Pizza, Dolls, and Tank Tops

Fairies give me the creeps. You may be wondering if this has anything to do with anything, or how it relates to the title of this blog entry. Well, tonight's theme is that I don't really have anything in particular I want to write about; I'm just going to let my thoughts fly and see what comes out for the next twenty-ish minutes. Grammar be damned, I just don't care about anything that's run-on or dangling tonight. Fairies are on my mind because I am currently watching Marie Osmond selling some creepy fairy doll on a home shopping show. I've always thought fairies were creepy. I just can't trust anything that's so petite and sparkly. Damn, though, she can sell the shit out of those pricey little creeps. Right now she's talking about how this doll is a symbol of the peaks and valleys we have to travel through in life or something. I better go grab my credit card.

I'm so hungry for pizza right now that I just did an image search for "gooey cheese pizza" so I would have something delicious to look at. I'm looking at pizza pictures and listening to Marie Osmond talk about walking through life with a magical porcelain fairy. Amazing.

I don't think of myself as a person who makes judgements about people based on what they wear, but I've come up with my own little theory that most women who have a little bit bigger arms and wear tank top-ish sleeveless shells with one bra strap hanging out are probably unhappy with their jobs. Think about it.

I have too many chins. I need to do something about that.

The other night I was pretending to be a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance. I woke up the next morning with a sore neck. I couldn't figure out what it was from, until I went to rehearse my signature SYTYCD wild head-roll and went "Ow!" Woops. Reality TV is dangerous for my mind and my body.

Have you ever gone to a movie and had a sudden urge to get up in the middle of it, stand in front of the screen, and start waving hello and/or tap dancing? Like, you wouldn't say anything, you would just move your body for the people in front of the movie screen for about 5 minutes and then return to your seat as if nothing happened. Draw a mental picture of it and I dare you not to laugh. People would probably think you had issues, but that's something I would enjoy seeing. I guess I would rather see it than actually do it. So if you're game, you should invite me to a movie sometime.

Did you ever see that Michael Jackson interview that Martin Bashir did a few years back? It was right around the time of the baby dangling incident. Well, I was chewing a piece of gum tonight and thinking about that interview. I remember Michael saying that when he was a kid and making so much money, he didn't understand why he couldn't have any of his money because he just wanted to buy candy and bubblegum. It got me thinking, what if you blew millions of dollars on candy and bubblegum? That would be so weird.

I like it when ladies who have really fakey looking acrylic nails point at things while they talk. It tickles my funny bone in a way that I can't really explain. Put on some fake nails and point at stuff; it's impossible not to laugh.

Do you know what would be a funny chest/torso tattoo? Crumbs of your favorite foods. Then, if you took your shirt off, it would look like you had just spilled food on yourself. This would also be a good idea for a lap tattoo.

Gooey cheese pizza.

I hate it when people leave their farts in random store aisles. Then, if you go down that aisle by yourself and then somebody else comes down that aisle, it's totally getting blamed on you. Not fair.

Do you ever wonder if you have an amazing natural talent for something you've never tried before. Like, what if I'm this amazing skeet shooter and I don't even know it. One of my favorite parts of Arthur 2: On the Rocks is when Dudley Moore is shooting skeet, and he shoots first and then yells "Pull! Hit the bullet! Hit the bullet!" I effing love that movie! IOL! If you don't know what that means you need to see the movie ASAP. It's SO under-rated!

Remember that gay dude Liza Minelli was married to a few years back. David something. Remember how he said Liza beat him up? He did an interview a few years ago with Stone Phillips and lifted up his shirt to show off his Liza scars...they were totally stretch marks! He tried to blame Liza for his flabby gut! Stone might not know a stretch mark when he sees one, but I sure as hell do.

Mmhhh...garlic.

I think I'm going crazy. I need to fall asleep so I can stop thinking about pizza and garlic. Plus it's been way more that twenty minutes. I've rather enjoyed writing this little piece of spewage though. Mmmhh...dipping sauce. Good night!

