Christmas with the Lohans
Normally I never blog about Paris, Lindsay, Nicole et al. because, well, they're morons and I hate them.
But this Christmas story, courtesy of Perez Hilton, warms the cockles of my heart.
What's a cockle anyway?
Enjoy!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
"HOLY CRAP!!!!"--RIP PETER BOYLE: 1935-2006
I just read that one of my favorite actors of all time, Peter Boyle, has passed away at the age of 71. Your friend Viva here is a sentimental mess about stuff like this, and had herself a good cry over his loss. Young Frankenstein is one of my favorite movies ever (I do a poor imitation of his and Gene Wilder's performance of "Putting on the Ritz" which has to be one of the greatest scenes of all time), and I've seen every episode of Everybody Loves Raymond at least three times over... Peter, as Frank Barone, reminded me a lot of my old man: cranky, irascible, and loveable--and always there for his family. Maybe that's why the waterworks came when I read about his passing? Regardless, he'll certainly be missed in Hollywood--there's not many like him, nowadays.
He is survived by his wife and two daughters.
Sniffle.
I just read that one of my favorite actors of all time, Peter Boyle, has passed away at the age of 71. Your friend Viva here is a sentimental mess about stuff like this, and had herself a good cry over his loss. Young Frankenstein is one of my favorite movies ever (I do a poor imitation of his and Gene Wilder's performance of "Putting on the Ritz" which has to be one of the greatest scenes of all time), and I've seen every episode of Everybody Loves Raymond at least three times over... Peter, as Frank Barone, reminded me a lot of my old man: cranky, irascible, and loveable--and always there for his family. Maybe that's why the waterworks came when I read about his passing? Regardless, he'll certainly be missed in Hollywood--there's not many like him, nowadays.
He is survived by his wife and two daughters.
Sniffle.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND WANT YOU TO BE DRUNK AND HAPPY
I am besieged with work (which I should enjoy while I have it), so posts have been short. But, I promised you a hot mulled wine recipe and reasons why I love Clerks and Clerks II, and you shall have both (in abridged format).
First, the wine:
Magically Delicious Hot Mulled Wine (courtesy of Mary Tee, friend of Viva)
You will need:
1 bottle Burgundy wine (not the huge bottles, the normal sized ones--you can go super-cheap on the wine too, since you are mulling it anyway--my choice was a bottle of Gallo--$4.99! Whoo hoo!)
1 bottle of White Zinfandel (you remember the wine of your youth, right? I drank more of this crap than I care to remember, and am surprised there is still a market for it, but there is. I went with a bottle of Sutter Home White Zin, which was on sale for $5.99)
Mulling spices--you can buy these right now at your local supermarkets (since it is the holidays and all) so go and STOCK UP big time. I bought a generic bag of mulling spices for $1.99)
1 cup brown sugar
1 package of cheesecloth
1 crock pot
1. Come home, turn on crockpot to low or high (depending on how much time you have). Open bottles of wine; pour into crockpot--let wine warm up a bit before adding brown sugar and mulling spices, which should be wrapped in cheesecloth (my mulling spices instructed me to put in 3 tablespoons of mulling spices for two bottles of wine, so I did).
2. Wait impatiently while everything, uh, mulls. I had my crockpot set to high, because I have no patience and in 2-3 hours, the wine was ready and AWESOME if I do say so myself. Wait as long as you can, but if you dive in early, don't hate yourself. It happens.
3. Add a cinnamon stick if you want it to look pretty (I didn't)
4. Rent cheesy funny movies and laugh indiscriminantly.
The best part about mulled wine is that if you don't drink all of it in one night, you can reheat it the next day, with the same mulling spices. More bang for your buck! It also makes a festive (and cheap) holiday party drink, and it will get you where you want (or, in my case, need) to go. YAY MULLED WINE!
Now, for Clerks and Clerks II
I am beginning to think that, although I am very much a woman, when it comes to movies, I have penis-like tastes in humor. Ferrell, Sandler, Stiller, Wilson, Vaughn, Favreau, Smith, Cohen? Love them all. Love all their sidekicks too. I have no idea why. I know I should be much more enthralled by movies like "The Notebook" or "The Bridges of Madison County," but since my life plays out more along the lines of Ron Burgundy than Francesca Johnson (at least I hope it does), I'd rather stay sexy, than chase around Clint Eastwood in a pick up truck. Have you seen that man's varicose veins? But I digress.
Anyhow, why I love Kevin Smith movies. Because they are so gross, but loveable. Just like Jay and Silent Bob. Disgusting, but strangely cool. I actually have a hard time picking my favorite Kevin Smith movie--Chasing Amy was good, but I have a special place in my heart for Dogma and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back--am I the only female who thinks that "Boo Boo Kitty Fuck" is a genuine term of affection? Might be. I loved Clerks II for three reasons: Donkey Show, Pillow Pants, A** to Mouth. All completely offensive, but yet will make you cackle like a hyena. Also Trevor Fehrman, the guy who plays Elias, killed me, with his whole "God made man, Man made Transformers" speech. I loved him. Also not to be missed, Jay's and Silent Bob's reenactment of "Silence of the Lambs." It honestly does not get any better. Especially with hot mulled wine!
So make some wine, rent some flicks, and have yourself a merry little Gross Out Fest. Consider it my Christmas present to you.
I am besieged with work (which I should enjoy while I have it), so posts have been short. But, I promised you a hot mulled wine recipe and reasons why I love Clerks and Clerks II, and you shall have both (in abridged format).
First, the wine:
Magically Delicious Hot Mulled Wine (courtesy of Mary Tee, friend of Viva)
You will need:
1 bottle Burgundy wine (not the huge bottles, the normal sized ones--you can go super-cheap on the wine too, since you are mulling it anyway--my choice was a bottle of Gallo--$4.99! Whoo hoo!)
