boyfriend as photo-op decoy!!!

Galveston Island or the French Riviera?
If it weren't for the can of Busch, it'd be kinda hard to tell, right?

how I know I'm getting sick

I say things like, "Is it hot in here, or does it just feel hot because the t.v. is so loud?"

Seven signs of the apocalypse, brought to you by SkyMall

When I travel, one of my guilty pleasures is thumbing through the SkyMall catalog to see exactly how retarded manufacturers of consumer products think the American public is. (Answer: less than 70 IQ). Among SkyMall's latest atrocities:

The Komfort Kollar - $59.85

According to its inventor, Dr. Melvin Cheatham, this komfort kollar will protect your cervical spine from injury while you attend Klan rallies, drive go-karts, or just sleep on the plane. Dr. Melvin charges 60 bucks for the kollar, presumably because is made of "luxuriously soft, flexible memory foam," which is more expensive than the plain old air which fills most neck brace sleeping thingies. I do not need one of these kollars because I am skilled in the ancient art of airplane-sleeping: Step 1) lean on the person next to you's shoulder; Step 2) open mouth; Step 3) fall asleep, and you're done.

Pet Travel System - $99.00

I think we can all agree on the obvious problem with this product: NO CUP HOLDERS. Seriously, what the hell? How am I supposed to juggle my venti non-fat no-whip sugar-free vanilla latte and my new Balenciaga bag while pushing this thing down Robertson Blvd? Also, no logo. That pathetic paw print isn't doing it for me. I need something that won't make me feel inferior when I run into my co-stars who are pushing their human babies around in Maclarens.

The Slanket - $49.99

Also known as the "I give up" blanket. All I know is that if Bill Gates doesn't put down the PSP, throw off the Slanket, and peel his ass off of that naugahyde sofa, then the mac guy will have won.

Pet Crate End Table - $199.99 - $299.99

In my experience, doggies do not always make good furniture. Don't get me wrong, I would love nothing more than to use Cricket as a pillow or feet-putter, but it only works when she doesn't fight back, which is never. Feet-putting aside, I know that Cricket would make the worst-ever end table, primarily because she gets all indignant when I try to rest even a magazine on her back. This dog, on the other hand, would make a fine addition to any living room suite. Plus, the last time I bought Cricket a crate (the crate that is right now sitting in the garage gathering dust because we've had two straight years of no house-peeing! Word to Cricket!) I felt so guilty that I got the one sized for a Great Dane, and who needs an end table the size of a bathtub?

Lil' Chill Shot - $149.99While I wholeheartedly agree with the makers of the Lil' Chill Shot that nothing goes down smoother than an ice-cold shot of my favorite liquor, I'm just not quite sold on the need for this product. On the other hand, I am attracted to the fact that the copy editor clearly knows his hyphen rules. He invites us to treat ourselves with his "hassle-free fill-and-pour system that virtually eliminates spills and features LED illumination for an eye-catching bottle display." Okay, fine. I'm a sucker for grammar. Where to I buy?

Hidden Litter Box - $129.95 - $249.95

Another reason not to have a cat. They are SUPPOSED TO POOP IN YOUR HOUSE. Then they're supposed to walk all over their poop. Then they're supposed to walk all over your house. And you're supposed to pay 250 bucks to house that poop. Why? Whyyyyy?

Towel-Matic - $59.99

Are you too lazy, dumb, and dirty to tear off your own paper towels? If you are, then the Towel-Matic is for you! All you have to do is wave your grubby paw and the built-in optic sensor will automatically identify the perforations on the towel and stop at the right at the line every time. And may I say, THANK GOD. It is a daily struggle for me to find those G-D perforations; I just spin the roll around and around, promoting the spread of germs. Luckily, the makers of the Towel-Matic *guarantee* perfect tearing and promise that their product will help prevent the spread of germs. Now if only someone would only invent a product to help me seal those impossible ziploc baggies.

just when I thought I was out. . . they pull me back in!

I received some very distressing news today. It appears that Whole Food's inexorable march toward world domination has finally arrived at my doorstep. They came first for the Communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist; then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew; now they're coming for me and there is no one left to speak up because this is the town where it makes sense to have two huge Starbucks at the same intersection, so having two ginormous Whole Foods Megalomarts within five miles of each other makes sense too! While I know that the arrival of a 50,000 square foot paradise of organic fruits and veggies would be like manna from heaven to some people, to me it signifies an impending crapload of uppityness. Uppityness will hail not from the store, which I actually happen to like, and not from the store's employees, who are usually knowledgeable and sincere, but from the clientele, who (especially in this part of town) treat things such as meditating, exfoliating, and getting through the checkout line like a competition worthy of the first Olympiad. Mind you, I'm not saying that I'm not uppity, just that I fear the intense concentration of uppity that the Whole Foods parking lot will engender. It will be a black hole of uppity (or maybe a Big Bang of uppity, whichever would be scarier). And in conclusion: uppity.

you should see yourself!

You know how you think your voice sounds a certain way, but then you hear it on tape and you're like, WEIRD! some twelve-year-old valley girl hacked into my cell phone and changed my outgoing message! (Until I was 30, I could ditch telemarketers by telling them that my parents weren't home.)

Or like how people think they can sing and then something like this happens (don't watch the whole thing or you will want to kill me):



Or better yet, you're around when Blaine boasts that he can wink his right eye, then left eye, then right, left, right, left fastfastfastfast AND you happen to have a video camera.

When I showed the video to Blaine, he said, "But it feels so much different than it looks!" Awww.

survey says?

I have a question for all three of the people who read this blog on a regular basis: What do you think would be a fair price for this dress?

Assume that you like it alotalotalot. Assume that you think this could be THE perfect dress for Summer 2008. Assume that you have already imagined yourself wearing this dress to the farmers market with a straw hat and leather sandals and then trading the hat and sandals for gold hoop earrings and ballet flats and wearing the dress to a garden party/afternoon barbecue/girls' night/date night. Assume that you have further imagined that the second-best-dressed girl at the garden party/afternoon barbecue/girls' night/ date night will ask you where you got your dress. Assuming all of those things, what do you think would be a fair price for this dress?

the birds

do not adjust your screen

This is an unadulterated, un-staged photo of Blaine's closet. I did not think that he had OCD, but I have been wrong about such things in the past. Notice how the hangers are evenly spaced and how the shirts are arranged by color/pattern. In case you think you caught him in error when you spied the two blue shirts nestled among the white shirts, rest assured that the placement of those shirts was 100% intentional. You see, those two blue shirts have white collars, which means that they must be separated from the other blue shirts by a vast expanse of patterned shirts, ha!

This weekend, Clay G. told us about the show "man caves," Have you seen it? I haven't, but it looks like some kind of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition for guys who have run out of things to complain about. I think that if Blaine were ever handed an opportunity to create a man cave of his own, he would say "No sir, no thank you. I don't need a man cave. I already have my own sanctuary -- a place where I can go when the world closes in -- it is my closet." Sometimes, when there are three days of dishes in the sink, when Cricket hair covers the sofa, and when my shoes pile up by the front door, I go upstairs to find Blaine sitting on the floor of his closet, hugging his knees to his chest, singing Kumbaya. It's sweet.