April 30, 2008
"The Girl Who Marks Her Territory"
Ew. Nice title. Although -- having watched this particular group of girls for many weeks now -- not very difficult to imagine.
Anyhoo, this recap will not drone on and on like they usually do because I was at Sue's and too busy making catty remarks to her to put much down on paper. Also? There was pizza. Bacon and tomato pizza. And chocolate cake.
Unfortunately, she's not as free with the boob-showing as Heather is, so the evening was just shy of perfect.
Previously, on "America's Next Top Model," the universe collectively lost interest in seeing any of these girls succeed at anything ever. Dominick, Anya, Fatima, Whitney, Kat and Lauren jetted off to Rome.
Dom is looking forward to going to the museums in Rome because they "preserve their old stuff." How appropo. Anya prepares to finally set foot in Rome... and proceeds to fall out of the van. Awesome. Whitney's obsessed with her size and can't stop talking about it. As if we were going to forget that she's the only one with boobies!
Tyra Mail! Oh, Lord. Now Tyra fancies herself the likeness of the Mona Lisa. Save us all. Around the corner is the girls' new home, under the flag of Rome. Well, I hope that's the name of the building they'll be staying in because these sharpies couldn't pick the flag of Rome out of a two-flag line-up with the other flag had the golden arches on it. Their house has fountains and art and a pool and a garden. I hate these bitches.
Fatima gets sick, and sensing her weakness, Dom immediately starts ripping on her. Hee! And then Anya interviews that people only do that kind of thing to "feel better about themselves." Double Hee!
Anya is sleeping in the same bed at Fatima, which is dumb because Fatima probably has some weird African flu that no one here has so we don't know how to treat it. Lauren is being way too loud, way too early. I hope she's making all that noise looking for her hairbrush. God, doesn't she ever brush her hair?
Mona Tyra Mail! Something about "roll," so Anya exclaims, "A river!" The other girls, who have apparently never cracked a book and read the cliche "rolling river," call her "so blonde."
In the piazza, some pimp named Claudio gives them all Segues to tool around Rome on. The see shops of famous designers (pretty much like right here on Michigan Ave.) and some totally staged "examples of Italian fashion."
Some "designer" named Gai Mattiolo is involved in some challenge where the girls have to get an Italian make-over and portray the best embodiment of Italian fashion. I don't know why they bother. Italians should only wear aprons. While cooking me food.
Fatima looks "elegant" but "not fresh." I don't know what they say about Kat. Anya looks "blonde, skinny and fresh." Are those critiques, or just observations? Whitney looks "so American." I'm sure that's an insult. Lauren: "nice legs, bad walk." Anya wins for looking the least American. Whitney is jealous.
Mona Tyra Mail! "Facile, brezza, bella, Cover Girl!" Lauren's all, "I'm so not a Cover Girl." Well, duh.
Here I wrote, "Lauren sleeping on Dom. Jay! Hair blue?" One can only guess.
The girls will be whoring Vibrant Hues Lip Color. And why are there pumpkins in the make-up room? Is it... wait, they don't have Halloween in Italy! What the hell is going on?
In the commercial, the girls must walk, use lipstick and speak Italian -- all at the same time!
Everyone laughs at Anya's attempt. I don't know -- that seems like of unprofessional to me. Kat speaks Italian well but is "dull and lifeless." Dom sounds like she's "speaking Chinese." Lauren is so "awkward" and "hard to watch" that the camera crew is dying laughing. Fatima has the best pronunciation, which is like being the best runner at the Special Olympics. Whitney is "fake" and "not believable."
Mona Tyra Mail! Judging! They look at each girl's commercial in turn.
Tyra tells Fatima that she looks like she's "selling sexual chocolate." I'm sure that means something in Tyra's world. Miss J says, "Chil', I'm scared." Because he doesn't like vaginas.
The other judges think that Whitney is "fake from beginning to end," but Tyra likes it. Which blows my mind because Tyra HATES the beauty queen thing.
Someone calls Anya "a piece of dookie." I think it's Tyra. God, she's just so... STOOOOOOO-PID! Tyra, not Anya. Well, yeah, Anya's commercial is lame, but at least she's a nice person.
Dom looks "hootchified." Hee!
Lauren recieves the well thought out critique, "Hell To The No," from Miss J. Written on a piece of paper. Are all the judges drunk?
Kat is "very Italian," "much better" and "being sexy."
Anya is Cover Girl of the week! Take that, Tyra! The people have spoken!
Deliberations.
Fatima can walk and talk at the same time. Let's elect her President! Of the world! Whitney is fake, fake, fake.
Anya IS already a model, they just can't understand her when she talks. Lauren takes good photos, but she's too damn nervous. And doesn't know how to brush her hair!!! GOD!
Kat does quite well, and in proving that she has a personality, was a total snot at Panel. Dom is no Cover Girl, but they enjoyed her commercial, despite the fact that Miss J insists, "She's a brothah."
Tyra calls the girls up for their photos: Fatima (whom she reprimands that there's no sex in a Cover Girl commercial), Kat, Anya and Dom (whom she calls a mess, but they had fun watching her commercial). Leaving Whitney and Lauren in the bottom two.
Whitney takes good photos, and her commercial wasn't horrifying, but the judges see a "phoneyness." (Which is the wrong spelling, I'm sure, but whatever.) Lauren takes strong photos, but she's dreadful on film, and it seems like she's given up.
Given up BRUSHING HER HAIR, that is!
Tyra calls Whitney and tells her she "better get real."
Lauren goes, and Sue says, "'Bye, Horsie!" I pee laughing on her leather couch. Thank God she has a dog and had some Nature's Miracle handy.
Next week: "Mama's in charge!" And a gladiator shoot. This can only be completely surreal. I'm so excited!
Posted at 11:43 AM | Comments (1)April 29, 2008
So Apparently, I'm Dying
I went to see my G.P. today. (That's "General Practitioner," for those of you without health insurance. He's my main doctor.)
You know what he said to me? He said that I'm "of that age."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Of that age??? What the fuck???
And then the dirty bastard said, "Well, you're almost forty, right?"
Oh, so apparently, "of that age" translates into "deteriorating so rapidly that you're practically dead, so why don't you just go put up your feet and wait to die?"!!!
All this abuse simply because I've had three stomach pain attacks in the past month. Now all of a sudden I need an ultrasound of my gall bladder AND my pancreas because I am OF THAT AGE.