1 bottle of White Zinfandel (you remember the wine of your youth, right? I drank more of this crap than I care to remember, and am surprised there is still a market for it, but there is. I went with a bottle of Sutter Home White Zin, which was on sale for $5.99)
Mulling spices--you can buy these right now at your local supermarkets (since it is the holidays and all) so go and STOCK UP big time. I bought a generic bag of mulling spices for $1.99)
1 cup brown sugar
1 package of cheesecloth
1 crock pot
1. Come home, turn on crockpot to low or high (depending on how much time you have). Open bottles of wine; pour into crockpot--let wine warm up a bit before adding brown sugar and mulling spices, which should be wrapped in cheesecloth (my mulling spices instructed me to put in 3 tablespoons of mulling spices for two bottles of wine, so I did).
2. Wait impatiently while everything, uh, mulls. I had my crockpot set to high, because I have no patience and in 2-3 hours, the wine was ready and AWESOME if I do say so myself. Wait as long as you can, but if you dive in early, don't hate yourself. It happens.
3. Add a cinnamon stick if you want it to look pretty (I didn't)
4. Rent cheesy funny movies and laugh indiscriminantly.
The best part about mulled wine is that if you don't drink all of it in one night, you can reheat it the next day, with the same mulling spices. More bang for your buck! It also makes a festive (and cheap) holiday party drink, and it will get you where you want (or, in my case, need) to go. YAY MULLED WINE!
Now, for Clerks and Clerks II
I am beginning to think that, although I am very much a woman, when it comes to movies, I have penis-like tastes in humor. Ferrell, Sandler, Stiller, Wilson, Vaughn, Favreau, Smith, Cohen? Love them all. Love all their sidekicks too. I have no idea why. I know I should be much more enthralled by movies like "The Notebook" or "The Bridges of Madison County," but since my life plays out more along the lines of Ron Burgundy than Francesca Johnson (at least I hope it does), I'd rather stay sexy, than chase around Clint Eastwood in a pick up truck. Have you seen that man's varicose veins? But I digress.
Anyhow, why I love Kevin Smith movies. Because they are so gross, but loveable. Just like Jay and Silent Bob. Disgusting, but strangely cool. I actually have a hard time picking my favorite Kevin Smith movie--Chasing Amy was good, but I have a special place in my heart for Dogma and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back--am I the only female who thinks that "Boo Boo Kitty Fuck" is a genuine term of affection? Might be. I loved Clerks II for three reasons: Donkey Show, Pillow Pants, A** to Mouth. All completely offensive, but yet will make you cackle like a hyena. Also Trevor Fehrman, the guy who plays Elias, killed me, with his whole "God made man, Man made Transformers" speech. I loved him. Also not to be missed, Jay's and Silent Bob's reenactment of "Silence of the Lambs." It honestly does not get any better. Especially with hot mulled wine!
So make some wine, rent some flicks, and have yourself a merry little Gross Out Fest. Consider it my Christmas present to you.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
COMING UP LATER......
A great recipe for Hot Mulled Wine, which is flipping AWESOME (Viva friend Mary Tee gave me the recipe, and all you hot folks get it next), and why I love Clerks and Clerks II.
In fact, I suggest combining both Hot Mulled Wine and a Clerks marathon for a truly ridiculous evening. Even PillowPants would approve.
More later; for now, work (bastards).
A great recipe for Hot Mulled Wine, which is flipping AWESOME (Viva friend Mary Tee gave me the recipe, and all you hot folks get it next), and why I love Clerks and Clerks II.
In fact, I suggest combining both Hot Mulled Wine and a Clerks marathon for a truly ridiculous evening. Even PillowPants would approve.
More later; for now, work (bastards).
Friday, December 01, 2006
VIVA'S PICTURES OF THE INFAMOUS "DURAN DURAN ENCOUNTER"
They were a long time coming, but oh so very worth it. As friends of mine know, I will forever have a chunk of 13-year-old Durannie wedged in my heart. I, along with Viva friends Jen and Christine recently saw Duran Duran in our neck of the woods, and was fortunate enough to follow the sage advice of Christine who suggested after the show that we "hang out by the side door and see if the band comes out!" YAY CHRISTINE!!!! It's funny to see a bunch of thirtysomething women jockey for the best spot to reach the band. You know that your old whorish friend here was RIGHT at the front of the pack. I would not be dissuaded, dammit!
First, a picture from the show itself. They really put on some concert--I danced like a moron, and am proud of it. Don't they look festive? Well you can't really see them but, you get the idea:
Next we have Nick, who came out first. Nick Rhodes has been buffed to a high sheen, and has nary a wrinkle on his face. Is it Lancome? Is it sandblasting? I should ask him.
Here's our friend Roger who, in Viva's opinion, looks the hottest out of ALL of them. Viva's advice--always hit up the drummer. They have the rythym!!!! He's not as tall as I expected, but as a short girl myself, this just ensures a better fit, should we ever meet again, fall in love, have little Durans, buy a house in the French Countryside..... that sort of thing.
Finally, here is Simon, who is looks pretty darn good for being the oldest of the bunch (Viva suspects a face life and Botox, but one can never be sure). Word on the street is that Simon is a dog who cheats on his wife of 20 years (the very hot Yasmin LeBon), but he seemed very polite and well behaved when we met him, so who knows? Maybe he got laid BEFORE the show?
