Judge Not...

..Lest yet be judged for the not one, but two New Kids on the Block Joe dolls I used to have. I had one from my brother and one from my best friend. Lord knows where they ended up, but I guess I should be glad the evidence of my giggling girl days are long gone. Or I should be pissed that I had one still in the box and who knows what that would fetch on eBay. (Apparently ten bucks if I'm lucky.)

Why this confession? I found myself spitting on the anticipated release of Twilight on DVD while gagging over the thought of the Jonas Brothers. Then I freaked out because it's been about ten year since my similar reaction to the Backstreet Boys. (Although secretively, I did want it that way....) I pretend that I don't understand the legions of girls that go nuts for these guys, but then I had to remember that I was once like them.

The first concert I ever attended was a New Kids concert. I remember after church my parents asked my brothers to go ahead into the house, they had to talk to me and my sister. Thinking we were in trouble, I was even more excited to find out they bought us tickets. Looking back, my mom and dad were AMAZING parents to suffer that for their daughters. (I now fear what I may have to be exposed to fifteen years down the road. Maybe I should play my eggs some Yo-Yo Ma and start them in a dignified direction. )

As for Twilight, (aka, Bram Stoker's Romeo and Juliet) again I shouldn't judge. I read Sweet Valley High as a young girl. You know, pretty people with problems. It helped prepare me for enjoying the original 90210. Rich pretty people with problems adds an extra element.

We all have these skeletons in our closet. But I'm choosing to no longer hide behind my hypocrisy and admit on my anonymous blog that I once enjoyed girly tempations. I guess the Bible's right. Be true to thine own self, and to thine owns self be true. (You know, the seventh commandment.)

R.I.P. Adam Carolla Show

Dear Online Diary,

....Delete the tears....

2009 was the year that I was going to take some time off and finally go to one of the live Adam Carolla shows. Be it Los Angeles or Las Vegas, I was going to buy that man a beer and shake his hand. Of course if there were any drinking games, I would have run like a chicken.

And I finally was mustering up enough courage to call in and do one of the How Say You segments (assuming they'd let me on the air.) After hearing Teresa Strasser do her review of Debbie Does Dallas, I get into a conversation about porn with my man and he shows me this, well, it amounts to approaching a woman on the street and spending half an hour convincing her to have sex with a stranger in a van. I was wondering how much men would watch as the convincing part was quite long. Although it was too short with anyone with any amount of self-esteem. Finally we get to the sex in the van part.

I am not kidding when I say that what popped into my head was "Wait, they aren't wearing seat belts. Where are the police? Doesn't this violate Click it or Ticket?" Yes, there were two naked people having sex on the screen but I say this to my boyfriend. And then I break into my Carolla Burbank cop impression. "Okay, what I'm gonna need for you for you to do for me okay right now is go ahead and put your pants on and show me your license and registration okay right now. Sir, okay right now, please remove your penis from her vagina and step away from the van okay right now, okay right now."

Yep. I wanted to tell that story on the air. Of course now the phone lines will be flooded as tomorrow is the last day of The Adam Carolla Show. I'm sad. Didn't cry. But I'm sad. I have no doubt though, with this talk of a podcast,that Carolla will thrive in the media. Just not in the form that I've come to know and love these last two years of listening. I will burn calories to find him where ever he will entertain. I will miss my mornings filled with Ace Man, T, and Bald Bryan. But I wish them all the best in this rocky economy.

P.S. G.S. Go Sox’s!

Celebrity Sighting #11

I don't believe in the concept of Valentine's Day. But I do like presents. But in an attempt to not be that girl, this year for Valentine's Day, my man and I went to go see Christopher Titus together the Saturday before. Considering it's on a Saturday this year, I like avoiding the lovey-doveys. We both are occupied that day anyways.

So Tommy T's was packed. I forgot they pack you in like sardines in there. I lucked out because there were only two of the four types of crappy audience members. Across was the sour-puss that left me wondering why would you drop the forty bucks to have a bad time? (She was clearly a pain as she sent the food back. It's a comedy club, with an item minimum. Why are your expectations so high?) Behind us were the people that clearly ignored the “shut your mouth and let others enjoy the show” announcement. And they were loud. I came to see Titus, not hear your beer fueled blah, blah, blah. I count my blessings that the loud mouth that likes to be part of the act was nowhere to be found. And to top it off no cell phone was heard. Then again, the laughs did not stop so even if one did, there was no way I would have heard it.

