Here are my thoughts on the Oscars… as they happened.
Tim Gunn is very gay. He needs to take the gay down to 11. Why is someone asking George Clooney who he’s rooting for? That’s a stupid fucking question. Tom Hanks and Jess Cagle look awkward in the winners walk. This is so precious Gaby Sidebay should be doing it with Tyler Perry directing. Most used words during pre show “over to you.” This is clearly the first Oscar show ever produced. Do they think no one watching has ever seen the Academy Awards or a movie?
Morgan Freeman – I smell pomp. Billy Crystal got fat. Justin Bieber was genius – four words that prove the apocalypse is near. I think I’ve seen this open before. Oh look two men kissing. Is this “Some Like It Hot?” Oh good let’s make fun of 9/11. How many old Jews does it take to write an Oscar monologue? If you are watching this telecast you have automatically been sent a walker. This song is ridiculous. This show is killing in Jewish retirement villages around the world. Is this just the Jewish telecast? Carl the seat filler should be named Best Dressed. Guess I need to see Hugo. I’m bored already. J Lo is very shiny. Shiny and Booby. She’s Shooby. Who fucked the hot out of Cameron Diaz. Guess I need to see The Artist. Why are all the nominees talking. There’s too much talking. I’m bored. Are they showing all these old movie clips so we remember when good movies were nominated? I like the movies but I don’t care about any of your dreams. Money Ball is no Field of Dreams. I had no idea Sandra Bullock was German. I thought this was the Jewish telecast? All the old people in the retirement homes just had Nazi flashbacks. Now I get the Jesse James thing. Oh goody more movies I haven’t seen. Oh goody more borscht belt humor from Billy. Henny Youngman called – he wants his jokes where he is. Nick Nolte looks pissed. Note to Octavia Spencer – a standing ovation is Hollywood’s way of saying “we’re not racist.” Shecky Green called – he wants his Catskills act back. The Oscars just made Christopher Guest jump the shark. Why is Billy Crystal constantly thanking people. He didn’t win anything. Bradley Coopers mustache is unnerving. I just won a sound editing award for best lowering of the volume during this dullfest. Guess I need to see Hugo. Miss Piggy equals shark jump. Hot naked bendy men – okay I’m back. If Robert Downey Jr. ever sees the playback of this he’s going straight back to heroin. Can we get a microphone for this 4 billion dollar production that works? Why do they have to cut people off? Chris Rock is Afro American tonight. Emma Stone saves the Oscars. Oh look Ben Stiller is playing a douche – or himself. There is no way a gay Von Trapp is gonna lose. Guess I need to see The Beginners. I wish Siri was hosting the Oscars. Please make Billy Crystal stop. Why are there popcorn chicks? What is happening? Owen Wilson is a weirdo. Guess I need to see The Artist. No idea what that French guy is saying. Why are there so many French people winning – don’t you Jews know they hate us? I wish I could leave and go home now but I am home. What is happening with Angelina’s leg? Is it doing that on it’s own. Why is she doing that? I don’t understand what’s happening. Who is she? That was weird. Mila Jovovitch? When did she get in the Oscar club? Have they not seen her movies? Isn’t she just a foreign Sean Young? Reese Witherspoon just admitted “Overboard” is her favorite movie so she won’t be showing her face in this town ever again. “Bridesmaids” saves the Oscars. More French people winning awards. Guess I really need to go see The Artist. Meryl Streep is very classy. I wonder if Tom Cruise gets bummed out that he’ll never win an Oscar. Guess I really really need to see The Artist. Lets all move to France and have an Academy Awards show where only Americans win. That’s three hours of my life I’ll never get back.
I missed Jewlicious 8 and I’m mad about it. I think my mailman is a week behind all the other mailmen in Los Angeles because I got the flyer yesterday telling me to come to the Jewlicious Festival at the Queen Mary in Long Beach that already happened. There was Challah baking, pickle making, comedy, music and star appearances from famous fellow Jews like Mayim Bialik. Why a bunch of Jews want to be trapped on a floating toilet for a weekend is beyond me but I don’t like finding things out after the fact. I have a lot of errands and important things to do on the weekends but I would have carved out at least a few hours to check out the Jew happenings. I scanned the website to see if there had been any cute men at the festival but it was hard to tell through the massive amount of facial hair which is clearly mandatory. It should have been called the “Leave No Beard Behind” festival. I’m not a fan of facial hair unless it’s an evil goatee. One of the leaders of the festival seems to be a Rabbi Yonah who even has his own facebook page and pictures of his Mishpocha. (family in Yiddish) He also has his own website and was named a top ten Jewish Influencer by @jewishtweets. I don’t even know what the fuck that means but he seems like a cool Jew. I studied Kaballah for a couple of years which I thought was pretty cool until I started realizing that the majority of Kabballists really didn’t believe non Jews could be Jews even through conversion but that didn’t stop them from taking their promotion of Kaballah or their money – i.e. Madonna, Demi etc. I once spent a Yom Kippur weekend with all of the Los Angeles Kaballists at a hotel in SoCal. I don’t remember a second of it. I think I was bored into a coma. I never would have quit smoking or drinking if it weren’t for those two years so for that I am eternally grateful but at some point organized religion for me becomes just another way for human beings to segregate and I don’t like that one bit. I remember going to one Shabbat service at the temple and pointing out a hot black man to one of the women. I had seen him every weekend for months. She said “Oh you don’t want to date him – he’s not Jewish.” I stopped going pretty soon after that.