And here is stupid John Taylor. You might be wondering if I took this picture. I didn't. John, wuss that he is, ran off to the tour bus, giving the fans only an over-the-shoulder wave. Um, hello, it's not 1985 anymore and this isn't Madison Square Garden there, Skeletor. You should be happy to still have fans. Whatever, John! I am over you. Some women love men who treat them like shit, but Viva isn't one of them. I will pine for the short but rythymic Roger now--screw you! Wow, I am on a roll, how else can I slag him? Hmmm. Okay, you look like the Cryptkeeper anyway! Calcium, it's what's for dinner. Food is for dinner too--John may want to try that sometime. Who likes throwing around an anorexic man? Yuck. Bastards.
The show was awesome and meeting them was pretty darn cool, even in spite of JT's brush-off. If you need an 80s fix and like men in make-up, definitely check out one of their shows. And hang out by the side door afterwards. And grope Roger for me, if you get the chance--thanks!
They were a long time coming, but oh so very worth it. As friends of mine know, I will forever have a chunk of 13-year-old Durannie wedged in my heart. I, along with Viva friends Jen and Christine recently saw Duran Duran in our neck of the woods, and was fortunate enough to follow the sage advice of Christine who suggested after the show that we "hang out by the side door and see if the band comes out!" YAY CHRISTINE!!!! It's funny to see a bunch of thirtysomething women jockey for the best spot to reach the band. You know that your old whorish friend here was RIGHT at the front of the pack. I would not be dissuaded, dammit!
First, a picture from the show itself. They really put on some concert--I danced like a moron, and am proud of it. Don't they look festive? Well you can't really see them but, you get the idea:
Next we have Nick, who came out first. Nick Rhodes has been buffed to a high sheen, and has nary a wrinkle on his face. Is it Lancome? Is it sandblasting? I should ask him.
Here's our friend Roger who, in Viva's opinion, looks the hottest out of ALL of them. Viva's advice--always hit up the drummer. They have the rythym!!!! He's not as tall as I expected, but as a short girl myself, this just ensures a better fit, should we ever meet again, fall in love, have little Durans, buy a house in the French Countryside..... that sort of thing.
Finally, here is Simon, who is looks pretty darn good for being the oldest of the bunch (Viva suspects a face life and Botox, but one can never be sure). Word on the street is that Simon is a dog who cheats on his wife of 20 years (the very hot Yasmin LeBon), but he seemed very polite and well behaved when we met him, so who knows? Maybe he got laid BEFORE the show?
And here is stupid John Taylor. You might be wondering if I took this picture. I didn't. John, wuss that he is, ran off to the tour bus, giving the fans only an over-the-shoulder wave. Um, hello, it's not 1985 anymore and this isn't Madison Square Garden there, Skeletor. You should be happy to still have fans. Whatever, John! I am over you. Some women love men who treat them like shit, but Viva isn't one of them. I will pine for the short but rythymic Roger now--screw you! Wow, I am on a roll, how else can I slag him? Hmmm. Okay, you look like the Cryptkeeper anyway! Calcium, it's what's for dinner. Food is for dinner too--John may want to try that sometime. Who likes throwing around an anorexic man? Yuck. Bastards.
The show was awesome and meeting them was pretty darn cool, even in spite of JT's brush-off. If you need an 80s fix and like men in make-up, definitely check out one of their shows. And hang out by the side door afterwards. And grope Roger for me, if you get the chance--thanks!
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
YOU CAN NEVER GO HOME AGAIN.....
I know I am supposed to be blogging about my Rochester Exploits, and perhaps all those pictures of Britney Spears' Unfortunate Vagina (she's a shaver, with the stubble to prove it), and trust me I will, but today I am going to bore you with my own personal angst.
Basically, it looks as if we have finally found a buyer for my parents' home, which I own with my sister, and due to the fact that my parents had the sense to migrate from the South Bronx to the suburbs of NYC, I am going to make myself a nice chunk of change. I should be happy about this, right? One would think. But I wouldn't be me if I wasn't pissy about something.
I am happy to be free of the financial burden of keeping a second house, happy that, in a few short weeks, I will no longer have any financial ties to my, uh, interesting, sister, happy to pay off that nagging Am Ex card I abuse...
But I miss my mom and dad. And selling off the house is the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. Viva here bounced around more in her 20s and early 30s than I can remember--this apartment, that apartment, this boyfriend, that boyfriend. But whenever things got hairy (and with my penchant for drama, they often did), there was always home to go to. So it sucks to see your history be sold to the highest bidder. I guarantee you I will bawl through the closing, bawl as they write me that big fat check, and bawl when I see the moving vans pull up to the house. Yeah, money is great, but she ain't everything.
I am grateful though, to have the awesome parents that I have, who busted their asses so that we idiot children of theirs would be taken care of. Wherever you are, Mom and Dad, thanks.
I know I am going to get emails about this post being a bummer, but you can always expect some sort of random cheerfulness from your old friend. So here, in no particular order, are some of the things I plan to do with my financial windfall--why squirrel it away when I can spend with abandon? So I am thinking:
1. Pottery Barn. All of it. Everything. Whatever they have, I want.
2. Enough plastic surgery to turn me into Rachel McAdams but not so much as to morph me into Jocelyn Wildenstein)--nip it, tuck it, pull it up, under, over, or suck it out. Give me the works!
3. A hitman to kill Jessica and Ashlee Simpson since they both annoy the crap out of me. Talentless hacks.
4. A Full-Time Personal Trainer from Fitness Together, who can whip my ass into shape. Or just stand there and flex for my amusement. Whatever. I am game!
5. Back to Ireland, this time with all the Scranton gang, because we would really have The Best Time Ever--there are no people more fun than the Irish!
6. A doggy hypnotherapist to delve into why my dog hates cars, baths, and basically everything I want him to do.
7. Booze and hookers!
8. That new Playstation 3, just cause I can.
9. A studio apartment in NYC--some people get mountain homes, or shore houses--give me a crash pad in the big city, and I am happy. I miss Brother Jimmys. Fishbowls for everyone!