I would have knocked his teeth down his throat, except that he hadn't yet written my prescriptions.
Posted at 07:40 PM | Comments (4)April 23, 2008
Cyborg Etiquette Lesson
Okay, Friday was the WORST day. So bad that it wasn't even made better by the fact that my lavender nail polish perfectly matched my sweater.
First, there was the earthquake.
Then, I got a headache.
And then, my next Netflix movie was supposed to arrive Friday, and it didn't.
Why does everything bad always happen to me?
Another example -- I was at the movies with Marty on Friday. Now mind you, it was 1:00 in the afternoon, so at first, he and I were the only ones in the theatre. So we sat right in the middle by the railing and put our feet up.
Then two old ladies came in, and out of ALL THE HUGE THEATRE-FULL OF SEATS, they sat right fucking behind us. AND? It gets better. I started hearing this weird mechanical noise, like... a valve or something. Like a release valve, rhythmically hissing or closing or whatever.
And I'm like, "Do you hear that? What the hell is that? Is that an air tank? An iron lung? A colostomy bag? What the hell IS that???"
Yes, I said it out loud. What? She's old! She couldn't hear me! And certainly not over the din of her mechanical heart!
And of COURSE the woman being kept alive by only a machine was making gutteral, humming noises on top of it.
Does she not know the rules? If you are a cyborg, hooked up to a machine, then you must aware of the fact that it CONSTANTLY makes noise. Therefore, it is the cyborg's responsibility to make sure that his or her steam engine isn't annoying the rest of the non-cyborg population. Which means NOT sitting right on fucking top of the only other people in a movie theatre! That's how society works!
So I got up to go to the bathroom, and I told Marty, "When I get back, be sitting somewhere away from the cyborg."
And I'm sure you think I'm a terrible person for getting mad at the "mechanically challenged," or whatever they want to be called nowadays, but c'mon. If she's well enough to go to the movies, she's doing alright and doesn't need my sympathy.
Damn cyborgs. Next thing you know, they'll be wanting the right to get married and adopt children.
Posted at 06:55 AM | Comments (2)April 22, 2008
Puppy Action Shots: Part II
Cooper: Hey, Stella? Is it okay to play some more?
Stella: I don't know. I think Daisy is sleeping in the next room.
Cooper: Dang. Well, what if we play reeeaaal quietly?
Stella: Do you think we're capable of that?
Cooper: I don't know. What do you think?
Stella: I think... I keell you!
Cooper: Oh no! Here comes Daisy!
Daisy: Do I have to lie between you two?
Stella & Cooper: No, ma'am.
Cooper: I'm just gonna... lie here and chew on my foot.
Daisy: Make it so.
Cooper: Is she gone...?
Stella: I think she went into the living room.
Cooper: Then I keell you!
Stella: No! I keell you!
Posted at 07:50 AM | Comments (1)April 21, 2008
Puppy Action Shots: Part I
Cooper: Um, Stella? Can I play with my rope now?
Stella: No! I keell you!
Cooper: Not if I kill you first!
Stella: You cannot escape my Headlock of Dooooooom!
Daisy: What the hell is going on in here?!
Stella: Nothing!
Cooper: Nothing! Just... lying around.
Cooper: You wanna... hang out with us?
Daisy: Certainly not.
Cooper: Are you sure?
Stella: Dude, seriously, don't push it.
Cooper: It'll be fun!
Daisy: Are you trying to smell my butt?
Cooper: No! Just... I thought I saw a crumb in the corner.
Daisy: Whatever. Keep it down. I'm trying to make Mom give me a treat by thinking about it really hard.
Cooper: Is she gone?
Stella: I think so.
Cooper: So, you wanna play... ball?
Stella: No! I keell you!
Cooper: Cuteness will always prevail!
Posted at 07:34 AM | Comments (1)April 18, 2008
Stalking & Counter-Stalking
Oh my God, you guys, I am so busted.
So you know how my chiropractor is hott. Well, we have this weird symbiotic relationship that has now expanded beyond chiropracty. Beyond accupuncture. Beyond sending my friends to him (more on that in a moment).
No, we're not having sex. But he is now, apparently, my nutritionist. AND. He has put me on a core-strengthening exercise routine. As a result, I am barely stalking him these days. He's lucky he's hott.
See, he does this bike marathon across Iowa every summer. And no, not cool Harley bikes. Like, bicycle bikes. Wait -- in my Happy Place, picturing him in bike shorts...
**shudder**
Okay, I'm back.
So he's currently "in training" for this Most Gay of Sports, including a strict no-sugar diet. It's psychotic. I tried it for a day and then poured a chocolate chip cookie dough Blizzard(tm) all over my body and licked it off myself. It wasn't pretty.
The other day at my appointment, walking behind him to Room 4, I noticed that he's lost so much weight that he's cinching his pants to the point that they are gathering in the back and look weird.
Naturally, I felt compelled to tell him, "Dude, you've lost too much weight. You need to buy new pants."
He just looked back over his shoulder at me and laughed. Which is when I realized... he totally busted me checking out his ass.
GoDDaMMiT!!! Like he needs anymore ego-stroking from his female patients. I'm so disgusted with myself.
His little co-ed assistant just looked at me contemptuously and said, "Nice." [Translation: You idiot. Now he's going to be absolutely intolerable for the rest of the day.]
As soon as he left the room, I texted my faux pas to Sue, who ridiculed me, as she should. We always text each other from Dr. Hottie's office. We are totally co-stalking him. She thinks that I recommended him because I'm concerned about her chronic wrist pain, but really, I just wanted to make sure that he's thinking about me when I'm not there.
Last week, I met Garrance and Snippy Bitch at Starbuck's for an hour before my appointment with Dr. Hottie because his office is right across the street. (Ain't unemployment a bitch?) I accidently ordered a Venti instead of a Grande because their stupid-ass names for sizes are so random and meaningless, which means that I ordered a large instead of a medium. By the time I saw Dr. Hottie, I was vibrating with caffiene, and he was very disappointed that I was "stressing my liver."
On Thursday, I met Garrance, Snippy Bitch and Sue at Starbuck's before seeing Dr. Hottie. Sue didn't start work until noon that day, so she had an appointment half an hour before mine.
Moments after she left Starbuck's, I got a text from her: "He is already yelling about your caffiene habit."
