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.

Viva la Vida!

If you haven't heard it yet, I demand you go to iTunes immediately and fork over $.99 for Coldplay's amazing new song. I promise it will be the best $.99 you've spent all year. It'll be even better than that dollar you spent on the slick 'n shine bubble gum lip balm you think makes you look like Angelina Jolie, if you can imagine that. Sometimes you have to give a song a few listens before you warm up to it, but this is a total love at first listen experience. I've heard it like a bajillion times now and it still gives me goosebumps. While you're out there surfing the world wide interweb, you should go to their official website and sign up to win a pair of tickets/airfare to their show at Madison Square Garden; think of how much fun you would have taking me with you! Not like the deal needs any sweetening, but I'll even let you hold me while they sing Yellow and In My Place.

I've heard people say that when they put their iPods in the shuffle mode, they feel like it can read their soul. I've never had that experience of having it pick the exact song I needed to hear at that moment; ya know, like some song you haven't listened to in ages but is so all about your life right now. Invariably, when I put mine in the shuffle mode, within the first 10 songs I can count on hearing Will Smith sing Freakin' It and/or Wild Wild West. I'm not really sure what my iPod is trying to tell me with this. Do I need to incorporate more "dang diggy dang da dang da dang diggy diggy" into my daily vocabulary? I just don't really know if I could pull that off, or "freak it" if you will. Ya know, though, at least ten times a day I do hear myself telling people, "Don't let your lip react, you don't wanna see my hand where my hip be at." Hmm, maybe I should start wearing belts.

I hope you all did something nice to celebrate your moms today. I honored my mother by eating deli salads, doing the dishes, and taking a nap. As I type this, I'm thinking back to the first time I helped my mom get on the internet; she took the mouse and pointed it at the monitor like a remote control. I also remember her telling me we needed to make sure we wiped it down a lot so it stayed clean and wouldn't catch a virus; she tried to play it off like a joke, but I'm quite sure she was serious. Gotta love her! I wouldn't tell these tales if I thought she had the slightest chance of finding this. "What letters do I push, honey? Ww.maude/com.internet. I think we need new batteries for the rat, nothing happens when I point it on the picture screen." Ok, she's not that bad. Mom, if you ever push the right letters and let the rat guide you to the right place on the picture screen, know that I love you and I'm just playin.

I've said it before, but Sunday just sucks the life outta me. I dropped my remote on the floor right next to me like twenty minutes ago and have endured half-watching a program I have absolutely no interest in because I just really don't feel like bending down. Damn. It's Swayze Sunday though, so I'm gonna have to freak this and just bend down and get it. And yes, the tradition continues although I have stopped writing about it. I felt like it was probably really annoying and decided to just keep it to myself. I'm freakin it on my own. Dang diggy dang da dang da dang diggy diggy.

You Had Me at "You're Glib"

I don't know what the friz is going on with me, but I think I'm going through some kind of latent Tom Cruise obsession phase of my life right now. I feel like this is a rite of passage everyone must experience at one time or another; boy, girl, gay, straight, young, old...it matters not. I have full awareness right now that I am a total and complete sucker for his carefully calculated Oprah comeback. I've never considered myself a big fan of his. I've always kind of had an attitude about it too, like I felt special because I had more refined taste (as evidenced by my love of films like Roadhouse and Soapdish) and wouldn't dream of drooling over some silly matinee idol like him. Anyway, after seeing him on Oprah, I can't stop fantasizing about twirling bottles and learning how to play Cocktail with him, or whispering jokes in his ear that will make him laugh in a way that frightens me, or having him sing "You've lost that loving feeling" every time our friends come around so they know he loves me and he's totally not gay. I know he's like two heaping spoonfuls of crazy, but you have to admit he is like the quintessential movie star of our generation (let's remember I place Patrick on a pedestal of his very own, so all this drivel does nothing to erase or replace him). Anyway, the summer just doesn't seem right without his face on the big screen.

Man, you guys, this is way lame. I'm SO tired right now and it's nowhere near my bedtime. I will return tomorrow night after I've devoted some hours to pondering the other objects of my randiness (Coldplay and a titillating iPod upgrade). Titillating is such a weird word. Does it have anything to do with bosoms? Typing it makes me think of J-Lo's professional nipple tweakers. She has people on the payroll whose job it is to pinch her nips so she looks cold and excited all the time. That's what I heard anyway...at the job interview. Oh, snap! I bet you did NOT see that one coming! I wonder if there's like a corporate ladder for nipple tweakers, like you have to do a pinching apprenticeship with Bea Arthur before you can even dream about giving Madonna a squeeze. Hmm, something to think about.