10. Building the new Melrose Place, wherein all the Scranton Girls and Gays can have houses side by side, drink too much wine, and grow old together like the Golden Girls.
Okay, I am kidding, I am not going to do any of these things (although the hitman idea intrigues me). Chances are, it will all go into some dippy retirement fund, so I can rest assured that someday I can pay someone to change my diapers and puree my food for me while I chew on a sock.
But, if you see me in the upcoming months and I can no longer move my face, the plastic surgeon thing might have happened. Even if I can't smile, know I am happy to see you!
I know I am supposed to be blogging about my Rochester Exploits, and perhaps all those pictures of Britney Spears' Unfortunate Vagina (she's a shaver, with the stubble to prove it), and trust me I will, but today I am going to bore you with my own personal angst.
Basically, it looks as if we have finally found a buyer for my parents' home, which I own with my sister, and due to the fact that my parents had the sense to migrate from the South Bronx to the suburbs of NYC, I am going to make myself a nice chunk of change. I should be happy about this, right? One would think. But I wouldn't be me if I wasn't pissy about something.
I am happy to be free of the financial burden of keeping a second house, happy that, in a few short weeks, I will no longer have any financial ties to my, uh, interesting, sister, happy to pay off that nagging Am Ex card I abuse...
But I miss my mom and dad. And selling off the house is the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. Viva here bounced around more in her 20s and early 30s than I can remember--this apartment, that apartment, this boyfriend, that boyfriend. But whenever things got hairy (and with my penchant for drama, they often did), there was always home to go to. So it sucks to see your history be sold to the highest bidder. I guarantee you I will bawl through the closing, bawl as they write me that big fat check, and bawl when I see the moving vans pull up to the house. Yeah, money is great, but she ain't everything.
I am grateful though, to have the awesome parents that I have, who busted their asses so that we idiot children of theirs would be taken care of. Wherever you are, Mom and Dad, thanks.
I know I am going to get emails about this post being a bummer, but you can always expect some sort of random cheerfulness from your old friend. So here, in no particular order, are some of the things I plan to do with my financial windfall--why squirrel it away when I can spend with abandon? So I am thinking:
1. Pottery Barn. All of it. Everything. Whatever they have, I want.
2. Enough plastic surgery to turn me into Rachel McAdams but not so much as to morph me into Jocelyn Wildenstein)--nip it, tuck it, pull it up, under, over, or suck it out. Give me the works!
3. A hitman to kill Jessica and Ashlee Simpson since they both annoy the crap out of me. Talentless hacks.
4. A Full-Time Personal Trainer from Fitness Together, who can whip my ass into shape. Or just stand there and flex for my amusement. Whatever. I am game!
5. Back to Ireland, this time with all the Scranton gang, because we would really have The Best Time Ever--there are no people more fun than the Irish!
6. A doggy hypnotherapist to delve into why my dog hates cars, baths, and basically everything I want him to do.
7. Booze and hookers!
8. That new Playstation 3, just cause I can.
9. A studio apartment in NYC--some people get mountain homes, or shore houses--give me a crash pad in the big city, and I am happy. I miss Brother Jimmys. Fishbowls for everyone!
10. Building the new Melrose Place, wherein all the Scranton Girls and Gays can have houses side by side, drink too much wine, and grow old together like the Golden Girls.
Okay, I am kidding, I am not going to do any of these things (although the hitman idea intrigues me). Chances are, it will all go into some dippy retirement fund, so I can rest assured that someday I can pay someone to change my diapers and puree my food for me while I chew on a sock.
But, if you see me in the upcoming months and I can no longer move my face, the plastic surgeon thing might have happened. Even if I can't smile, know I am happy to see you!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
THE LOVE STORY THAT WAS PAM AND KID ROCK...
Everyone knows by now that Pam and Kid Rock are overoverover, after a scant 3 months of marriage, but apparently a screening of Borat was the reason for the pair splitting up? According to the New York Post, Pam and Kid went to a screening of the movie (the premise of which includes Borat coming to America to meet and marry Pamela Anderson), and Kid hated the movie and called Pam a "slut" and a laughingstock and whatnot for being in it in the first place. Pammy was one of the few people IN on the joke, and Jesus, Borat is kicking ass in the theaters. Kid Rock should be thrilled (think of all the wife beater t-shirts he can buy with her money), but instead, he trashes her. Ain't that nice?
I am not saying Pamela Anderson isn't a slut. She very well may be. She's sort of made a big career of it (well, that and her boobs). But, um, wasn't Kid Rock AWARE of said sluttiness BEFORE he married her? Wasn't the fact that she was a Big Blond Tramp the very thing that attracted him to her in the first place? HELLO!!!!! This seems to be one of those Man Issues I don't get: the very things that makes a girl attractive to a guy when they first meet are usually the things that guys end up hating in the long run. Can someone explain this? Men complain that women "change" after they get married; women complain that men don't change. General grumpiness, resentment, and a Siberian Sex Life usually ensues until the lawyers are summoned. It ain't pretty, people. I am sure Pam will sit for an interview with Cosmo about why she always picks men with "anger issues." We women never learn, that's why.
Viva actually went to a Kid Rock show back in her NYC days (hey, the tickets were free), and he was surprisingly good in concert. Maybe Kid should stick to the stage instead of the altar, eh? At least they have the memories of their 5 weddings (all booze-soaked and bikini-laden) to keep them warm over the holidays. Maybe there's a sex tape to look forward to????? Yeesh.