Also note to self: next to me you go to a show with an angled view of the stage, sit in front of your 6'3'' boyfriend. As a bonus though, the guy behind me was a laugher like me. That is infectious for me and I enjoy myself when those around me are having the same good time, even if I don't know them.

Every bit was awesome, even the moderately offensive parts didn't go beyond my sensitive-o-meter. In the middle of the show he mentioned that he had shirts he was selling after the show and would be signing them. When the show was over, I bolted to the back because I was not going to miss out on that. I felt bad because I had abandoned my boyfriend. Titus wasn't there with the shirts, but I was going to get my damn autograph. He came downstairs and I grabbed my camera. Unfortunately, it was stuck to my little purse filled with my feminine hygiene products. But I wasn't going to miss the chance. I zipped it closed, handed it to a random guy and just pretended it was the camera bag.

I feel bad that it looks like my boyfriend wasn't meant to be in the shot, but he just tried to get into the back. I was in a hurry and didn't want to be the jerk monopolizing the celebrity's time, especially when he had a second show starting in an hour. I bet if I crop him out, it'd look cool. (Damn I'm mean. He bought me the shirt because he loves me and I'm cropping him out of my “me and celebrities” album.) As we were leaving Titus said to another fan the crowd was great. The previous night's crowd wasn't so responsive and we made up for it. Yeah we did!

On the way home, we rehashed some of the bits. That's one of my favorite parts of a great night. Laughing and having a great time with people you love.

The Titus special Love is Evol is on Comedy Central this Saturday and I suggest EVERYONE see it. This man is hilarious, the material is fantastic and you should avoid the Valentine's Day crap out there and sit with your loved one and enjoy it together. Just turn your sensitive-o-meter down a bit before it starts.

Hail to the Chief, Faithfully

Or was it supposed to be "faithfully hail to the chief"? It doesn't really matter because we have a new president either way. I feel compelled to point out that when Obama recited the oath and he jumped in before he should have, I thought that it should be done only a few words at a time. And I had this flash to the episode of Cheers where Frasier has a dream that Woody gets elected president. I know I'm not the only one to think this because I stole the YouTube link from someone else who had the same observation. But still, take a look.

Objects in Dream Aren't as Cool as They Appear

Here's my random thought of the moment. Have you ever had one of those dreams where you're so caught up into it and when you wake up, you will yourself to remember it so you can write it into a short story. Then you fall asleep and have a dream that erases pieces of the story worthy dream. And of course you get pissed and struggle to get the whole story. Then the writing process starts and as you put it all together, it's not an interesting story. But for some reason when you woke up, it was best selling material and you were sure you could sell it.

Well, it finally occurred to me that the greatest books and movies get you so swept up, that you become emotional. You react to it even after the credits have finished or you've turned the last page.

I cannot think of a dream I've had that did not include me. So those ones that have amazing action or a deep heart wrenching story get me overwhelmed with endorphins. When I wake up I think that this was so much of a story and I've reacted to it as I did, it must be as good enough to sell. Sadly, that's never the case after I've written passed page five. Mostly I've given up on the dream journal translating into a best original screenplay Oscar.

If you really think about it, how many writers tell about how the amazing stories they've written came to them in a dream. Mostly they are inspired by things around them when they are conscious. Does that mean that Red Bull is the way to prize winning stories? If I overdose on it, can I write about my wacky adventures in the emergency room? Meh, at least it will be based on a true story. We all know those sell.

Good Lord, That's A Lot of Money

I've always been a firm believer in buying used books. Paying full price for a book seemed silly when I can buy it for ten percent of the list price and still get all of the original pages included. Also that governement sponsored Blockbuster but for books place makes it even ore painful to shell out that much cash. The only time I pay full price for the book is when the author is handing it to me. And that's what I did yesterday.

I heard about Adrienne Barbeau's book Vampyres of Hollywood on (ssshhhhhhocking) the Adam Carolla Show. But I read in my local paper that she was appearing at a book store two towns over.