Blocked

Ok friends, it's been too long since I've blogged. I'm feeling down-trodden and uninspired. I planned to offer you something tonight, but after writing for a while I realized my particular combination of words really sucked ball :) and I backspaced them all into oblivion, as I have done many times before. So here's the deal. I come to you tonight asking for help. I am but a pathetic blogger in need of a muse. If you are up to the challenge, sweet rewards await you...virtual hugs and emoticons of adoration. Leave a comment if you have an idea for a topic. Things I do not want to write about include (but are not limited to) my birthday (it was lovely, I just think it's annoying to carry on about your birthday when you're an old dame like me), work, boyfriend envy, driving anxiety, Darfur, errant strands of old-lady chin-hair, and the Jonas Brothers. I'm not promising to take your ideas, but I do promise to be back tomorrow night with something. Good night, and I'll be back tomorrow!

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer

You think you've heard the song before, but you haven't really heard it until you've heard it sung by this amazing up-and-comer I discovered over the weekend... ME!!! While playing American Idol at a growed-up girls slumber party with my three best galpals from highschool, I discovered that I have this crazy amazing voice. I'm setting up some open-mic night gigs for the next few months, the ultimate goal being to hit the stage at The Apollo in NYC, baby! I'm making a pledge to you and myself, here and now: I will be the first caucasian to sing "And I am Telling You" on the Apollo stage without getting swept off by that mother-effing clown. Who new karaoke could change the trajectory of one's career so dramatically? I'm giving notice at my current place of employment tomorrow; my public needs me. Just in case my Grammy acceptance speech gets cut short, let me give a shout-out right now to three of the most beautiful ladies I've ever known who helped me find my voice. I promise I won't change by the flossy, flossy! I swear! You have no reason to mucho mistrust me! I love you all; your pirate smiles and laughter are contagus.

Speaking of tiny dancers, I'd really like to bang one. That's naughty; I don't really mean it. I could go for a rhumba and a cuddle though. Tonight finds me infatuated with the professional male dancers from Dancing with the Stars. How can you not love a man who is confident enough in his masculinity to wear purple and sequins AND dance with another dude? DAAMMNN!!! Naturally, my current favorite is Tony D; not only does he have amazing moves and a killer smile, but look at the tender way he handles his plus-size partner. That's a MAN!!!

I've been trying to inspire myself to adopt habits that will lead to the development of a dancer-like bangin bod. To that end, I listened to the song "Gloria" by Laura Branigan for about an hour straight last night. I don't know why that song moves me the way it does. It must be because it always reminds me of Jennifer Beals in Flashdance; she's gotta be like ninety years old now, and have you SEEN her lately? Sick! She looks even better now than she did twenty-some years ago when she was pretending to dance on the big screen. Anyhow, I "worked-out" on my thrift-store purchased stationary bike in the basement. Well, I tried anyway. It's so wonky that the right pedal kept falling off, so I ended up just walking laps in the area around the bike (seriously) for like half an hour. Long story short, you won't even recognize me the next time we meet.

OK, I'm gonna go whip up a little pot of chili for my midnight snack. "Calling Gloriaaaa......"

Ghost With the Most, Babe

No, I'm not talking about him again. You can quit rolling your eyes. The ghost who I refer to tonight is my second favorite celluloid specter...Beetlejuice!Beetlejuice!Beetlejuice! Ok, so I know it's not like a cinematic masterpiece or anything, but I think the AFI needs to come up with a new 100 best list for movies like this. I'm not sure what it would be called exactly. Something alluding to the fact that there are certain films that, no matter how many times you've seen them, are impossible not to watch when you find them on TV. Beetlejuice would have to be near the top of that list, along with the Kurt Russel/Goldie Hawn masterpice Overboard. If you have not seen these movies, you are only cheating yourself. I'm sure one of Oprah's make your life better books has a chapter about these films, because I just don't think you can say you're living your fullest life if you deprive yourself of Beetle and Goldie. Anyway, I was feeling a little bah-humbuggish tonight (or whatever you would call it this time of year); but then I found Beetlejuice on TV Land, and all is right in the world. Seriously, I have Beetlejuice on the tube, an ice cold glass of water in a special cup to make it taste more delicious, and two purple and red tootsie-pops which I am saving to eat until my favorite scenes so that I can have the most optimal sensory experience...could a Friday night be any sweeter? Well, probably yes, but I don't care right now.

I think I'm going to marry the freecreditreport.com jingle guy. I don't really think that, but whatever. It's fun to play make-believe. I find him very appealing, and if we do end up getting married it would be awesome to show this to him on our wedding day. I think we'll have a long engagement; the wedding date will get pushed back a few times because he'll be so caught up with his latest job...composing Beetlejuice! The Musical! "B-Double E-T-L-E. That spells beetle, yeah baby." Can't you hear it? Then there would be the scandalous love theme entitled "Juice of my Love." We're gonna have such an amazing life together. I wish I knew his name.

Well kids, Winona is getting ready to shake shake shake to Harry Belafonte, and my purple tootsie pop awaits.