Monday, November 27, 2006
SHUFFLING OFF TO BUFFALO
Well, not quite. I took a last-minute trip to the fun city of Rochester, NY this past weekend with my niece to see my dear friend Jill, and am still too traumatized from Wegmans Withdrawal to type about all the fun we had. Hot Roch-cha-cha memories to be discussed include "The Dirty Hateful Hippie," "Risking Our Lives for the Madonna Mix at The Garage Door," "Southern Comfort is the Devil (aka, "No potato is ugly at 2 a.m.)," "Naked Bike Rides and Misspent Youth," "My Niece, the Happy Trisexual," "Callie, My Hot Blonde Bedmate," "Family Brunches and Dirty Jokes (Why The Cahills Rock)," "Sucking at Both Scrabble AND Scene It," "Hot Tubs are Beyond Awesome" and "The Longest Bus Ride Ever." I'll have a full update tomorrow, but for now I want to sulk and click on the Wegman's website until my fingers bleed.
Wegmans, for the uninitiated, is like, the Best Grocery Store Ever. It's not even a grocery store. It's like Disneyland for food. People walk around all happy, and they should be. I mean, the bakery alone could bring tears to a PMSing woman's heart. There is NOTHING like this in my neck of the Great White North. Nothing like this in the burbs of NYC either. People, we have been ROBBED. Wegmans will never come my way, due to the stranglehold of the Evil PriceChopper Empire, but I can hope. Honestly, Wegmans could make me move to Rochester. It's that good.
It's a sad, sad day when things like grocery stores get me hot and bothered. Did I mention the Cheese section? Sweet Jesus! Since I am Clawing and Scratching My Way Back Into My Old Clothes, I am avoiding cheese, but I think even looking at the display can make you gain weight. Sigh.
Also tomorrow, back to my usual rants: First up, The Demise of Pam and Kid Rock. Christ, if these two crazy kids can't make it work, what hope is there for any of us???? At least they had the sense to end it before they started breeding, but still.
The world is going to hell in a handbasket.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
ME-HI-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
At long last, here is “Grand Recap of All Things Mexico” for your reading pleasure—sorry it took so long but, as you can see, it’s a huge entry and it takes a little work to pull something like this together (especially when trying to do The Work That Pays The Bills) Regular readers might wonder: What gives? Normally Viva keeps it to celebrities, 80s nostalgia, vibrators, and video clips of things she finds amusing, but bear with this indulgence folks—I promised it to my closest and dearest, and hell, it’s fun to reminisce. Normal bitching will ensue tomorrow, but for now, we’ll always have The Barceló.
To preface, I rarely take vacations, and when I do, it usually involves either Maine, Vermont, or New Hampshire, or somewhere along those lines, wherein Viva packs up the dog, gets some secluded cabin out on a lake or the ocean, and does fun stuff like comb the beach for mussels for dinner, fish, read books, let lobsters swim in the bathtub before boiling them alive, and, well, that’s sort of about it. Which is fun, don’t get me wrong. I am down for the outdoors, but vacations where you have to cook every meal yourself—it gets old. I want to be served. I want frothy drinks in oversized mugs, I want SPF 500 slathered on my body, and a lounge chair where I can plop and watch aging European men squeeze themselves into banana-hanger bathing suits. Where can one find this? Why, Mexico of course!
Here’s how it goes: Longtime Viva friend and intrepid travel-bargain finder Tomai hooks us up with a deal for 75% off at our favorite resort, the Barceló Maya, in balmy Riviera Maya, Mexico. It’s so cheap, it’s actually CHEAPER than carting myself out to Maine and freezing my ass off for a week. We are jubilant. We have months and months to diet and prepare, none of which I end up doing, but whatever. Finally, the day arrives, and off we fly to Me-hi-ho, stars in our eyes, sand in our hair, sippy cups in hand.
I could go into a moment-by-moment breakdown of our entire trip. But who wants to read that? Instead, I’ll summarize by discussing the following:
15 THINGS I LEARNED WHILE IN MEXICO
1. Tequila makes your clothes fall off. Megan, we are talking about you. Somewhere out there in the world is a tiny meek Japanese man with years of masturbatory material thanks to our friend Megan’s propensity for “accidentally-on-purpose” dropping her towel and/or bikini top in the most unlikely of places (we have the pictures to prove it, but you’ll all have to use your imaginations). Call her crazy, call her fearless, but Megan provided lots of “OH NO SHE DIDN’T” moments throughout our Mexico trip. Hours of entertainment, I tell you.
2. Towel animals make us giddy. Seriously. Our maids made a menagerie of towel critters, complete with tiny stick-on eyes, and flower petals on our beds. Viva LIVES for this stuff. I want to cart one of these maids up to the Great White North and spend the rest of my life waking up to towel elephants, zebras, lions, crocodiles in my bathroom—whatever Rosa can dream up, gimme gimme.
3. God made buffets because he wants us to be happy. He really did. I am the queen of piling my plate to the sky with food, and not eating any of it. Wasteful, sure, but that’s who I am. The Barceló’s buffets had more selection than Owen Wilson at a Playboy Mansion party. I took a little of everything, and ended up eating the guacamole and french fries. It all goes back to psychology—I may not want everything I have, but I just like to know I can have it. Viva is a greedy bitch, but it’s the nature of the beast. YAY!!!
