform me that said Christmas Tree is 15 feet tall.

My Ex: Because if you’re going to break up with me to record your masterwork and move to France, then you should, you know, record your masterwork and fucking move to fucking France, or at least admit that you’re a lying douche. I thoroughly enjoy the time we spend living on separate continents. And once the Trapped in the Closet jokes start getting stale, I’m going to need a new CD to make fun of.

The mall: Because I’m a size six, so I should not be self conscious at all. But no, there’s always the effing mall in all it’s Body Dysmorphia glory, ready to remind me why I should hate myself and break out the Trim-Spa. I wasn’t sitting in on any positioning meetings for Urban Outfitters, but I’m pretty sure “Completely Boobless” wasn’t a bullet on the Power Point presentation of their target market. Sarah and I went the other day, and while she was trying to figure out how she could simultaneously wear size four pants and be too small for an XL T-Shirt, I was incredulous over the fact that, at 5’2, anything marked “large” could be too short for my torso. We spent a half hour doing our very best Incredible Hulk impersonations in the dressing room before calling it a bust and hitting up Auntie Annies.

Pickle Juice: Because it looks just like water and also vodka, and it would be very easy for someone with a stuffy nose to fall for the “Have some water/ take a shot” routine. If you do this to someone else in my presence: funny. If you do it to me, you’re a jerk.

Ginger’s iTunes: Because I was rocking out to “Shine” by The Newsboys, which I haven’t heard since eighth grade, and with no warning, out comes “Too Close” by Next. In case you’ve never had the pleasure of hearing this joyous ode to The Freak, here’s a sample of the lyrics:

Baby when we’re grinding
I get so excited

(You know what you’re doing, don’t you)
You’re making it hard for me

All the songs on you requested
You’re dancing like you’re naked
Oh, it’s almost like we’re sexin’ (oh yeah)

And my personal favorite:

The way that you shake it on me-ee
Makes me want you so bad sex-u-a-lly
Oh girl

I fucking hate this song. I would rather crash my car than hear this song. I would rather show love to the Fox network than hear this song. And iTunes just informed me that, in addition to these rousing and classy lyrics, the song officially begins with the lead singer asking the audience, “I wonder if she can tell I’m hard right now? Hmm.” Which was a part that, until now, I was blessed to have never heard.

And although I’ve already given Next enough CHUMPS cards to last a lifetime, I should dole out one more because it’s a stupid question to ask, considering that you’re about to actually compose an entire fucking song about your boner, including a bridge where your dance partner requests that you please “step back” and stop poking her with your junk because you’re nasty. As Phil would say. “Un!”

Bob Loblaw, Wee Britain and Nevernudes

I have never hated anyone or anything as much as I hate Fox right now.

No, no… not Fox News. Don’t get me wrong, I hate Fox News, but right now I would rather ride a paddleboat through Katrina-infested water with Bill O’Reilly than show any love for the Fox Network. Hell, I would rather hang out at a party with all of my ex-boyfriends (as opposed to a party with half my ex-boyfriends, which is practically every weekend because most of them rule) than show any love for Fox.

The other day, I went on MySpace to check my messages, and there was a nice comment from my friend Ethan about our mutual love of Freaks and Geeks. In case you guys missed it, Freaks and Geeks was an absolutely brilliant show on ABC, with loveable characters, Emmy award-winning writing, and it contained the absolute best soundtrack of anything that has ever aired on television, ever – including the entire catalog history of MTV (but excluding any documentary that has ever aired about Bob Dylan or The Beatles). Unfortunately, the geniuses at ABC decided to air this show during primetime. On Friday nights. So naturally, after one season it bit the dust.

Believe it or not, I don’t really watch a lot of TV. Hell, I even hate The Real World with a passion now, and if you’ve known me for more than five years, you probably just did a nice spit take with your coffee all over the computer. Sorry. And when I do watch TV, it’s usually on in the background while I clean the apartment, work out, cook, practice the harmonica, make something pretty (My new love is mosaics!!!), etc. Former latchkey kids have a comforting attachment to background noise.