Mind you, my "habit" is exactly one caffienated beverage per week. But I LOOOOOOOOOOVE that he was talking about me!!!
Two minutes later, I felt a presence behind me, and I looked up to see one of Dr. Hottie's little co-ed assistants, who said, "I'm supposed to confiscate your coffee."
"Too late! I already finished it! And you tell him that I can't believe he sent you to do his dirty work!"
You guys? He's stalking me! Gleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!
Posted at 09:29 AM | Comments (2)April 17, 2008
"For Those About To Walk, We Salute You"
I have NO ideal what this title has to do with this episode.
Previously on "America's Next Top Model," the girls go on designer go-sees, there's a "wet 'n' wild" photo shoot, and Claire gets sent home for being a one-trick pony.
With seven models left, Whitney is glad that, as a plus-sized model, she's still around, and Lauren has realized that she can do this. Stacy knows that she has to step-up her game.
Fatima and Dominick know that they will be "going abroad" soon, and Fatima confesses that she has lost her travel documents. What an idiot. Who loses important shit like that??? She's not a U.S. citizen and only has her green card, so her lawyer is working on getting her new travel documents.
Wait a minute. If she's not a citizen, how can she be America's Next Top Model? I'm just sayin'.
Fatima cries. Whitney looks completely unmoved. Anya gives Fatima a pep talk.
Paula walks in, and the girls scream. She's there to teach the girls "how to best showcase" themselves, in case they're ever randomly in an interview situation. As if that's not a dead giveaway as to what their next challenge is.
In a roll-playing exercise, Stacy is a complete dipshit. Anya asks about Paula's parents, whom Paula says are dead. Hee! Lauren totally chokes. Kat refills her champagne glass, and Paula says, "Thank you, waitress." Hee! Paula's a bitch!
Paula says that many of the girls responded well (the ones we didn't see, apparently) but that all of them had dead eyes. And Dom babbled.
Later, Whitney has the girls making potato pancakes. Lauren is chopping onions and chops through her thumb nail. Ewwwwwww!
Fatima is on the phone with her lawyer, who says that the consulate says her request for travel documents is "too last-minute." The lawyer is worried that she won't be able to get them.
Back in the kitchen, Lauren is keeping pressure on her wound. I guess she chopped off the top of her thumb, ensuring that she'll never be a hand model. In fact, now she'll have to be like Radar from "M*A*S*H" and always pose hiding her thumb.
Lauren goes to the hospital, and Fatima interviews that Lauren is really strong, so if she's going to the hospital, she must be in a lot of pain. Holy shit. Fatima just said something kinda nice about someone.
Lauren misses the big, tacky, gold box that is mysteriously left on the runway for the girls. In it are a bunch of lemons and limes, and a box from "100% natural 7UP." Weird. The girls are going to some 7UP-sponsored event for Jay Godfrey. I wonder if that's Gilbert's brother?
Whitney is worried that it's "not a plus-sized party," so she'll just have to work extra hard. Jay Godfrey sends a rack of his dresses for the girls to wear, and also some stylists. Man, that almost never happens to me.
At the event, Laura Spencer from "Insider" is working the red carpet. Dom forgets the designer's name. Smooth. Lauren says that she should be America's Next Top Model because she can "kick the shit" out of any of the other girls. Classyyyyyyy.
But Whitney is the best. When asked about the pressure of being a plus-sized model, she replies that "the majority of women in America eat regularly," so she really feels she can represent American women. Brilliant.
But then she blows it inside when she's babbling to Nigel and some other guests about Texas. When she walks away, Nigel goes, "What was that about?" Kinda rude of him to talk about the contestants on his show that way, but he's a wanker, so what can ya do.
Outside, Laura Spencer gives her take on the girls. Anya was "poised in charming." Well, compared to her competition, I guess. Dom commited the cardinal sin of not knowing who she was wearing. Lauren needs to "loose the potty mouth."
Anya wins the challenge and gets to shoot an ad for 7UP 100% natural... au natural. She's covered in foliage for the shot, and 7UP gives her $10,000 for the job. Sweet!
Fatima talks to Stacy about steeling herself for bad news about her travel documents, and says that it's distracting her from the competition. Oh, well! That's what happens when you're an irresponsible moron!
And, people? How did this not come up until now??? I'm positive that a valid passport is a prerequisite for the show, since they always, always, always leave the country. Did she just remember that she lost her papers? Did no one check on that before she was allowed to compete? This is such hooey.
Fatima's lawyer gets her a 9:00 a.m. appointment at the New York consulate. She's so lucky.
Tyra Mail! Pack. The girls assume they are going abroad.
At 5:50 a.m., they are on their way to the airport. Fatima is very worried about the fact that her appointment isn't for another three hours. Okay, you can not tell me that this isn't all staged.
Jay is sitting on a private jet in his down jacket and tells the girls that their suitcases are their props for the shoot today. Which they don't even end up using, so I don't know how they were so easily fooled. Oh wait -- yes, I do. It'll be a group shot with the girls running to catch the plane.
Fatima is forlorn. She tells Jay her situation and plays the "refugee" card but wins no sympathy from him. He's all, "Well, I hope you're back in time. We need to be done with the plane by 3:00." He's mad that she waited until now to bring it up.
Lauren is working with a "wound," which actually garners some sympathy from Jay. Stacy is uber-cold, and her eyes keep tearing from the damn wind machine, so she's not selling it. Whitney earns her second beauty-pagaent critique of the episode. Anya can do no wrong. Dom does "remedial posing 101."
It's 12:45, and Fatima has her travel documents.
Jay sends the girls into the hanger to get their luggage, and Panel is set-up right there. Oh, they are so fucking with Fatima! Like remember what that girl found out that her friend died, and the next day, they had to pose in open coffins inside a freshly dug grave? Mean!
Tyra's all, "Where's Fatima?" And Fatima runs in and explains to Tyra. Tyra says that not participating in the shoot is bad because now they have no photo to judge. They'll have to look at her body of work, and when this has happened to other girls in past seasons, the girls have typically gone home.
Tyra then tells all the girls that they will be hopping a flight right after judging, but only six of them will be going. Fatima sobs.
Jay is the guest judge, and his hair totally matches his silver jacket. Eek.
Kat looks like a vintage airline poster. She does poised and conceited very well, Nigel points out.