4. Fire ants suck. Or biting ants. Or whatever the hell these damn ants were, they left me miserable, itchy, and with a bitten-up arm that only Father Damien could love (click on the link, so you get my obscure joke and laugh, dammit). Here’s how it went. Viva stays in the pool until well after dark with friends Tomai and Christina to gawk at the Fitness Together men at the swim-up bar (we’re getting to them, be patient). But anyhow, Viva leaves bag and cover-up on ground beside pool. Viva has a tasty ripe banana in her bag. Are we all getting where this is going? When we finally leave the pool, I throw my cover up on and realize upon reaching our building, that I am itching and burning—since I hadn’t slept with Tommy Lee within the past twelve hours, I could only assume that something else was causing this fiery pain, and looked down to see myself covered with little black angry ants. What happened next is a blur, but it involved lots of screaming, cursing, throwing off clothes, and doing the Mexican Hat/Ant Crush Dance right in the middle of the hallway while Tomai and Christina dusted my stuff for the nasty insects. It is exactly one week later and my arm STILL itches and looks deformed. I used to be the type of person to shuffle an ant out the door on a piece of paper, rather than kill it. No more! Bastards.
5. Girls like to fall on their heads. A lot. Water + ceramic tile = girls go boom boom. I think all of us took a header at some point or another. As for me, after a spell of rain drenched the resort, my platform sandals became ice skates and I ended up flat on my back, staring up a bevy of concerned southern middle-aged women hovering over me, saying things like “Y’all okay, Sugar? Don’t move ya head just yet, now!” I thought I was hallucinating. Viva friend Christina just laughed at my sorry ass. Where is the love?!?
6. Muscleheads are the new black. Who knew that a group of quasi-literate, chair-jumping, anabolically pumped personal trainers could turn a great trip into a truly spectacular one? Apparently, some national franchise called "Fitness Together" decided to book a conference at the resort for the same week we girls were there. Jackpot! Now, if we were back in New York, these would be the same guys we’d make fun of and sniff “What is he trying to prove, anyway?” But in Mexico, with tequila, they were manna from heaven. The volleyball games on the beach were straight out of Top Gun. Who needs TV? To their credit, most of them were nice (like the southern boy, Clint, from A-LA-BAAAAAA-MA). Some were just funny. I struck up a conversation with one guy about the benefits of hiring prostitutes instead of actually dating women. I am not making this up. Most of the week, we spent sucking in our stomachs on the way to the buffet as we passed these guys reading books like The Business of Personal Training. When they left the resort on Friday, a little part of us died…. FITNESS TOGETHER FOREVER!
7. Everybody Loves Christina. Or “ChrisTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINA!!!!” Viva friend and fellow Mexico-goer Christina rocked it like a hurricane in Mexico. Christina is this very sweet, quiet girl, who was just going about her daily business when seemingly, she was mobbed by every musclehead and Mexican waiter within a 5-mile radius. The men couldn’t get enough of her, and her little pink bikini. We’d be eating and the umpteenth Mexican waiter would be making googly eyes and asking her if she had an “espousa” or a boyfriend, or where she was staying. The best of the bunch was one of the ‘Roid Ragers, this large Spanish (???) man who essentially stalked Christina like she was a wounded gazelle. He’s all intense, following her around the pool, moaning “ChriiiiiiisTIIINA, what room you in? What room she in? I want to know? Where can I find you? What are you doing later? Christina, why you swim away from me? I just want to talk to you!!!!!!!” Sure, you do, buddy. With your penis.
8. Dolphins are like dogs that swim. Or at least that’s what I wanted to believe. Tomai, Christina and I did this "Dolphin Discovery” thing where you swim with dolphins, manatees, and sea lions, which was pretty neat. Every time our main dolphin Chaach swam by, I’d be all “Who’s the good boy????” while rubbing its stomach. I bet you a lot of people do that—at least saps like me who missed their dogs. Beautiful creatures those dolphins. Sea lions are cute too. Manatees, also cute, but they are HUGE, bristly, covered in algae and given to making “Manatee Stew” (think food and God Knows What Else floats around in their enclosure). Next time, I can look at them from shore, and be totally cool. Killer manatees……..
9. Snorkeling is righteous. If you folks are planning a trip to Mexico, follow the old girl’s advice and do the Xelha Eco-Theme Park—it’s snorkeling paradise, and there’s all this other stuff to do as well, like tube down a lazy river (which I failed at—“Nobody puts Viva in an inner tube!”), or lose your credit card while jumping off the Cliff of Courage—and then have someone swim around, FIND it—and GIVE IT BACK. Try THAT in New York!
10. ATVs are scary. Oh screw you, yes they are. Viva friends Jill, Chuck, and Dave call and chirp “We’re going on an ATV excursion.” Viva, who grew up inches outside of NYC and whose childhood experiences with nature consisted of hanging out in shopping malls, is all “Great, I’m game! What’s an ATV???” Yeah. So we can see how this goes down. ATVs, I have learned, are like these dune buggy type things with no shocks and have a propensity to, like, roll over and maim you. I am thinking “Well, we’ll drive these nice little vehicles on a flat beach and won’t that be nice?” Oh no. No, the point of these things is to actually GO OVER bumpy stuff. That is supposed to be the fun part—bouncing around, racing up steep hills, hitting trees. This is what people, apparently, paid money to do. Approximately one minute after the nice Mexican man turned on my ATV, muttered “This is gas, this is brake, GO!” I knew I was totally, completely, and utterly screwed. Usual Viva protocol would involve me pitching an immediate fit and hopping off this deathtrap. But, Viva friends were all excited and I had me some pride, which quickly gave way to general ineptness and fear. I sucked. Apparently, the tour guide likes to put the sucky people at the front of the group, rather than trail at the back, which I was dying to do. I had on this black helmet a la Seargent Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes, and my inner (and outer) dialogue went something like this: “thisfuckingsucksthisfuckingsucksthisfuckingsucksIamgoingtoflipthisfuckingthing and drowninapoolofmyownblood.” Finally, I missed a turnoff. Mexican tour guide-man was annoyed and started gesticulating for me to get back in formation. “Reverse” he yelled. I yelled back “Where the fuck is reverse?!?!?!? You showed me 'gas' and 'stop'!!!!" Jill’s husband Dave, Patron Saint of Panicking Women Who Are in Over Their Head, zoomed over and essentially saved my sorry ass. My pride in tatters, I blathered “I CAN’T DO THIS, I HATE ATVS!!!”—Dave grabs my dear friend Jill, who, God Bless Her Soul, hops on my ATV and takes the wheel, asking "Do you trust me?" I remember thinking "Honey, I think I would trust a well-trained monkey's ATV driving skills more than my own, take the wheel!" I think I clung so hard to Jill’s waist that my nail marks are probably still embedded in her stomach. Once I didn’t have to drive that damn ATV, the trip was great, and created some girl-bonding moments that are burned into my head for eternity. So it was all good. Moral of the story: “Know the Nature of the Beast on Which You are Riding”—is this a double entendre? Absolutely, but this is my blog and I can double entendre anytime I want. So there.