I went to have dinner with a friend last night and on may stopped at a 7 Eleven which is basically a really stupid thing to do after dark if you don’t own a gun. The second I got out of my car one guy asked me for money and another guy started running across the street screaming to get to me. He was a huge black man dodging cars and yelling “Can you please buy me a hot dog!” I had no idea 7 Eleven hot dogs were that tasty. He was barreling towards me and I quickly ran inside the store because all I could picture were New York homeless people who throw bricks at your heads. I bought him a hot dog and when I came outside and gave it to him he said “What’s your name?” I told him and he said “Thank You, my name is Terry.” He was super happy about the hot dog. I was super happy he didn’t kill me. He was way up in my personal space. I felt badly that I had possibly just handed him a ground up cat or rat in a bun but Terry didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would care. It definitely wasn’t kosher. People always tell me they don’t give homeless people money because they are just going to use it to buy drugs or liquor. This is a ridiculous fucking thought. Unless you are planning to open a rehab center for homeless people – give someone a dollar and hope they use it for food. Stop judging people who don’t even have a bed.
Sometimes people only take care of their own kind which seems incredibly un-American to me. Everyone has a parade and a festival and while I don’t think there is anything wrong with celebrating who you are I don’t think there’s anything right with insulating yourselves from everyone who isn’t just like you. Go buy Terry a hot dog. He’s on Sunset Blvd. near Highland.
When I get to heaven I hope all the things I lose on a daily basis will be waiting for me in one fluffy white place. This would mean that my cloud room will contain pens, socks, keys, and my invisalign mouth trays. Not much of a swank palace but it works for me. I found one of my 7000 dollar mouth trays in Tulips doggy mouth the other morning. That’s the same mouth that gets within inches of her own poo and her Auntie Peaches ass. There really isn’t enough boiling water in all of the land to get that thing back in my mouth. Not sure if she thinks she has an overbite situation brewing but I didn’t want to tell her it’s not as much fun as it looks. In fact – if I ever have a sleep over again – the night trays are going to have to be dealt with – because I’m not shoving one of those things in before I get it in – if you know what I mean – and you do know exactly what I mean if you watch Snookie. She likes to get it in. A lot. I’m thinking about building a smoosh room in my house. It will look exactly like my bedroom but it will only be used for sex. I think if you have a smoosh room in your house it will cut down on that annoying guessing game you play with your other half – “I wonder if he/she/it wants to do it tonight?” A smoosh room removes any kind of question and any kind of dignity. I guess when you’re so drunk you forgot to wear underwear or your brain – it doesn’t really matter what kind of room you end up in at the end of the night.
One of the things that bums me out about no longer being allowed to drink without the fear of being arrested, waking up in a pothole or dying are all the cool things they’ve come up with to get people drunk since I announced I was a liquer pig. Lower calorie beers have lead to gluten free beers and crazy vodka lemon drinks. Everything’s infused with something and nothing is just a simple shot of anything. More vodka’s have been invented in my lifetime than cures for anything which makes sense since everyone’s shitfaced. Today I passed a billboard that said “Lights, Camera, Absinthe” so I guess now you can purchase booze that contains something that used to be considered a dangerously addictive psychoactive drug. That pisses me off. Who wouldn’t want to drink that? Hey lets get so drunk we have no idea who we are! Absinthe was actually banned in the US in 1915 but I guess it’s back – in a big way. Back in the late 19th early 20th century Absinthe was the choice cocktail among artists and writers. Ernest Hemmingway, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Vincent Van Gogh loved the shit and look how good things worked out for them – after they died. Why anyone would want to add this to their lets get so fucked up I can’t see my hands repertoire is beyond me. Absinthe seems to be another lame thing to add to Demi Moore’s party bus list. She can suck up a whippet, smoke a little salvia and then finish off a bottle of Absinthe. Why not? Isn’t that why someone invented rehab?
I haven’t been to rehab but it seems everyone’s doing it or done it or doing it for the fifth and sixth time. It’s either so much more fun than real life or it doesn’t work at all. I think I’d rather lock myself in my smoosh room with some pens and draw fake mustaches on the gorilla juice head i just banged while he’s sleeping. Shit – I just revealed my Saturday night plans. Busted.
Zac Effron dropped a condom on the red carpet at the premiere of “The Lorax.” He was passing his publicist something from his pocket when it fell to the ground. Zac must be getting some serious twatalupe if he feels the need to have condoms on him at all times including the most inappropriate of times like the premiere of a children’s movie. Who did he think he was going to meet there? One of Brad Pitt’s kids? Hey that Shiloh is looking hot even if she does dress like a boy. I don’t know what “The Lorax” is about but I don’t think it’s an audience participation movie that involves anything you might need a condom for. Maybe he wanted to make balloons for the kids in the audience? Maybe he’s so busy he was going on a date right after the premiere? Imagine being the girl he was hooking up with that night who today is finding out that he planned to bang her the entire time. That’s awkward. Even for a celebrity. Thankfully it wasn’t a used condom and yes that could happen. Who does that? Famous guys who don’t want random chicks they’re banging to steal their spooge and implant it after they leave. This is Hollywood. This shit happens.