But after reading the comment from Ethan, I took a moment to mourn the loss of Freaks and Geeks and to thank my lazy 9-5 lucky stars that I had a few shows with impressive writing, actual plots, and great acting to watch before I pass out at 10 because I am OLD. My friends and I are obsessed with Lost, and I’ve replaced Ice & Fuel Mondays with our Wednesday night Lost gathering as my favorite weekly ritual. And if you touch me while I’m watching Veronica Mars, you’re guaranteed to lose a finger.

So after that warm fuzzy moment, I clicked on my messages and found one from Arnold that informed me that Fox. Fucking. Canceled. Arrested Development.

I have never loved any show (or book or play or poem or film) the way that I love Arrested Development. The writing is witty and hilarious and smart, and the cast’s delivery and improv make every scene priceless. This is quite possibly the only show that I have ever quoted repeatedly in conversations, and I have to watch the episodes again and again because my friends and I laugh so hard that we usually end up crying laughing through the next two or three jokes.

I think that David Cross said it best when he said this:

“I got an idea for what you can do – why don’t you fucking fire your complete marketing team, all right? Get a new one in there who knows how to market a show that’s won five mother fucking Emmys, Golden Globes, SAG Awards, Producers Guild Awards, critic’s Top Ten lists… you know, if you can fucking – if you can’t market that kind of a show and get better ratings? Than maybe the problem doesn’t lie here. Maybe it lies with marketing. Goodnight.”

And he said this all while wearing a Mrs. Doubtfire-esque bodysuit, boobs and all, which kind of explains everything you need to know about Arrested Development. And any show that recognizes the brilliance of Bateman while making Liza Minnelli seem kind of cool deserves kudos from their network.

Hell, if FX could run a day-long Prison Break marathon, they could do the same for Arrested Development. If Fox can bring back Family Guy, they can pit AD against something else besides Monday Night Football and see what happens. And honestly, if they can run The Simpsons for eight billion years and run The O.C. for three (which is two crap years too many), then they could, at the very least, order the “back nine” and give the cast and fans the full season that they deserve.

Fox, I hope that your hand gets bitten by a bloodthirsty seal and you end up in bed with an MRF. I’m willing to bet that you do business with Sadaam and you enroll your children in “Army” because “the fat man dared you”. At least Arrested Development could make all of those things absolutely fucking hysterical, along with vertigo and kissing cousins and prison. You can take your Prison Break and your beautiful beautiful Wentworth Miller and Eat It. Even your surrogate dad hates you.

And to everyone else: seriously, put down the nachos and sacrifice a half hour of football to watch Arrested Development, and I guarantee that you’ll absolutely love it.

Cookies Give You Wings

I had a pretty good weekend. I spent all day on Friday at a video shoot, so the day was fairly interesting and went by quickly. Then later that night, a bunch of us partied like rock stars with Conor, who is home from London!!! OMG! I love Conor so much, and when his Budweiser commercial starts airing all over the country, you will all fall in love with him, too.

Saturday night was, naturally, drunken mayhem with the frat boys, which has become so much easier to manage since two of them moved next door to me. We simultaneously played drinking games and watched Apocalypse Now, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Mike’s new motto for me (as he hands me a shot) is “Good thing you live close.” We’re all waiting for the night where we party so hard that I can’t stumble the whole 10 feet home.

Sunday was a pretty interesting day. I got to be a model, which is always, always fun. This time around, I drove about 50 mi. outside of St. Louis with Mimi and she shot pictures on the land that her mom just bought. The previous owners built a really nice house on the property, but they also filled the land with stereotypical trashy trailers, creepy shacks, and even a weird lean-to. Then they just took off and left everything behind, so there was this eerie, abandoned, The Stand-ish vibe to the whole place. I got to wear a big beautiful pair of angel wings and run around the rubble, which was a lot more fun than it probably sounds. She also brought a white serial killer mask for Seth to wear, but after about three shots of him peering out of a trailer door, we freaked out and made him take it off.

After I got home, I watched Family Guy with Warren and Mike. Then I made about 4 batches of cookies for my co-workers, which (I was just informed) they’ve hidden so that the other departments won’t steal them. I make a mean cookie. Nice.

And right now, I’m having a hell of a good time switching back and forth between Ongekend and Pig Radio. And tonight I get to meet the Ra formerly known as Pregnant Ra’s baby. Babies!!! Eeeee!!!