11. A jaguar does not a cheetah make. The Barceló’s one and only discothèque was “The Jaguar” or “ JAG-GUUUUARRRR! (sort of yell it and make “claws” while saying it, and you’ve got it down). The Jaguar prompted all sorts of discussions. Were the huge, seemingly paper-mached creatures outside of the Jaguar, REALLY Jaguars? Or were they cheetahs? They sure looked like cheetahs. And why did it resemble a high school gymnasium on the inside? What was the deal with all that fog? To cover up the fact that no one was really there? Oh Jaguar, we miss you, and your throbbing techno beat, so reminiscent of Joey’s in Clifton!!!! One memorable Jaguar moment actually took place in the ladies’ room wherein a group of befuddled Italian girls stood around their hopelessly drunk friend and watched her puke—IN THE SINK. WTF? American women know enough to grab their drunk girl and throw her in a stall, pull back her hair and sing her a dog while she upchucks. This poor Italian Bella had no such luck. Maybe that’s why she was crying and moaning and carrying on. I’d be crying too, if people left me to yak in a sink. Idiots.
12. Desperate need breeds ingenuity. As a special FYI, champagne buckets make GREAT vomit receptacles, right Tomai? Let’s see if I can spell out the sound she made when she leaped up from the bed in a panic and grabbed the unfortunate bucket in the wee hours of the morning: “HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!” I wanted to help her. I really did. Instead I laid in bed, twitching with residual tequila shakes, giggling. Viva is a good friend.
13. A picture tells a thousand words. Or, in my case, three little words: “You got fat.” Viva is the queen of denial and even though I have porked up like a Thanksgiving turkey in the last year and a half, somewhere inside of me, my inner optimist was like “You’re just a little chubby right now, that’s all!” Yeah. Just like Michael Jackson is a little fond of young boys. So I brought my optimistic, delusional self with me for the Mexico trip, in spite of the fact that everything I brought had tags on it (because I had to buy it new—because my old clothes wouldn’t even get past my hips, much less button up). I honestly believed I was actually holding it together. Until the pictures started rolling in--emphasis on the word "rolling." In horror, I realized that I had lost my chin and gained another ass. The same girl who spent her 20s and early 30s pretty skinny, barely eating, hopped-up on ephedra pills and diet Red Bull, and running around postage stamp-sized skirts, is now a pork chop. This is when I miss my father. I come from a family of super-skinny Irish people who chain-smoked, drank lots of black coffee, and forgot to eat (who does that?). When my old man was alive, he was the Voice of Reality. Our conversations would go something like this: Me: “Dad, why didn’t you eat the dinner I made you?!?!?! Jesus, how many cigarettes did you smoke today? Where is your inhaler? Don’t tell me all you ate all day was that crappy Dunkin Donuts muffin and coffee!!!!” My old man: “Did you put on weight? You look like you’re getting a double chin. Where did you hide those last two cigarettes???” Nobody loves you like family, eh? Who else tells you the truth these days? Viva Husband would let me hit 500 pounds before daring to utter “maybe you should try a carrot stick or something.” Men who are not biologically related to me seem to fear my wrath. Go figure. Anyhow, at home Viva cooks these huge dinners every night of the week, which MAY account for said pork chop-ed-ness. No more. At least for me anyway. I rolled out the usual fare last night (chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits), and left myself with a wee grilled chicken breast. Viva Husband is like “Aren’t you going to have any…..” and I bellowed “THE CHICKEN BREAST IS FINE, thanks.” Dieting sucks. But lacking a chin sucks even more. And I miss my old, little ass. Viva hates baggage. Viva is all about losing baggage in the upcoming months. It won’t be easy, but nothing ever is these days. Updates will be forthcoming.
14. Dogs love you even when you torment them. We all know how goopy I get about my dog. I know, I know, I have some issues. Though I hated to leave Me-hi-ho, it was nice to come home to such a happy, frantic greeting from the Cooperman. How do I repay his love, his loyalty, his unwavering devotion? I make him wear a little sombrero and take pictures of him for your amusement. Cooper sort of reminds me of Max from “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”—he pretty much does what I want him to do, but is miserable about it. Normally he loves lying on the couch. But because I WANTED him to lie on the couch, he wouldn’t do it. Damn dog. So here’s a picture of Cooper lying in front of Viva’s olive green couches, and the yellow walls that are still not the gold color I wanted, even after repainting the room three times. I strategically placed the sippy cup for effect. It’s now his new toy. The boy makes me proud.
