Gorgeous

Idina Menzel sang the national anthem before the Giants/Pats game tonight. Usually I get really tense right before "and the rockets' red glare" because them are some dangerous notes. Those notes separate the men from the boys, the shit from the shineola, the playas from the played.

I know Idina's voice defies gravity. She's got some wicked pipes. (Cheese bucket allusions.) So I was actually excited to hear "and the rockets' red glare" because I knew she'd spank it. And spank it she did. Whoo-we! Her "Land of the freeeeeeeeeee" blew the roof off the joint. Wait, the Meadowlands doesn't have a roof. Well, you get my drift. Damn that girl can sing! At "home of the..." I held my breath b/c it was almost over. "...brave" I needed a cigarette. Too bad the sound of the broadcast sucked. The echo was a bitch, thus I didn't get the full girth of it. I hope someone recorded it.

I'm praying that the Giants win. I'm also recommending Menzel's new single, "Gorgeous." Lastly, I'm experiencing a little post-Cinnamon & Spice oatmeal gas. I only speak the troof.

Items may shift during flight.

I found my first grey hair today. Actually, it was white. I'd been getting a few white hairs in my left eyebrow. The right soon followed. But who cares? They're just eyebrows. That's what brow pencils are for. But this hair was on my head, toward the front. It felt like hay. I don't want to look like Lindsay Wagner and her Sleep Number Bed ass. Every time my hairstylist asks me if I want a conditioning treatment, I think, "Oh, no thanks. But Lindsay Wagner sure needs one!" When she brushes her hair I'll bet is sounds like she's making a skim cappuccino. (Would the original bionic woman drink whole milk? I don't think so.)

See how far I went off topic? I'm distraught. This growing older thing is progressing mighty fast. First I had a few little wrinkles around the eye. Visible to only my naked one. No biggie. I've got a Bliss catalog library. I can choose from the best preventative measures known to Oprah. Sure, the wrinkle cream costs a much as a down payment on a home, but it's worth it. And I caught it early. With treatment and a healthy diet I should be good as new in 5 days or my $3,000 back.

Then I noticed my boobs relocated. Not south for the winter. Just south. Don't go thinking that they're anywhere near my belly button, tho. They're only slightly gravitationalized, I swear. People would still want to look at them. I'm not shopping for any "boost-y" bras. No, sir.

In light of recent events, I gotta give a bitch a shout out: Thank you for my fat face, baby Jesus! It's finally coming in handy. I take back all that smack talk about your being a big loaves and fishes phony. My bad. Let's chalk it up to original sin, shall we?

What's NOT WRONG With this Picture?

Tom & Katie, frequent tabloid targets, who wouldn't have it any other way. I mean, nothing about this photo is telling me, "See? We're just a normal couple." I keep staring at this, trying to sort out my thoughts and it's hurting my brain. The Big Bang of all jokes is in there somewhere. I've got at least 10 or 12 begging to see the light of type and they're all trying to get out at once. Emancipation must have been a frenzy! I'm literally exhausted trying to figure out which target to strike first. There's too much happening here. The height material alone has me reeling.

Somebody's stylist had a breakdown. I'm distracted by Tom and his First Communion haircut. Is Katie trying to look like Tutankhamen, Boy King? Is she subliminally promoting museum visitation or a History Channel special?

They've swapped ages. She couldn't get a callback for Dawson's Creek in this getup but he could easily reshoot the ending of Risky Business tomorrow.

Actually, in another context, this could be in the News section of The Advocate with the caption : In a stunning progressive decision the Grove Hills board of education approved the first transgender prom date. Jake Notgayerson was permitted to bring 'girlfriend' Danny Betweenlegs to this year's event.

I broke a sweat just writing that. Phew! Give me 5 minutes...

Full Life, Non?

not proofread. so sue me.

My life is insanely busy and I'm always having to use time wisely, more so than the average person. You see, I have no job. So my schedule is a big donut hole every day. There are no weekends, just days. Day after day after day. My calendar pages are crisp, clean and blank as hell.

I've begun to leave myself "To Do" lists, for motivation, which are theoretical at best. Who's going to check on the completion of my assorted tasks? I'm the boss of me. Last night I wrote myself a To Do, "No Country For Old Men, 11:30am, Union Sq." My big plan for the day was to be at the movie theater by 11:30am. I conratulated myself after writing the goal b/c I honestly figured it was a reachable one. How hard could it be? Quick shower, grab a bagel or something, hop on the F and bingo! Cohen brothers genius time.

Sigh. Missed that. At about 1pm I rose from slumber b/c I heard the doorbell ring. I was expecting new boots. Dreamt about them, too. UPS made my dreams come true.