Back when I was having sex no one wore condoms because there was no disease. It was also really hard to get to each other’s homes because we lived so far apart and not everyone had a horse and buggy. Back then girls took the birth control pill which now seems like a really hideous idea and I can’t imagine it didn’t do massive amounts of damage to their systems. How could it not? Here take this – it kills all kinds of shit including shit that could lead to you needing a swing set. I never took the birth control pill because the list of side effects terrified me. Headache, Dizziness, Nausea, Breakthrough Bleeding, Decreased Libido, and Mood Swings. What the fuck is Breakthrough Bleeding? I didn’t want to find out. Nowadays there’s the Nuvaring which I don’t understand at all. It’s described as a ring you put in your vagina that prevents pregnancy for up to three weeks. Apparently it has hormones in it that stops you from producing eggs. How on earth can this be a good thing? This has to lead to some sort of retardation and I mean in the woman not the eggs. I bet if men got pregnant there would be a slew of new approaches that didn’t involve putting crazy shit in your body. No man would shove some weird circle tubing with chemicals in it inside their scrotums. Unless of course that tubing gave them unlimited orgasms and then the shoving would be happening at a break neck speed. I know I’m not the first person to think – how come no one has ever invented the birth control pill for men to take? The answer to that is – hahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahaha. The birth control industry is a multi billion dollar industry which leads to me to think that maybe the world needs to take a giant pause in the fucking department. Let’s all stop thinking about sex for two seconds and focus on something else. If you’re having trouble clearing your brain just visualize scrawny Zac Effron wrapping up his hairless penis in a condom. That oughta do it.
I have a hot dentist. He is young and sexy, a former Naval Officer and a Jew. The last two are almost impossible to find together in one person. Jews don’t enlist – at least not American Jews. My dentist is the kind of dentist that makes you want to dress up for your appointments. This is no sweatpants and uggs session – this is a Gucci dress and heels. There is only one problem with my dentist – he’s a dentist – the single most barbaric job in the entire universe. Hitler could have learned a thing or two from dentists. A dentist is someone who enjoys inflicting pain and scraping food barnacles off of teeth. This is not a sexy job. Every time I walk in to the office the voice in my head plays the scene from the Dustin Hoffman movie “Marathon Man” – “is it safe – driiiiiiiiiiilllllllll.” I could just be going in for a teeth cleaning but the cold sweat that occurs the second I hit the fifth floor offices is pavlovian. I always delay the start of my session by grabbing that giant plastic toothbrush with the bathroom key and pee about sixteen times. By the way – really? Can’t we just have a regular key chain. We’re adults. We’re not going to lose it. Must I carry a toothbrush from the movie “Big” with me for added humiliation? Isn’t it bad enough that I’m going to be drooling all over myself and my paper fucking bib within the hour? I’d like to see Adrianna Lima in the dentist chair drooling all over herself. That would make me feel better about me. If I could rewind a portion of my life it would be the parts where I ignored my teeth and didn’t floss enough. I would spit out those hard candies I loved cracking with my super hard young teeth. I would pay attention to my gums. Sadly – I needed a bridge repaired yesterday – and it was two hours of my life that resembled a scene from the movie “Saw” in fact – it was all five “Saws.” There was blood, screaming, chair gripping, and I believe in the end – tears. My hot dentist used tools that could have only come from a Conan The Barbarian movie set. He hammered chipped and pulled with what I can only assume were pliers and he kept shooting me full of novocaine but it didn’t matter – I felt like I could feel everything. In a course of two hours I was transported from Brentwood to Buchenwald and the charge was 45oo dollars. That’s why you marry a Jewish dentist ladies. In fact, is there any other kind? Maybe my death camp comparison isn’t that far off. Maybe it’s payback. Think about it.
Does anyone in the entire world think that the Daily News headline “Chink in the Armor” about Asian basketball player Jeremy Lin isn’t racist? I’d like to meet them. They are the most gullible person on the planet and I would like to sell them my dog run and tell them poop is the new oil. I mean – I throw a racial slur around like a lightweight Frisbee but I don’t run a New York newspaper. The guy who wrote the headline apologized saying he didn’t realize he was offending anyone and that it was a phrase he has used hundreds of times over the years. I say – hahahahahhahahahahahahhahahahahahhahahahahahhahaha – you my friend are a massive douchetard. That is some crazy shit even for a New Yorker. Sadly, it’s a word I know all too well because back in the sixties that’s what all Jews used to describe Sunday Night dinner… let’s go for Chinks. I’m not proud. It’s just a fact. The whole story is proof that we as a nation are so far apart from where we should be as human beings who support and nurture each other not tear each other down. America needs our own in house superstructure. I’m gonna ask my hot dentist to build us a bridge.