Lauren's photo is stunning, and she was great at the party, so they can't figure out why she's still a hot mess when she gets in front of Panel.
Dom looks "high-kitch," fun and friendly. And because she's not smiling, you can't see the inch-deep furrows around her mouth. Seriously, people, she's SIXTY. Why is she still in the competition???
http://tv.yahoo.com/americas-next-top-model/show/35130
Stacy was over-the-top at the shoot and fake at the party. Her photo has "too much jaw."
Whitney's photo is the most natural, but the rest of her film is too pagaenty. Oh, she's doomed. Also, she didn't seem real at the party.
Anya was great at the party and "stole the show" at the shoot.
Fatima has no photo.
Hey. Lauren is Cover Girl of the Week. Huh.
Deliberations!
Kat is good, but the judges "keep forgetting about her." Dom is strong and keeps improving. Jay and Paula love Lauren and say that she's great on set.
Whitney has no personality. WHAT?! Crap. She'll be the next to go, I'm sure. Stacy is losing her sparkle. Anya is "secretly doing well." What does that mean?
The judges look at Fatima's body of work. Her homeless photo is their favorite. Her underwear shot on the boat is stiff. She's stunning covered in paint. The meat shot is "whack." Then there's a clip of Shannon, who refused to do the nude photo shoot and didn't go home. Is there hope for Fatima? I hope not.
So who goes overseas, and who stays home? Tyra calls Anya, Lauren, Dom, Kat and Whitney, leaving Stacy and Fatima in the bottom two.
Stacy is beautiful, but they feel like she has plateaued. Tyra is disappointed in Fatima's travel documents shenanigans. But it's Fatima she calls, and Stacy loses to someone with no photo. Ouch!
Tyra says that she hoped Fatima has "learned a lesson in responsibility." Well, no, she hasn't because her lawyer pulled strings and she got to stay in the competition, so basically, she was a retard and suffered no consequences for it.
Fatima hugs Stacy and says to her, "I love you. You're my favorite. You know that."
Stacy bawls her eyes out. I guess being Fatima's favorite is little consolation. But she says that "God has great things for me." I love it when they think that God gives a shit about modeling. 'Cause He's got nothing else on His plate.
Tyra and the panel board their private jet, but she tells the girls they are taking a commercial flight. Hee! To Rome!
Next week: Fatima gets really sick, and we get to watch the girls butcher the Italian language in a Cover Girl commercial!
Posted at 01:32 PM | Comments (2)April 15, 2008
Episode II: The Cooper Wars
PW: I hate the puppy.
Stella: What?!
PW: I hate. The puppy.
Stella: Mom! You can't!
Daisy: I knew you'd come around.
Stella: But he's so CUTE!
PW: He peed on my office rug!
Stella: Well, you left the door open!
PW: Don't you take that tone with me! You want your nails clipped?
Stella: No.
PW: Then zip it.
Daisy: Mom, you know he totally peed on your rug on purpose.
Stella: Don't you encourage her! She's PMSing! Who knows what she'll do to poor Cooper!
PW: I might eat him, if I can find the BBQ sauce.
Stella: C'mon, Mom. You don't really mean that. You don't really hate him.
Daisy: Sure, she does!
PW: Oh, Stella, don't look at me like that. It's not the end of the world. I hated you guys when you were tiny puppies.
Daisy: Yeah, she ha--WHAT???
PW: Daisy, you had explosive diarrhea for two weeks before we figured out what was wrong with you.
Stella: Ha!
PW: And Stella, do I need to recount for you all the pieces of furniture you've eaten?
Stella: La la la la la la la la la la, I'm not listeniiiiiiiiiiiing!
Daisy: God, Mom. I feel like a red-headed step-child. Why did you even get us?
PW: Well, I thought getting two Labs would make my lifestyle more closely resemble that of the people in the L.L. Bean catalogues.
Daisy: And?
PW: Not so much.
Daisy: I feel nauseous.
PW: Don't worry, Stella. He goes home in an hour or so. I'm pretty sure I can control my murderous inclinations in the meantime.
Stella: You're just saying that because we're out of BBQ sauce.
Daisy: It's like my whole life is a lie.
PW: Oh, stop being so dramatic. That's my whole point! I grew to love you! Just as I'm sure I'm grow to love Cooper one day.
Stella: He lives at Smokey's house.
PW: Exactly. Now who wants a rawhide?
Posted at 08:14 AM | Comments (0)April 11, 2008
Cooper's Arrival
Daisy: Mom? We hate the new puppy.
Stella: Yeah. What she said.
PW: Well, that's fine because we're just baby-sitting for a few days.
Daisy: Riiiight. That's what you said about Stella.
Stella: Yea-- what???
PW: I never said that about Stella!
Daisy: Whatever, Mom. We're not happy.
Stella: Not. Happy.
PW: He's going home on Tuesday.
Daisy: HE??? It's a boy???
Stella: Ewwwwwwww!
Daisy: I hope you don't expect him to sleep with us!
Stella: I don't want boy germs on my Nylabone!
PW: He sleeps in a cage!
Stella: Not my cage.
Daisy: You don't sleep in a cage anymore.
Stella: I'm just sayin'.
PW: Hey, you don't have to play with him. Just don't bite him.
Daisy: I can't make any promises if he comes near my tail. You know how much I hate that.
Stella: She really does.
Daisy: Sooooooooo, what day is today?
PW: Friday.
Daisy: And he's going home when?
PW: Tuesday.
Daisy: So that's...
Stella: Three days?
PW: Four.
Daisy: Moron.
Stella: Hey! I didn't get fancy obedience class like you did!
Daisy: So he's house-trained, right?
PW: Not quite.
Daisy: Oh my God!
Stella: Jesus Christ, Mom!
Daisy: How could you?
PW: He's ten weeks old!
Daisy: Oh, for God's sake, Mom. I hope you don't expect me to nurse him because that's not how I roll.
PW: He eats regular food.
Stella: Not my food.
PW: Puppy food. This stuff, see? Cooper! C'mere, boy! Come and eat, Cooper!
Daisy: That is the gayest name ever.
Cooper: I have no idea what you just said, but you sounded really excited, so here I am!
Stella: Oh, my stars, look how cute he is!
Daisy: Yeah, he's rea-- what???
Stella: He's all fuzzy and tiny! And look how his little ears flop around! Can we keep him, Mom? Pleeeaaase?