After days of running around and not getting freaking things done, I decided I needed to have a little fun and go to a book signing. I asked my brother if he wanted to come and he obliged. Sadly he didn't realize it was a reading, Q&A, then signing. Sadly, I wasn't really looking forward to the entire thing myself, but that's okay. I read that it was at 7PM so we headed out at 6:15 even though it was only about 15 minutes away.

Yeah, I got directions online and I still got lost. That's a special talent of mine. I can be on the other side of the country with a map and do just fine, but I half-ass local directions and waste gas like crazy (Sorry Mother Earth.). Well, we get there at about 6:45 and decide to head on in and get a good spot.

Well, as I go in, I see on the board outside that the signing is at 5. WHAT, WHAT, WHAT????? Crap, I missed it. She's gone. Freaking newspaper telling me that it was at 7. I then had Homer's Mr. T at the mall story going through my head. I was about to tearfully ask if she would be back and be sad when they would say "they didn't know". But it worked out because in the back of the bookstore Ms. Barbeau was sitting signing books and chatting with a few stray customers.

This was awesome. I went up to her and said that I wanted to complain about the newspaper saying the wrong time. Then I realized I was blaming the paper and if under under oath, I probably could not swear that they got it wrong. I'm not perfect. She actually asked the store owner to check and see if it said 7. Turns out that there were events listed in a column and I read 7 for one of the other places. I hung my head in shame.

She said she was sorry that I missed the reading and the Q&A, but were there any questions I had for her. I can't believe I said it, but I turned to the person handing her the stack of books to sign and obviously watching the time for her and asked her how to become an assistant like her. Turns out she was the event coordinator for the store. Of well. I got one of the books, had her sign it. Asked if she could sign my copy of Cannibal Women in the Avocado of Death (Don't act like you've never seen it.), and got my picture taken with her.

So due to a blunder on my part, I missed the reading that would have spoiled part of the book, the Q&A I wasn't prepared for, the long line to stand in, and the feeling of rush because I didn't want to deny the people behind me their time with a celebrity. So all in all, it couldn't have gone better. Whoo! Now I just have to get past the sting of the $25 on my credit card and I'll be happy.

Something Costumed This Way Comes

I'm a bit sad. Ordinarily this is my time to shine in the creativity department. Unfortunately that's been shoved to the side due to the uncontrollable busyness at my job this year. And huge shock: I did not lose the twenty pounds I was hoping to to warrant the slutty costume I hope to don one day (Speaking of don, the slutty mob girl costume caught my attention while shopping last Saturday. Sigh...someday).

Well, I decided to take the easy road this year. And by easy, I mean the buy a costume that's horribly made, itchy, and looks vaguely like the character I was hoping for, but still have to buy the additional pieces on the picture of the costume, but are not included in the fifty dollar price. I swear it's highway robbery. And if you shop late, it's been opened, tried on and shoved back in the plastic bag. I had to deal with this for my boyfriend's costume. Awful. Fortunately, I got my costume the first week of October and I had a ten dollar off coupon, so as of now, I've spent twenty plus tax for my costume. I just need a white headband for authenticity and I'll be done.

I guess I can still claim creativity even though I'm selling out to the billion dollar costume industry. Damn adulthood and how it limits my time if I want to afford to pay my bills and whatnot! So I think I should get credit for participating in my first couples costume. I always though the electrical outlet/plug type costumes were a little lame. And I wanted to bring my pop culture spin on the concept for me and my man. Sadly, he did not even listen to my arguments for going as the Ambiguously Gay Duo.

It makes sense. He's blond and I'm a brunette. What's everyone looking at?

So giving it some thought, I came up with this: He would go as one of the Spartans from 300. I of course would be the beauty in his corner when he goes off to battle. That's right, Arianna, the Spartan cheerleader from Saturday Night Live. Decent idea right? I doubt it'll win best costume this year, but I'm proud of my idea. I'm only looking for one chuckle. That's what I'm after this year. And I've been practicing the cheers.

Who's that Spartan getting a wedgie? It's Me! It's Me! I bet after giving my boyfriend a wedgie in a Spartan costume, he'll wish we went as Ace and Gary.