Last night I came to the heart stopping realization that God really is listening to my prayers because for the first time ever there is a little person on the new season of Survivor. I love little people. I would love them more if I could call them midgets but I’m okay with the pc term they enjoy because I enjoy them just that much. Peter Dinklage is a hero to me and not just because he can act his normal size ass off but because he gets chicks – in fact – he got a wife – a hot full size wife. I have never met a male little person that had a problem with his height and I lived in New York so I’ve known a lot of little people. I had one drinking buddy that was a dwarf back in the day and we used to get shit faced together every night at the bar. I loved him. He had a girlfriend. I was single. I fell off my bar stool. He did not. I don’t know if they hand out more confidence to little men when they’re born or it’s the knowledge that you won’t live a long life that drives them to be tough but I know a few regular sized dudes who could learn a thing or two from an under four footer. Except Verne Troyer. He took his shit way too far. There’s a video of him doing stuff to a full size chick and it’s at a 13 on the creepy meter. I don’t think I could date a little person. I would feel like a child molester and I couldn’t wear any of my super high shoes. I’d rather just date a really hot tall kid. Some people have a real fear of little people. I say if someone is too short to see my wrinkles – bring him on.
Remember back when dating was popular and you would interview someone over a steak and find out what kind of tricks they could do or weird body talents they had. Nobody does this anymore. They just read about them on Facebook or Google them before the date and never end up talking about important things like can you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue or remove your bra at the table without anyone knowing. Nowadays they just invite them to the South Street Seaport for drinks and get accused of raping them in an apartment before they go back to their now inappropriately named television show Good Day New York. That chick should be run out of the country. I never did like dating because it just felt like a hideously long interview but I think I’d rather do that than post a picture of myself on a dating site. People seem to be really desperate these days and that makes me feel kind of sad. I posted a picture of my dog Peaches on the website OKCupid and she’s had over 16 responses from what appear to be very old men who think maybe she just has a depilatory situation.
There was a commercial on last night for a new 12 hour fresh breath strip that completely eliminated morning breath. This to me is not a good idea because morning breath is just one of the old fashioned ways to figure out just how much you care about someone. If you can handle that and being trapped in the same bathroom when they’re dropping a paint peeling poop – it’s love. Jeff Probst once told me that the only thing he wished about Survivor was that people at home could smell just how bad the contestants smell after a few days. He said it’s beyond ripe and the hardest thing he does is keep a straight face when in close proximity to the players. I love when they fall in love on that show because that’s all I focus on now. The stench. That’s love. I hope the little guy gets a girlfriend this season but they say God doesn’t give you more than you can handle and that may just be too much for me.
I just read that pumpkin seeds increase a woman’s libido. Unfortunately I read this after I consumed a massive bag of them last night and became convinced that if I left the house to walk the dogs the pumpkin seeds would drive me into a lustful rage and I would hit on anyone who came my way which would not be a good thing on my block because everyone is either married or very hairy. It does explain a lot about my youth though because I’ve always been a big fan of pumpkin seeds. I guess if you’re looking for a good time a glass of wine and a pack of seeds is a lot cheaper than oysters. So much has changed about sex since I first started having it back in the days of merkin’s and cod pieces and I mean just on the technical front. I keep seeing an ad for Trojan Twisters that quite frankly I’d be afraid to put on my penis if I were a guy. I don’t even know if it’s a condom or a vibrator but anything with the word twister in the title really should be reserved for something that happens in Kansas not in your pants. I know lots of women like vibrators – in fact say that they can’t live without them – but if I were a dude I’d hide them from my girlfriend or wife because once you get used to “The Hitachi Magic Wand”, “The G-Swirl”, “The Rabbit Habit” and “The Water Dancer”, there really isn’t much point to having “The Mouth Breather.” Just sayin’. I have a vibrator somewhere in my house. I just can’t remember where I hid it.
Seconds after I turned on the coffee pot this morning I forgot that I turned it on and went back over and flicked the switch again – thereby turning it off – which I of course didn’t realize because the printing on the on/off switch is so small I can’t read it without my glasses on which I don’t have handy first thing in the morning because I can’t remember where I left them when I fell asleep. I am blind without contacts or glasses and I need reading glasses on top of my contact lenses anyway which is just another thing for me to lose. I really wish I could see. People who have lasik always say “Oh my god I had no idea leaves on trees looked like that?” What the fuck did you think they looked like? Toasters? I will never get lasik surgery because I will be the one person who has a laser on their eyeball when an earthquake hits and all I will hear is the eye doctor say – oops. No – I’d rather stumble into the end of my bed and knick my shin in the exact same place for the 290th time just this week. I went to get my eyes checked yesterday and I did find out I’ve been wearing the wrong contact lenses for about a year so blindness is just around the corner – or cataracts – which are also very sexy. My dog had those and she fell down the stairs a lot. She once fell out of the house – so I have that to look forward to as well. I went to take my friends Brian and Nick out for dinner the other night and when the bill arrived I realized that I didn’t have my wallet with me. I remember at some point before leaving the house thinking “don’t forget to grab your wallet” but once again that thought was replaced seconds later with – where’s my lipstick or what purse should I use – or is that dog shit I smell? I did the panic dance at the table as my face flushed with red. How embarrassing. I was truly mortified. But not so mortified that just three and a half moments after I pulled out of the parking lot I pulled in to the supermarket to grab some things, hit the check out , and oh fuck I don’t have my wallet. How can I forget something that happened three and a half minutes ago? What is happening to me? Do I need to just move to Florida now? I feel like I should at least get the diapers out of the way. I lose my slippers on a nightly basis yet they always show up in the same place after I’ve checked there two or three times. I think I have a slipper fairy. She has a fantastic memory and terrific eyesight. I bet she eats pumpkin seeds.