Daisy: You traiterous bitch.
Posted at 08:49 AM | Comments (5)April 10, 2008
"Top Model 10 Confidential"
I don't know where Tyra gets off calling it "confidential" when "America's Next Top Model" is being broadcast nationwide, but whatever. I don't understand her motives for lots of things.
This episode was billed as:
Never-before-seen footage of the cycle 10 contestants includes the women battling with posing instructor Benny Ninja, New York City firefighters practicing their runway struts, and contestant wrestling matches.
But it was only, like, 50% never-before-seen footage, tops. So I'm only gonna recap the stuff we haven't seen already. Don't blink.
At prep school, in the beginning, Jay leads a class called Expressions 101, where the girls have to make faces in their mirrors. I don't know why they included it. It's as boring as it sounds. Perhaps there is a minimum amount of time Jay has to be in each episode, according to his contract?
We all saw Stacy's lap dance that she performed for Tyra at auditions... in Jay's lap. But apparently, she sings, too. Or... not. She made up some song about ANTM that included the words "my fierce, fierce lips." Believe me, it sounds cooler than it really is.
Whitney confessed to being disappointed in ANTM's past plus-sized models for giving up. Wait -- did we see that before? I can't help but feel this is foreshadowing. The only question is: which bitch will be the one to beat Whitney down?
The girls have a bidet in their bathroom. Huh. Half of them don't know what it's for.
Remember dumb blonde Kim? She doesn't know how to make hot chocolate because her Mommy always made it for her. Amis and Fatima humor her, making them better people than me because I would have punched her in her pug face.
Paula Porzkova? Poriskova? Poritzkova? Whatever. She told Dom, "You look kind of like Robin Wright-Penn, but in a transvestite kind of way." Hee! I think Paula is almost as big of a bitch as Janice! I wish they'd give her more camera time.
Claire drinks her own breast milk, "for the nutrients." She's hoping to sell it for $50 a bottle. What Claire doesn't know is that there are sicko fetishist men out there who would consider that a bargain.
Does anyone remember Atalya?
Allison eats A-I sauce on Jello. Marvita (miss her!!!) calls her, "Hellacrazy." But I can't help thinking that might be kind of good. That salty, tangy on the sweet Jello. Now I'm craving a peanut butter and Dorito sammich.
Dom wants "to be Mother Theresa but in a diva kind of way." Does she even know what that means? Maybe she doesn't know who Mother Theresa is.
Amis breaks three lamps... okay, what the hell is wrong with her? Who goes into a fabulous house that SOMEONE ELSE PAID FOR and breaks shit? No one is that clumsy, okay? That girl was raised by wolves. In a barn.
Marvita apparently walks around naked all the time. Well, honestly, if I had her body, you'd have to put clothes on me by force, while I kicked and screamed. But Stacy says, "Do I have to see all that all the time?" Apparently, Stacy is not comfortable with The Va-Jay-Jay. Hers probably has sand in it.
Then, Miss J makes an entrance coming down a fireman's pole at a fire station because the girls are going to practice their runway walks and get judged by firemen. And I'm thinking there would be some sexual tension in a situation like that, but Miss J just sucks all the heterosexuality out of the room. As proof positive of just that, the firemen show off their runway walks. [Insert awkward, reaching "flaming" joke here.]
Marvita apparently gives great massages. To all the girls in the house. Huh.
Remember the posing show-down with Benny Ninja and his posse of circus freaks? Well, after the girls' Battle of the Posers, the girls and the freaks just started throwing down with the posing. [We SO have to do this at the next Movie Night!]
Anya takes pictures of the other girls, ordering them around in her weird-ass Hawaiin accent.
Marv took a pink guitar from the Swag Tent, remember? Well, it was an odd choice, considering she can't play. But that doesn't stop her from making up songs well after everyone else has gone to bed!
Whitney bakes muffins and stuff for the rest of the girls. Fatima's all gracious and "She's trying to make the rest of us fatter than her." Oh, lighten up and have a damn muffin, Fatima! You're just going to puke it up anyway!
The girls go to a nightclub and start drinking. Unfortunately, no one pukes. But Whitney is all judgemental of them dancing on the leather seats in their stiletto heels and humping each other. I love that she has a modicum of decorum.
Stacy, on the other hand, smuggles a bottle of vodka into the limo. Classyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Just like Heather at the movies!
Seven girls are left: awkward Lauren, sexy Kat, poised Whitney, lovely Stacy, strong Dominick, ethereal Anya and indomitable Fatima.
Please allow me to translate Tyra-speak into English: un-sexy Lauren, Maxim cover Kat, stuck-up Whitney, going-home-next Stacy, tranny Dominick, way-out-there Anya and bitch Fatima.
I wonder what word Tyra would use to describe me?
Posted at 11:26 AM | Comments (1)April 09, 2008
It's the Little Things
At a lovely Italian restaurant...
Hostess: Would you like a table or a booth?
PW: Oooh, a booth! It's so much more romantic.
Sue: HA!
[they sit down at a corner booth, Sue slides around to sit next to PW]
PW: Don't mind me. Yes, I am totally brushing my hair at the dinner table. Well, not all my hair. Just my bangs.
Sue: Oh, I don't care. Mine went totally flat in the rain.
PW: Mine are the opposite. Moisture just makes them curl in retarded directions.
Sue: I need to cut mine. They're tickling my eyelashes.
PW: Hey, cute nail polish!
Sue: It's one of the ones you gave me!
PW: Well, it looks much better on you.
Sue: PINK!
PW: I didn't have time to do my nails today. I have naked nails.
Sue: Oh my God... Are you breaking up with me?
PW: What? NO!!! Not breaking up! Not breaking up! See? I wore jewelry for you! I BRUSHED MY BANGS AT THE TABLE FOR YOU!!!
Posted at 08:24 AM | Comments (1)April 08, 2008
Heartburn II: Son of Heartburn
The steady decline of old age is picking up its pace in my 38-year old body. Despite having started a work-out regimin three weeks ago, and despite my constant stuggle to cut down on sugar in my diet, my body continues to morph into that of my father's. (Dear God, is he going to be 75 this summer?!)
I did inherit some nice things from my father. My pretty hair, my tall stature. But I also got his hyper-active sweat glands, his uncooperative knees and -- most recently -- his uneasy stomach.
My father drinks Mylanta straight from the bottle. He's a Mylantaholic. Welcome to my future.