At 4pm I caught a bit of Chris Angel on OPRAH. His show is called Mindfreak and cudos to Chris for self awareness. He is a fucking freak. He walks out to the adoration and applause of Oprah's audience, a mix of 40 something female ethnicities going apeshit. Oprah herself is flipping for this dude, giving him all kinds of props. Thanks, Oprah, I did need to know that at age 11, creepy young Chris made shit levitate. And Chris is sucking it all up like he's a semi-deity. He reminds me of someone. Does he have an accent? No. His teeth are feminine. Fake tan. Dude, he's Celine Dion. His false humility aura is just like hers!

"You are so kind, so kind. Thank you. Yes, I am so blessed. I have a talent and God gave it to me. He did. And I am here to give it back...to you. I share my gift b/c it can change people's lives and that's what really matters. When some schmuck from Timbuckfuck pays $1,500 to sit in the 12th row of my Celine Vegas show and he stands, weeping when I sing Love Can Move Mountains--they can, Oprah. Non? Love moves mountains. It does. Anything is possible. I am just girl from Montreal from musical family of 43 children. Ask my husband Renee--and I can feel his energy coming to me, to my face, my soul, you know? He's feeling I am an angel. Well maybe, Oprah, maybe he is right. And if I am God's angel I should sing to the world, non?"


It's too easy to rag on Celine. And over done. Damn you, Kathy Griffin! Back to Chris. He's all pimped out in ice, yo. The man dripped himself in diamonds. Ugly ones. Earrings, rings, necklace. He bares a passing resemblance to Liberace (who, incidientally, would blow him, deep throat blow, in a Garland heartbeat) or Chris Brown, it's a toss-up. And the man's hair is a poorly dyed bird's nest, layered distastefully by a buzzsaw. One thing is clear: he's and his AquaNet caused An Inconvenient Truth. Chris would blend very well if this Oprah show wasn't about him but rather 'Hair Horrors.' A whole panel of bitches done wrong by their sad selection of salon lined up on Oprah's stage with Chris smack in the middle. He would fit right in. He's got a faux leather jacket on too. If it's not faux, it's so brand new that it looks fake. There's an anarchy logo on the upper arm. Wow, Chris, you're a real boat rocker. Someone should have pulled Chris aside and told him that Skid Row was cool in 1990, that he shouldn't wear those shoe boots, oh yes, SHOE BOOTS he bought from Aldo b/c he saw Andre wear them on Real World season 1, New York. Why must all magicians look like idiots? I'd like to see some dude in khakis and a blazer slide himself out of a straight jacket. A Republican escape artist. Too rich!

I had to change the channel because their egos started eating themselves.

After Oprah I surfed youtube for about 5 hours, no joke. I won't tell you exactly what I was watching but common search words were South of Nowhere, teen lesbians and Christmas blind girl. Busy me.

Hey, I got a tattoo on Friday.

Here's my To Do list for tomorrow:
Try NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN @ 11:30 again, wear new boots

Football Observation #2

Payton Manning's frontal lobe is so pronounced that when he removes his helmet it looks like Frankenstein got a sunburn on his forehead. It's a mighty tight fit in there; no room for another eyelash.

Kanye West Feels Me Down There

All a woman wants is to be loved and understood. Hence, I have fallen deeply, wildly, unabashedly, HOT HOT HOT, head over heels in love with Kanye West. Below are lyrics from the second verse of "Stronger."

Heard they'd do anything for a Klondike
Well I'd do anything for a blonde dyke
And she'll do anything for the limelight

Fame hungry blonde lesbian coming right up! Hark, my boo is calling for me! How romantic! Blonde dyke? I'm melting. Don't take this the wrong way, I've heard the entire Richard Marx catalog, and sure, I teared up (Hold on to the night...hold on to the meeeeeeemories). And Kylie Minouge pouring her soul into "La, la, la, la, la, la la, la. La, la, la, la, la, la, la." Play that twice and I slide out of my chair. Shakespeare's sonnets, too, hello? Beautiful shit, really. The man had a gift. But nothing prepared me for the moment I went from grabbing my crotch with one hand and waving the other in the air like I just didn't care, jammin' on the mic and getting mad stupid up in my house when--in iambic pentameter, no less--Kanye killed me softly with his words. He completed me. He had me at Klondike. Kanye makes me wanna be a better blonde dyke. One caveat: He's got be into S&M because it's always been a dream of mine to whip a black man and call him my bitch.

Football Observation #1

Eli Manning makes Rex Grossman look like Johnny Unitas.

Facetious + Flippant = Flapetious

Ginger Spice, world renown sage and personal advisor to George "Ain't a Real Word" Bush, once said:

"Calm down! Haven't you ever heard of the word "compromisation"?