“I’m at the airport in New York, where are you?” So said the voice on the other end of my phone that I answered in my bed in Los Angeles. I had left for the airport the night before on my way to the Hamptons for a long weekend. At least that’s what I thought. Somehow I was back in my own bed. Hmmmmm. Perhaps there are airport security tapes of what went down at American Airlines that night before but I’m not asking. The year was 1999 and this was far from the first incident. Two other memorable moments – arriving at the airport in a limo to pick up two friends visiting for the weekend bleeding profusely from my wrist because I had broken a wine glass in the back seat while getting shit faced on my to the airport and didn’t realize I cut myself. The blood was pouring out of my hand as I traipsed through baggage claim and hugged my friends. The look on their faces was pure horror. Their first stop in Los Angeles was the emergency room where I got ten stitches. Another fantastic memory is waking up in my apartment to the sound of the LAPD banging on my gate. I answered the door in my pajamas to find my friend Joey and two cops. “What the fuck is going on?” I demanded to know. “I just wanted to make sure you were alive.” said Joey. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “Because I left you in front of The Staples Center two hours ago to go get the car to drive us home and you disappeared.” Hmmmmm. I was at the Staples Center? How the fuck did I get home. Joey never spoke to me again. And yet after that – I still drank. It ended in the year 2000. I would not be where I am today had it not. I had to quit on my own. You always do.
Last night Hollywood proved to be the most disgusting place in the entire world. In fact today, I am ashamed to call Los Angeles home. It was not a complete shock that Whitney Houston died at the tender age of 48. She had been an addict for years despite her proclamations that crack is whack. No one could help Whitney because apparently Whitney didn’t know she needed help. At 3 o’clock in the afternoon Whitney died in her bathtub at a fancy hotel in Beverly Hills. At 7 o’clock that night – everyone she’s ever known in the industry that made her a star – partied the night away while she remained in that bathtub a few floors above. Sure they were sad at first. Sure they sang tribute songs to Whitney. Clive Davis – Whitney’s biggest mentor in life – held his annual Grammy eve party at the Beverly Hilton hotel and said “Whitney would have wanted the music to go on.” I think she would have wanted the music to go on in her life – while alive – not at a party in the hotel where her cold dead body was lying – but maybe that’s just me. Having people walk a red carpet where camera crews were waiting to interview them makes me feel sick and sad. Today are the Grammy Awards and Whitney will be honored for the gift she had and the joy she spread through her music. We will brush her demons under a carpet until Monday when all the entertainment outlets and news organizations will print headlines like the one I used today. Her life will be rehashed in hideous detail and everyone who knew her will say they tried to help. That’s the problem with addiction. There is only one person that can help you – you. So in honor of Whitney Houston today I write not so much from my usual moronic place – but a place of pure joy that I overcame my demons – well most of them anyway. I’m still a cynical bitch whose first thought upon hearing about Houston’s death was – thank god I don’t have to cover this.
“Which one do I sign?” Like the old Jew I’m becoming – this is how most of my evenings out at restaurants end. I get my credit card back in that plastic booklet with more paper than my accountant files at tax time. I am forced to play receipt roulette over and over again. Which one is mine? Which one is the restaurants? And what is the meaning of the shorter random third one? I feel like all the eateries in all of the land have gotten together and said – every time a table of chicks comes in and splits the bill 7 ways – let’s bury them in paper. I do not enjoy this. It’s not our fault we like to share. I am an even bill splitter. I don’t drink but I don’t care if you do and I pay for it. If someone at a table starts doing the – “what did you have again?” – and itemizing the bill figuring out which meatball was yours and which salad was mine – they are guaranteed never to be eating out with me again. Last night the ream of receipts arrived lady style – with the amount of tip figured out for you at the bottom. You got to pick which percentage you wanted to give and it had calculated how much that percentage was. One of the choices was 25% and had the waiter not come to our table with his dick out – I would have considered this amount. Victoria, Julie and I were just trying to enjoy a nice Vegan meal at a local Echo Park restaurant when our hipster waiter with Abe Lincoln sideburns came to the table with his zipper almost all the way open and his penis almost all the way out. At least – this is what the girls told me. I did not look because I believe I would have vomited on sight. The whole place looked like they were holding a casting session for a new show called “I Have Skittles Colored Hair.” It was like a fucking rainbow in the place on top and a funeral on the bottom with almost everyone in black. Kind of like a Marilyn Manson convention. There was also a lot of eyewear because apparently if you eat vegan you have poor vision and must wear Buddy Holly glasses. I never understand why people who like the same things dress alike. There are girls who only dress like Betty Paige and boys who only wear biker gear. I like to keep people guessing with my choices in clothing. It’s hard enough getting bitch pegged when I open my mouth but at least they can’t decide who I am just from walking into the room. One thing I truly do not enjoy about Vegan restaurants and health food stores is the smell. It’s akin to death mixed with mildew or a root cellar that’s gone unattended for a very long time.