If you'll recall, three years ago, that son-of-a-bitch Cupid shot me with the heartburn arrow for Valentine's Day. I had heartburn so bad, it warranted a trip to the E.R. And those of you who think I was a wussy for going, clearly you don't know the pain of hot, liquid magma under your ribs.
Well, this weekend was a repeat of that pain. And why the hell does it always happen at night? I swear to God, I have never barfed or had to ingest stomach remedies during daylight hours. My digestive system has no respect for the amount of beauty sleep I require.
I went to bed with mildly unhappy stomach. I assumed it was because of all the garlic in the P.F. Chang's I had for lunch. At 1:30, I woke up thinking an alien was about to burst out of my chest.
At 3:00, I woke up Husband.
PW: Honey? Can you do me a favor?
H: Hmpf.
PW: Can you go to Walgreens for me?
H: Nnts.
PW: I have heartburn so bad I think I'm gonna die.
H: What did you eat?
PW: Nothing out of the ordinary.
H: Did you have garlic?
PW: You leave the garlic out of this! I have garlic every day, and it's never done this to me before!
H: Did you have some Tums?
PW: Yes. Before I went to bed. It didn't do anything.
H: Take some more. Take, like, four.
PW: Tums ain't touchin' this pain! Go to the 24-hour Walgreens and ask the pharmacist what he recommends!
H: What time is it?
PW: Three o'clock.
H: Oh, for Pete's sake.
PW: It's either Walgreens or the E.R. You decide.
H: Fine!
That was 3:00 a.m. Saturday morning. But in truth, the rumblings of torture had started Friday afternoon. By Saturday afternoon, after many ineffective Mylanta/Maalox cocktails, I was seriously considering the E.R. again.
Then I made the mistake of going on WebMD.com. I started by looking up heartburn, which led to ulcers and gall bladder, and by the time I was done, I was convinced I had stomach cancer. Again.
I finally resolved that, since our new insurance sucks, I would wait until Sunday morning. If I was still percolating battery acid then, I would go to the E.R.
For dinner that evening, Husband and Younger Step Daughter ordered pizza. How cruel is that?! My stomach was barely tolerating club crackers, and those bastards ordered a succulent, pepperoni pizza from Perry's.
Well, my stomach was going to destroy me from the inside out no matter what I ate, right? I might as well enjoy it! Knowing I would pay with my life later, I indulged in a couple pieces and savored them as a convict savors his last meal. Pure, primal pleasure, tainted with the knowledge of one's impending death.
But, you guys... I didn't die. I didn't percolate. Nothing burst out of my chest. In fact, the more I ate, the better I felt.
Daring not to believe my luck, I waited ten minutes between each piece. I figured the non-pain was probaby the calm before the storm.
But it wasn't.
Perry's Pizza Cures Terminal Heartburn.
It's the only logical explanation.
Posted at 07:08 AM | Comments (4)April 07, 2008
Baby Bingo
They made me play... "Baby Bingo."
That's where someone reads clues about baby-related items (i.e. stroller, onesies, bottle), and if you have the answer in one of your squares, you X it off. I've also played the version where, as the mom-to-be opens her gifts, you X off what she unwraps if you have it on your page. So many ways to play!
By the way, my page had "nipples" in one of the squares. Swear to God. I must've missed three clues because I kept staring at the word thinking, "Tee hee! Nipples! Am I the only one who thinks this is funny? Oh, shit. Now I'm thinking about mom-2-B's nipples. I need more Sangria."
But to be honest, if "Baby Bingo" was the worst thing I had to contend with -- and it was -- then it wasn't such a bad shower. No one talked about episiotomies, at least, not at our table. And there were quesadillas!
There were gifts a'plenty. Seriously, a long table PILED with gifts. And many more huge ones on the floor. I sat there looking at the vast landscape of pastel blue wrapping paper and realized that, unless we wanted to be there until the baby's christening, someone was going to have to help move things along.
And that someone was me.
After mom-2-B opened each gift, I took it from her, put it back in the bag/box and onto another table. What? What people want to see is the unwrapping -- no one wants to watch her refold the adorable outfit, cram it back into the box, struggle up out of her chair and put the box on the table. No one. I was performing a public service. I even cleaned up the wrapping paper! I'm a goddamn hero, people!
There were many gorgeous handmade gifts, which are always my favorite because I can't even fathom the work that goes into that. Writing a good blog can sometimes take over an hour, but sewing a quilt? Knitting a jacket? These things are waaaaaaaay off my gratification meter.
One time, I bought a little cross-stitch kit. I was going to make cute, little Santa ornaments for my family. Each Santa was about 3" x 2". I got halfway through the first Santa and lost my mind. So I put it away for several years, kidding myself that I'd go back to it, but I never did. So I threw it out. There were five different colors of white in Santa's beard! FIVE!!!
The mom-2-B's mom made a quilt, a boppy cover, a cradle, an armoire, and a three-foot tall wedding-type cake made entirely of diapers and baby toys. It blew my mind. I didn't even know they were Amish!
So you'll have to forgive me. I know you were looking forward to a scathing post about an excruciating baby shower, but the material just isn't there. Of course, don't assume for a minute that I won't dread and moan and rend my garments at the prospect of any future baby showers. I stand by my curmudgeoniness!
Posted at 06:30 AM | Comments (1)April 04, 2008
"If You Can't Make It Here, You Can't Make It Anywhere"
Previously on "America's Next Top Stanky Sperm Recepticle," Dom is at odds with everyone on the planet, the girls represent music genres, and Aimee goes home, where no one remembers who she is.
In the jumbo-taxi, Whitney muses that she thinks America is ready for a plus-sized top model. Meanwhile, Dom is all, "Whitney won't win. I intimidate her. Blah blah I'm so strong."
It's the same sad tune we've heard from ALL the cripplingly insecure girls on this show. When, oh when is Mama Tyra gonna make her break down and cry ugly, snotty tears of self-loathing?
By the way, Husband and I now refer to Dominique as Dominick. You watch -- she's gonna whip out a schlong any minute now.
Last week, Claire was on the chopping block, which freaked her out. And when Tyra called her name, instead of sweetly hugging the loser Aimee, she's all "YES!!!" It seemed in poor taste. Even Lauren calls it "disrespectful," and she's the anarchy poster child.