Order for Zbornak

Have you ever gone to a restaurant where you get to order your food at the counter, give them your name, and then wait for them to call you over the loud speaker? Isn't it totally boss to know that an entire restaurant hears your name?! All you need to do to get your 15 minutes of fame is pay a visit to your local Fuddrucker's. It's like you're actually a celebrity without even having to make a sex tape; alls ya gotta do is order up some flame-broiled piece of heaven on a bun. Ya know what's even funner, though? Giving them a celebrity first name and last initial! I know you're sitting in front of your computer right now, waving a judgemental finger at your monitor and saying, "Stop that, you! That's too crazy!" I know, I know, but it's just so fun that I can't help myself sometimes! An order of fudd-fries for Sarah Jessica P. One milkshake for Jennifer Love H. One double-cheeseburger for Gwyneth P. The fun is literally endless!

I was reminded of my favorite celebrity burger story while discussing famous-people crushes with my work mates last week. One of my colleagues said, in jest, "Mine is Bea Arthur!" Well, Bea Arthur just happens to be one of my favorite performers of all time. Not only was she brill on The Golden Girls, but I've also had the pleasure of seeing her perform live in her one-woman show entitled And Then There Was Bea. It shouldn't be a surprise that I lover her so much. I mean, I was named after one of her most iconic characters; she's practically a part of me. Anyway, getting back to burgers, one night after I had downed a few too many pre-dinner cherry cokes, I was feeling a little amped up and decided to pull my old trick at the Fudd. This time, however, instead of giving a first name and last initial, I gave a first initial and a last name. I know, but just wait, cause that's not even the crazy part yet. I gave them the name D. Zbornak. If you're wondering who that is, you have NO place being here. Seriously, get the hell out my blog! Everyone knows this was Miss Bea's name on Golden Girls. Ok, so as fun as it was to pretend to be Dorothy Zbornak while shoving chicken tenders down my gullet, the best part came after I left the restaurant. What?! Keep reading.

Alright, after our bellies were full, my sister and I headed over to our local Bead Monkey store to get some raw materials for necklace-making. I'm not good at it, so don't ask me to make you one; it's just a fun creative outlet and another way for me to express my art. Anyway, I usually don't even glance sideways at the section that has all the tiger's eye beads. I don't think they're ugly, I just don't like that they're called tiger's eyes and it makes me feel inadequate because I've never even been on a safari. I was stopped dead in my tracks this particular evening though by a statuesque, silver-haired woman hunched over the bead bins. She was wearing what I guess you would call a topper or duster jacket that was like a patchwork of swirls, various animal prints, and flowers. Crazy beautiful! She smelled like my kindergarten teacher...the perfect number of squirts of Gloria by Gloria Vanderbilt. Then, in that unmistakable timbre that almost made the beads start shaking, I heard her say, "Oh, these tiger's eyes are just gorgeous. If it's alright, I think I'll just take this entire bin and bring it back to my guy who does all my jewelry. I'd love to see what he could do with these." The moment I heard her speak, I know it was her...Dorothy effing Zbornak live and in the flesh, sharing the same air with me and talking about my least favorite bead. I'd never really met a celebrity; I didn't know what to say or where to put my hands. I did the only thing that made sense at the time. I called out to my sister across the store, "I have to go to the bathroom. Just come find me after you check out." What?! I panicked. I was hoping my sister would just get an autograph for me; she's not easily embarrassed by doing stuff like that. It seemed the perfect plan. I got to see her AND I would get her autograph without actually having to make a bold move. I'm not really into autographs; I'm more for giving celebrities their privacy, but this was different. It's D. Zbornak herself! Oh man, she didn't even know I had practically stolen her identity not two hours prior to this. I never thought I would actually see her on that very night! Those things almost never happen to me; I just don't have that kind of luck. I thought my luck had changed, but my plan didn't really work out the way I had hoped. My sister was alarmed by my behavior; she thought I was sick and followed me to the bathroom. She didn't even notice D! I didn't want her to feel bad, and I thought it would just be embarrassing if she went back in, so I made up a story about the chicken not sitting well with me and we called it a night. I've NEVER told her this story, so if she's reading it now I'm sure she's experiencing what Oprah likes to call an "A-ha!" or "Full-Circle" moment. Don't feel bad! It happened the way it was supposed to. Maybe I don't have an autograph, but nobody can take that moment away from me.

Zbornak, if you're out there, thanks for always keeping it medium well. You don't even know it, but you taught me an important lesson that night: When placed in the right hands, tiger's eyes can be beautiful.