People who poop in restaurant bathrooms should be arrested. The fact that you can’t wait a mere hour to dump at home base is just disgusting and unfair to others. Offloading while dining out is proof that you are a narcissist. Unless you are suddenly struck with some hideous form of food poisoning while eating – please refrain from deboweling in my neighborhood bowl. There is nothing I hate more than walking into a restaurant bathroom right after someone pooped and not even because of the blinding stench but because I know the next person into the bathroom is going to think I’m the one that left the paint peeler in the porcelain. I wish there was a sign you could turn on the front of the ladies room door that said “It Wasn’t Me.” In fact, I think that should be printed on the back of a receipt that arrives tableside. At least then I’d know what one of them is for.
If Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce ever stops coming in that brown paper wrapping you will know the world is coming to an end and everything you love is over. Every time I buy a bottle – which is every 16 years – I am thrilled that it is still fairly close to the original packaging. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside which is a twofold problem. 1) I don’t really do warm and fuzzy. 2) It’s a condiment and probably shouldn’t make me feel anything. I love condiments. In fact – I collect them. I don’t have salt and pepper shakers from around the world or snow globes from the states I’ve been to but if you need a mustard – I have fifty. I am in fact a condimentaholic. My friend Victoria is constantly opening my refrigerator when she comes over to see what nutbag substance I’ve added to my never gonna use it repertoire. I have some supremely weird shit in there and some of it dates back to other homes I’ve lived in. I am so attached to my condiments that I pack them up and move them like lalique figurines that are irreplaceable and by the way who’s collecting that shit? If you have a shelf in your house with expensive glass frogs on it then you have too much money and by the way you’re weird. I have no room in my fridge for actual food and sometimes I have to play Sophie’s Choice with the pickles. Straight Dill always loses. My spice drawer is also a vision of lunacy. I have three cumins. Enough said.
Sometimes it’s a little mind boggling to think of all the things that have been invented in my lifetime like computers, cell phones and cars. I remember my first Motorola flip cell phone. I thought I was the fucking shit. It was the size of my head and the battery died at the end of one single phone call. We carried them around like gunslingers on the streets of NYC. We’d whip them out at restaurants to look cool. It looked like we were holding shoes up to our heads. The microwave did not exist when I was growing up. You had to do the unthinkable with your food – wait. The computer was also nowhere in sight during my first job. I used a typewriter, whiteout and mimeograph paper. Flat screen televisions were invented in my lifetime and cost ten thousand dollars when they first came out. My old television was the size of a Buick. It had a back end bigger than Kim Kardashian. Other things that have happened since 1960? – ATM machines, CD and DVD players, soft contact lenses, and boob implants. Okay so there’s one thing we didn’t need. It’s impossible to imagine living life without these things and I don’t really remember what my life was like before they came to be. Did I have dirt floors and wear a bonnet? Did I sleep in one bed with my six brothers? Did I go to school in a covered wagon while my mother suffered from consumption and laid in the back sweating with a rag to her head while we roamed the country? By the time I’m 80 describing to people what a Prius is will sound like I come from another planet and every story you tell will sound like “when I was your age we had to walk to school” even though it will be more along the lines of “when I was your age people died from a disease no one wanted to cure because the drug companies made too much money” or “when I was your age 12 year olds were bullied to death because they were different.” Change is good. Change should happen in all aspects of life -except my Lea & Perrins. I pray they never take away that little brown bag.
All Madonna needed was a nice pair of flats and everything would have been okay. Instead I spent the Superbowl halftime watching my drunk grandma dance at a Bar Mitzfah with all the young kids. I had to stand in front of my television because I couldn’t sit down and watch the Madonna show – it was just too uncomfortable. It felt like watching the Hindenburg – exploding before my very eyes –there was nothing I could do to stop it – and parts of it were firey and beautiful. Madonna was doing the white girls overbite – she was dancing like Betty White. What happened to my Madonna? Heels. I have always loved the material girl. We used to work out at the same aerobics place back in the day in NYC when she was just starting out and they would actually play her songs in our class and she would sweat it out right along with us. Much like I think all female comics should hail Joan Rivers – all female singers especially Lady Gaga should hail Madonna for what she has accomplished and how long she has remained relevant in a world that wants to forget you the second they see your vagina getting out of the back of a cab on your way to a Hollywood party. Madonna is a legend. Madonna invented reinvention. Unfortunately the legend needed some sensible shoes Sunday night. That M.I.A. chick is appropriately named because that’s what she needs to be from now on. Who flips the bird anymore? Babies? It’s so incredibly passé and juvenile. She probably mooned someone out the back of her limo on her way back to the hotel NBC was paying for. She definitely doesn’t wear underwear. I can tell. If she tried out right now for American Idol or America’s Got Talent or The Voice or Holy Shit Who The Fuck Is Watching This Karaoke Contest – she would be thrown off, gonged off or buzzed right off the stage.
I don’t have any talents that would get me on one of those shows. I can cross one eye at a time but that’s more creepy than contest worthy. I have an interesting way to cure hiccups but this is more of a medical oddity than a talent. I wish there were an X Factor show for writers. I’d write the fuck out of the competition and read the shit out of anyone on that stage and I know Simon would say “Well done Heidi” and Paula would do that weird circle clap that proves her mom and dad were brother and sister and I’m sure I could make that Pussycat Doll cry because apparently everything makes her break down into a pool of tears. I’m not sure about how L.A. Reid would react because that is one cool cat and he definitely does not suffer fools – especially white fools like me. He is swank personified. Only a guy that cool can get away with having a nickname that stands for Los Angeles – perhaps the capitol of uncool. However – when L.A. announced that I was the winner of Xfactor – I would take my five million dollar prize and buy myself a Starbucks so I would always have somewhere to write.