Tyra Mail! The clue is the title of this episode -- don't make me type it again. The girls brilliantly discern that it has something to do with Broadway, so Miss J tosses them each a Milkbone.
And then! What later came to be known as The Great Coffee Incident.
Apparently, Fatima made some coffee and then left the kitchen. Lauren finds the pot, amid the array of discarded dishes, and since it has barely any coffee in it, assumes it's just another dirty dish. So she dumps it out, washes it and makes some fresh coffee.
Note: Why didn't Fatima just make a WHOLE pot of coffee? For the house? Selfish twat.
Enter Fatima, looking for her coffee. She accuses Lauren of vindictively making herself a pot of coffee, and Lauren TOTALLY looses her shit at Fatima in the Scorching Coffee Tirade of Death. Every other word is bleeped out. It's pretty impressive, considering she hasn't even begun to ingest her caffiene for the day.
Model Kristy Hinze and Elite Models' Karen Lee send the girls on go-sees. I don't even know why Hinze is there. She adds nothing to the segment.
The girls are issued Sprint GPS phones, since real models can't afford cabs when they're starting out, and the girls are going to walk to all their go-sees. Wait -- models who can't afford a cab can afford a Sprint GPS phone? Exhibit A for How Far Removed Tyra Is From Reality.
Team 1 is Claire, Whitney, Stacy and Dom. Team 2 is Anya, Lauren, Kat and Fatima. Claire leads her team, and Anya gets her team lost.
Whitney is scared that, as a size 10, she's not what these designers are going to be looking for.
Dom models a gown and does her runway walk for one of the designers, then comes back out in her street clothes, lavishly patting herself on the back. LITERALLY. With the designer standing right behind her. It's so tacky and childish.
The same designer says that she doesn't use size 10s on the runway -- only size 2s. Dom says, quite hopefully, that she thinks Whitney is breaking down. I'm sorry -- who is intimidated by whom here, Dom? I'm afraid I'm confused.
Whit says that the go-sees are unfair because she would be working for a whole different group of designers than the rest of the girls, and she's right. But then there's another designer, Shoshanna, who says that she wants "all different sizes and body types" for her runway shows. YAY!
Fatima is "too small," as a size 0. Claire's big personality monopolizes the go-see. And Whitney doffs her bra to wear an ugly dress. Husband whistles at the t.v. Fatima says that Lauren is "dragging them down." (The team, not Whitney's boobs.)
Okay, this go-see episode is pretty lame because the girls are on teams instead of relying on themselves and getting lost and being late and crying.
One designer wants "fun and animated" models for her runway. She says of Lauren, "She's very pretty, but... HORSE WALK!" Seriously.
The results are in. Team 1 has great walks and personalities, but no presentation. Team 2 lacks personality and good runway skills. Team 1 wins a spread in the June issue of Seventeen magazine. I may have to pick that up. Or at least thumb through it while at Walgreens.
Stacy booked the most shows of all the girls. Yay, Stacy Ann! She's growing on me. She's dumb as a box of hair, but she's adorable and very sweet, and this season is severely lacking in sweetness.
Tyra Mail! Something about "best foot forward" and "washed out."
The girls arrive at the shoot and see Jay on a conveyer belt runway. It's... some weird... "movement as art" thing. And at the end, he breaks through a wall of boxes. I don't know. It's totally gay. Some group called Fuerza Sabruta, I believe? I don't know. I Googled them and can't find them, so clearly, I've misspelled it. Or else they are a bunch of nobodies that Tyra is trying to pretend are edgey and fierce.
Appropo of nothing, the girls will be wearing gowns, lying in a puddle of water,... on a sheet of Saran Wrap,... being photographed from beneath. Who thinks this shit up? This isn't about selling a product. This is about "raw movements and shapes." *sigh*
Claire wants to dive in... to a 2-inch pool of water. Jay warns her that she doesn't have to, but she does anyway. And hurts her head and neck. What an idiot. She leaves the Saran Wrap to get her shit together, so Dom goes first instead. Dom says she would "never be that stupid." Her poses rock Jay's world. Back on the Wrap, Claire's poses are slow and stilted, her legs are dead. Dammit.
Lauren looses a contact in the pool of water... which now has the germs of Claire and Dom floating in it. Ew. Jay remarks that, even tho' Lauren is awkward, she never looks awkward at shoots... until now. Anya is beautiful.
Kat gets a haircut on set. She cries because she's had long hair all her life. It's about chin-length now. In the puddle, after some coaching from Jay, she turns into "a graceful goddess."
Whitney says she's nervous about being a chubby girl walking on a sheet of Saran Wrap. Hee! But Jay says that she's "not afraid" during her shoot. Stacy, on the other hand, only gets off one good shot. Jay loves Fatima. Guess she shaved.
Tyra Mail! Judging! Lauren is worried, and Dom thinks she knows who is going home. Well, I'm sure Dom wishes she knows who is going home.
Claire's body looks really good in her photo, but her face looks bad. Miss J makes some joke about getting the bug off his windshield.
Stacy was the challenge winner, but she really struggled in her shoot, and it shows in her photo.
When Kat steps forward with her new 'do, Paula remarks that her "weird Eastern European tackiness is now gone." *cricket* *cricket* Everyone has a holy-shit-did-she-just-say-that look on their face. The rest of the judges recover nicely by saying that Kat is beautiful and "looks like a dancer."
Whitney's photo evokes the comments "sonogram," "full-figured fetus," "alive" and "first breath." Tyra says that she was blown away by Whit's film. Husband does his happy-dance.
Tyra is taken aback by Dom's tacky outfit. She's wearing a tunic, but her leggings are too sheer, so she just looks like an aged, $25 prostitute. Also, her hair at panel, says Tyra, is very there's-something-about-Mary-hair-gel. She looks like she just got up from a nap. But there is "pain and orgasm" in her face in the photo.
Lauren looks dead. It's her weakest photo to date.
Fatima is "so perfect" -- that hand, that neck, oh my!
Anya "finally found the light" with her face and got a fierce photo.
Deliberations! And Kat is the Cover Girl of the Week!
Claire is a "one note" model. Stacy has a square jaw but is very bookable, as proved on the go-sees.
They don't know who Kat is because she doesn't have much of a personality. Oh, I hate it when they pull this crap. She's quiet! It's not a personality deficiency!
Whitney is a great model. Dom is crazy.