My friend Becky just discovered she has a talent she never knew existed. She could sustain labor for 347 hours before giving birth to a beautiful baby boy named August. If ever you needed proof that dreams come true – that proof is Becky Brooks, Salim Mitha and baby August Alykhan. He is the picture of perfection. Daddy is ecstatic and Mommy – one of the most beautiful girls in the world – is about to take on the greatest chapter of her life and discover she has another talent she’s been waiting to showcase forever – being a mom. She will teach him Rock n Roll lyrics of which she knows all, she will recite movie lines to him I thought only boys knew, and she will tell him that when she was younger the old woman they’re watching dancing on the hologram on the wall was the second coming of pop music. Remember that Lady Gaga. Respect.
I am terrified of Snuggle The Bear. Every time the creepy little furbot does his creepy little shuffle and starts talking in that baby voice I am reminded of how many times I tried to use that exact same voice to get my way with men. Snuggle The Bear reminds me that I was once a giant loser asshole. It’s not a thought that embarrasses me – it just pisses me off. In fact – there is very little that embarrasses me as I get older – which I’m quite certain means I am about to give up on life. When you are younger – everything rockets you to a place of insurmountable shame. The older you get – the less you care. This is possibly the only good thing that comes with being an older woman. The sagging flesh, cellulite, gas, grey hairs and mind boggling amount of men who no longer notice your existence would be the bad things. Last night my girlfriends Suzanne, Karen, and Lisa B tried to embarrass me while at dinner in Glendale. They lied to the waiter and told him it was my birthday. He delivered an ice cream sundae with a sparkler bigger than me shoved in it and forced the entire restaurant to sing happy birthday. This did not phase me in the least. If I’m already eating at an Armenian restaurant in Glendale that is lit up like the surface of the sun on a Saturday night with four girlfriends than I do not know the meaning of shame. I was also wearing nude pantyhose. Further proof I do not get embarrassed. I have started telling people that nude hose are all the rage and that I am a trendsetter. So far, I walk alone. Crickets.
I just found out that a friend of mine is pregnant and I almost feel badly because I’ve been telling everybody she looks like Miss Piggy and I don’t want to stop saying it just because she’s with child and no it’s not Jessica Simpson although she too looks like Kermit’s gal pal at this point. My friend really does resemble this particular muppet however and it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s popping out a carbon copy of herself. Thankfully she lives in another state so I don’t have to feel embarrassed FOR HER. I am always stunned at the rate with which ugly people feel the need procreate. It’s almost as if they don’t know they’re unattractive but don’t they have to know? Doesn’t the ugly battering start when you’re a kid in school? Haven’t horrible people been telling them they’re hideous since birth? Maybe they have children so that together all the uglies will outnumber the pretties one day. I knew not to have children because they would have gapped teeth, jew hair, and cellulite by the bucket load not to mention low self esteem until they turned forty. I did not want to unleash that kind of ugly on the world. I am positive that Hollywood will start putting a cap on ugly. It can’t be good to have too many of them in this town. It would taint the city. This is not a thought that would embarrass a pretty person. They would gladly wipe out ugly. They only talk to each other anyway. Have you ever seen a group of famous people that have one ugly friend? I think not.
I wish the Republicans running for President felt some form of embarrassment or shame. Maybe it would shut them the fuck up. Strapping your dog to the roof of your car, planning to build a community on the moon, or wearing a sweater vest when you’re over the age of ten should turn you red in the face which is weird since that’s the color of their party and party is a weird name to use because it is the exact opposite of what these people plan for America. I don’t think the elephant is the right symbol for the Republican party and I’d like to offer them another – Snuggle The Bear. If it walks like an asshole and talks like an asshole…
If your wife catches you signing in to your Ashley Madison account – she should legally be allowed to blow your cock off. Over 12.5 million people are signed up for this disgusting website and while I could be horribly wrong I would imagine 12.2 of them are men. There are no pictures of hot men on the website – just nearly naked fully stupid women. How do I know they’re stupid? Because God divides. The motto of the company is “life is short have an affair.” Fuck you. The newest jingle I hear every morning on The Howard Stern Show has lyrics like “I’m an Ashley Madison man doing what I can to save my family.” I don’t even know if I believe in marriage but I’m going to become the biggest supporter of monogamy if these people don’t shut the fuck up and get off of the airwaves I listen to. Why can’t we be like French people and just fuck other people while our wives are out buying more Chanel? Why do Americans have to advertise their failures as human beings? Ugh. The founder of the company is a 39 year old dude who sounds suspiciously like one of my people – a Jew. I’m revoking his card.