Nigel bristles at the mere mention of Fatima, and Paula calls him out on just hating her. Yeah? So?
Anya looks like a "nymph elf" with a "head of fire." O... kaaaaaaay. Lauren looks slightly "less Frankensteinish" this week. Ouch.
Tyra stands up and calls: Fatima, Anya, Kat, Whitney, Stacy and Dominick, leaving Lauren and Claire in the bottom two. Dude! That's so not right! How does beautiful Claire get in the bottom two while Dom isn't stoned to death by villagers with torches???
Apparently, Tyra's bullshit reasoning is that Claire isn't diverse enough, and Lauren is the same ol' awkward Lauren. Husband predicts that Claire is going home, and I hit him. Tyra calls Lauren, and a tiny part of my soul dies.
Claire is way bummed because she "failed." She's especially upset because she had started so strong. And she feels guilty for leaving her husband and baby "and dog" and not winning. I don't know why, but that's funny.
And now a word from today's guest blogger -- BILLI!
I CANNOT BELEIVE THAT CLAIRE IS GONE!!!!! Those stupid judges!!!! I hate them!!!!!!! That other moron who was in the bottom two really really should have gone. She can't WALK!!! She has no personality, except for when she's swearing! Stupid, stupid choice. I hate them. And that fuckin' bitch from Africa. Good Lord, do I hate her. And Dominique.... I don't even have words for my hatred for her. I don't even know who I like now! The blonde with the blonde eyebrows is just too damn ugly. I guess I like the chick who's hair they cut again and the plus size girl. Stupid judges.
Ah, no one can pour on the hate like Billi. God bless her little heart.
Next episode: Fatima has legal trouble. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say she's an illegal immigrant. Lauren "cuts off her finger," which means she probably needs a couple stitches.
Posted at 02:40 PM | Comments (2)April 03, 2008
The Kovalic Wench
You may have noticed -- if you are a regular and observant reader -- that my left-most icon has changed from Vampire Slayer to Pirate Wench. What hasn't changed is that it's still by the same artist: the tall, talented and handsome John Kovalic.
[If you're still seeing the Slayer, you need to delete the saved temporary internet files. I did Tools, Internet Options, Temporary Internet Files, Delete Files.]
I got an email yesterday. "Send me your picture, A.S.A.P.!" Well, now. I must admit, I do love a clamouring fan. Especially when it's a clamouring fan that I'm a fan of myself. Such an intriguing command! Turns out John wants to immortalize me -- AGAIN -- as a ginormous favor to me... (as payback for what, I can't say). I guess one could say that I am his... muse.
(God, I couldn't be eating this up any more if I had a fork, a knife, and a jar of Miracle Whip!)
Since I am actually less of a narcissist on film than I am in print, I could only find one picture to send to him. It's the one where I was a cat at work for Halloween (only he gets to see the whole picture because he knows me).
And I wrote: "Attached is a photo of me. If you need more, I'm sure I can scrounge them up, given a bit more time. Just remember -- big boobs, broad shoulders, long legs. Oh, and I mostly wear contacts now. And I have 3 tattoos. And I'm sure this is neither appropriate nor necessary, but I would ride you like a wild donkey if you drew me as a pirate and sent me a copy."
He wrote back: "WOW, that is some Barbie collection behind you! Anyway, I'll send something along as soon as it's drawn!"
You see how he does that? Cleverly ignores my offer of sweet burro sex? He just likes to tease me.
Later that day, I received something close to the drawing you see above, but with, like, platinum hair.
I wrote, "No way did you whip that out in half a day! Are you really that good?! Um, my hair isn't really that blonde. It's more... auburn, since I stopped coloring it. But I guess you're the artist and free to practice artistic license. The hogans are incredibly accurate! It's like looking in a mirror!"
I felt I had to end on a positive note, after whining about the hair color. ... And since I wasn't done with my critique. What? You know how obsessive I am!
He wrote back with a version of the picture containing the hair color you see here and said, "No that I'm obsessing about this, BUT... I think this is closer."
Oh, wouldn't that just be terrible to have some gorgeous man obsessing over my hair? Some gorgeous straight man? Alas, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, how they do plague me!
I wrote back, "MUCH better! But why am I wearing bicycling shorts? Am I, like, Arobics Instructor by day, Pirate Wench by night?"
Seriously, I HATE the formal-shorts-with-tall-boots look. If I ever needed more proof that John is straight -- and I don't -- it's that he thought it was okay to have me wearing shorts with boots. Any gay man would know better.
He replied: "EGAD! And there I was, tryin' to work in some more skin..."
Men! So single-minded. But it led to the IMAGE OF PERFECTION that is the final version of Kovalic's Pirate Wench.
You know how it's always "DaVinci's Mona Lisa" or "Michaelangelo's David"? I think this masterpiece will inevitably go down in history as "Kovalic's Pirate Wench." And that's just fine by me!
I wrote to him, "PERFECTION! God, my tits defy gravity!"
To which he replied, "Yes, but what about the cartoon?"
See? This is why I love him. Most people know John as a wonderfully gifted artist, writer and humorist, but I just know him as one of my favorite groupies.
Posted at 11:26 AM | Comments (3)April 02, 2008
My Stupidity Knows No Bounds
So I had this theory... that, if I brought my entire purse into Jewel with me, being larger than just a wristlet, it would be more difficult for me to forget about and leave behind.
I'm feeding a dozen people tomorrow night, and I also have to make some ridiculously decadant cookies for Marty, who rescued me from my own computer ignorance by coming over Monday morning and taking two minutes to fix my internet connection. TWO MINUTES. So clearly, not a difficult problem. And yet? Too difficult for Blondie McBlonderstein here.
Anyhoo, I brought my lovely and talented black leather Coach mini duffel purse into the Jewel with me.
And promptly left it as an apparent parting gift for the "differently abled" person who bagged my groceries.
I. DON'T. LEARN.
Thank God she is too "differently abled" to know a Coach purse from a bunch of bananas because she saved it for me and returned it to me when I went jogging back into the store.
And in a beautiful Lifetime Channel moment, the "differently abled" girl restored the bitchy, jaded suburban housewife's faith in humanity. Awwwwwwwwww.
I hope they get Jane Seymour to play me and Rosie O'Donnell to play the bagger girl. Because no one plays a 'tard like Rosie.
Posted at 02:34 PM | Comments (4)