It’s not easy being a woman. We have to deal with things that men don’t want to know about involving body parts they can’t stop thinking about. Case in point – my niece – who had an incident yesterday you might be reading about in the L.A. Times this morning under the headline “Woman Shot in Boob at Julia Roberts hotel.” Without going in to too much detail that would further humiliate her – I had sent her to my boob doctor to have a tiny thing checked out yesterday morning. It was all good. At 2pm it was not. Amy was picked up at the famed Beverly Wilshire Hotel – where they shot Pretty Woman and Tom Cruise likes to dine at Wolfgang Pucks Cut restaurant –got into the car to go to an interview with an Oscar nominee – and looked down to see that her DVF dress was suddenly covered in blood. Unless this was a new trick frock from Diane’s collection – there was a problem. She is so dedicated to her job that she thought – I’ll just button my blazer and go but when the amount of blood pouring out of your lady parts exceeds a bullet to the brain – you gotta change direction. Next thing Amy knew “she was sprawled out in the hotel lobby bathroom with her dress hiked up around her boobs and half the hotel staff knowing what her vagina looks like through tights.” She had to be taken up to her room in a wheel chair to change and finally made it back to the doctor who said – oops must have hit a blood vessel. I almost murdered all the doctors. This is not how we do things in Hollywood. Poor Amy was horrified and is now embarrassed that the hotel staff had to witness a blood bath where celebrities like to have brunch. I tried to make her feel better and tell her they probably don’t even notice incidents like this at that hotel – after all Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty used to party there back in the 60’s. These people have seen some shit go down. I’m sure if I research it I’ll find out this hotel is where the Donkey Punch, Cleveland steamer, and Dirty Sanchez were all created. Where do you think all the hookers that don’t tuck their penises hang out in LaLa land. It’s like this at all of our fancy hotels. The lobby of the Four Seasons should just let the escorts who work there have free rooms. If Amy walked out of her room right now and door knocked the people next to her she would for sure find some douche in bed with someone who wasn’t his wife and if she’s lucky before she checks out today I will have a law passed that allows her to shoot that douche in the penis – and then her little catitrophe won’t feel so bloody awful. For now, she will go back to a place no one will notice if you bleed from your boob – my real home – New York City.
Thanks to Maroon 5 singer Adam Levine – I have just been self diagnosed with ADHD or Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder or Total Bullshit Made Up Disease. I saw a PSA starring the hottest and smallest man in rock and roll urging me to take a quiz and find out if I too suffered from ADHD – so I did. I scored a 15. Scoring between 12-15 means I am ADHD Possible. Holy fuck nuggets who knew? It said I should not take the results as a diagnosis of any sort or a recommendation for treatment but it would be advisable and beneficial if I sought further diagnosis. Well shut the front door I’m calling my doctor today. If Adam Levine can score me hyperactivity drugs the way he scores hot vagina – I’m in. I’m not sure how I feel about this disease. Maybe it exists – or maybe you need a time out. I know the brain is a confusing place but it seems like we find new ways to explain what we used to call a tic every day.
“17 year old Lydia Parker is now speaking out about the medical mystery that’s shocking the nation. Lydia is one of 12 girls from an upstate New York High School who have all suddenly been struck with uncontrollable body movements that have been compared to Tourette’s Syndrome.” Ruh Roh. I’m going to go out on a limb now and say that news is definitely not shocking the nation. Apparently they can’t stop shaking and jerking and it’s making their lives a living hell. Holy Shizz. I saw this riveting report on the most mysteriously high rated program – Inside Edition. The sound was off at first so I thought it was an SNL sketch. It’s almost impossible sometimes to tell the difference. How that show is still on the air is proof that America is filled with white trash. It’s been running non stop for 327 years which is exactly how old Deborah Norville is. Les Trent broke this story. He definitely has a picture of that Dorian guy in his closet. As for these kids flailing around the television screen – a doctor examined them and said there is no way they are faking it but I call bullshit. This is Faux-rette syndrome. It’s the same as those nut bag high school whore girls who all wanted to become pregnant at the same time and started banging some homeless dude who thought he hit the jackpot. I think everyone just wants to be part of a Lifetime Movie. One doctor believes the girls are suffering from Mass Psychogenic Illness, which is a rare mass hysteria that is psychological and linked to stress and fuck I know what that is and I know the person who gave it to me. If someone famous starts getting what Lydia has – there will be a telethon and a star packed PSA that will have it’s own theme song.
There’s an old expression you used to hear around news rooms back in the day – “If it bleeds it leads” – meaning the bloodier and more gruesome the story – the higher it goes in the show – most likely the “lead story.” In Entertainment News we say – it’s “A Block worthy.” We love when a celebrity is struck with some disorder because it helps in our whole build them up knock them down rebuild them plan. Kim Kardashian has psoriasis, Tom Cruise is dyslexic, Howie Mandell is obsessive compulsive. Etc. etc. etc. Quite frankly I think Kim’s skin is just staging a coup and trying to leave her body. I think when I’m famous I’m going to develop an affliction or more likely an addiction. I’m going to make sure it’s hideously embarrassing for people to report. I will get someone equally famous to write me a theme song and together we will make a PSA. I will call it ABA – or Anal Bleaching Addiction. I will not go into hiding. I will take camera crews with me every time I get up on all fours at Pink Cheeks to have bleach poured on my anus. I’ll be in the first segment of Inside Edition and all the producers in the office will say Heidi Clements – welcome to the A Block.