15. Friends are the chocolate-chip cookie dough in the ice cream of life. They seriously are. If Mexico taught old Viva anything, it’s that nothing replaces time with great friends. Sometimes we get so caught up in our own angst, we sort of forget to touch base with our pals, and what better opportunity than a week away in Paradise to laugh with old friends and make new ones too??? Viva sends huge “Thank You”s to Tomai, for making all of this happen, to Christina, to being the Sexy Minx that she is, to Samantha, Megan, Carmelina, and Sarah, for being funny, righteous chicks with whom many stories were shared, and especially to Jill, one of Viva’s oldest and dearest, who made me feel like my old, slightly psychotic but fun, self again—no therapy is better than a Scranton-style “Come to Jesus” talkfest with your sister. Much thanks too, to Dave and Chuck, who seemed to enjoy all of our cumulative female shenanigans with good cheer.
I think I’ve covered everything, and if I didn’t, well, my fingers are tired from typing. Thanks for a great time, folks. You all seriously rock.
At long last, here is “Grand Recap of All Things Mexico” for your reading pleasure—sorry it took so long but, as you can see, it’s a huge entry and it takes a little work to pull something like this together (especially when trying to do The Work That Pays The Bills) Regular readers might wonder: What gives? Normally Viva keeps it to celebrities, 80s nostalgia, vibrators, and video clips of things she finds amusing, but bear with this indulgence folks—I promised it to my closest and dearest, and hell, it’s fun to reminisce. Normal bitching will ensue tomorrow, but for now, we’ll always have The Barceló.
To preface, I rarely take vacations, and when I do, it usually involves either Maine, Vermont, or New Hampshire, or somewhere along those lines, wherein Viva packs up the dog, gets some secluded cabin out on a lake or the ocean, and does fun stuff like comb the beach for mussels for dinner, fish, read books, let lobsters swim in the bathtub before boiling them alive, and, well, that’s sort of about it. Which is fun, don’t get me wrong. I am down for the outdoors, but vacations where you have to cook every meal yourself—it gets old. I want to be served. I want frothy drinks in oversized mugs, I want SPF 500 slathered on my body, and a lounge chair where I can plop and watch aging European men squeeze themselves into banana-hanger bathing suits. Where can one find this? Why, Mexico of course!
Here’s how it goes: Longtime Viva friend and intrepid travel-bargain finder Tomai hooks us up with a deal for 75% off at our favorite resort, the Barceló Maya, in balmy Riviera Maya, Mexico. It’s so cheap, it’s actually CHEAPER than carting myself out to Maine and freezing my ass off for a week. We are jubilant. We have months and months to diet and prepare, none of which I end up doing, but whatever. Finally, the day arrives, and off we fly to Me-hi-ho, stars in our eyes, sand in our hair, sippy cups in hand.
I could go into a moment-by-moment breakdown of our entire trip. But who wants to read that? Instead, I’ll summarize by discussing the following:
15 THINGS I LEARNED WHILE IN MEXICO
1. Tequila makes your clothes fall off. Megan, we are talking about you. Somewhere out there in the world is a tiny meek Japanese man with years of masturbatory material thanks to our friend Megan’s propensity for “accidentally-on-purpose” dropping her towel and/or bikini top in the most unlikely of places (we have the pictures to prove it, but you’ll all have to use your imaginations). Call her crazy, call her fearless, but Megan provided lots of “OH NO SHE DIDN’T” moments throughout our Mexico trip. Hours of entertainment, I tell you.
2. Towel animals make us giddy. Seriously. Our maids made a menagerie of towel critters, complete with tiny stick-on eyes, and flower petals on our beds. Viva LIVES for this stuff. I want to cart one of these maids up to the Great White North and spend the rest of my life waking up to towel elephants, zebras, lions, crocodiles in my bathroom—whatever Rosa can dream up, gimme gimme.
3. God made buffets because he wants us to be happy. He really did. I am the queen of piling my plate to the sky with food, and not eating any of it. Wasteful, sure, but that’s who I am. The Barceló’s buffets had more selection than Owen Wilson at a Playboy Mansion party. I took a little of everything, and ended up eating the guacamole and french fries. It all goes back to psychology—I may not want everything I have, but I just like to know I can have it. Viva is a greedy bitch, but it’s the nature of the beast. YAY!!!
4. Fire ants suck. Or biting ants. Or whatever the hell these damn ants were, they left me miserable, itchy, and with a bitten-up arm that only Father Damien could love (click on the link, so you get my obscure joke and laugh, dammit). Here’s how it went. Viva stays in the pool until well after dark with friends Tomai and Christina to gawk at the Fitness Together men at the swim-up bar (we’re getting to them, be patient). But anyhow, Viva leaves bag and cover-up on ground beside pool. Viva has a tasty ripe banana in her bag. Are we all getting where this is going? When we finally leave the pool, I throw my cover up on and realize upon reaching our building, that I am itching and burning—since I hadn’t slept with Tommy Lee within the past twelve hours, I could only assume that something else was causing this fiery pain, and looked down to see myself covered with little black angry ants. What happened next is a blur, but it involved lots of screaming, cursing, throwing off clothes, and doing the Mexican Hat/Ant Crush Dance right in the middle of the hallway while Tomai and Christina dusted my stuff for the nasty insects. It is exactly one week later and my arm STILL itches and looks deformed. I used to be the type of person to shuffle an ant out the door on a piece of paper, rather than kill it. No more! Bastards.
5. Girls like to fall on their heads. A lot. Water + ceramic tile = girls go boom boom. I think all of us took a header at some point or another. As for me, after a spell of rain drenched the resort, my platform sandals became ice skates and I ended up flat on my back, staring up a bevy of concerned southern middle-aged women hovering over me, saying things like “Y’all okay, Sugar? Don’t move ya head just yet, now!” I thought I was hallucinating. Viva friend Christina just laughed at my sorry ass. Where is the love?!?
6. Muscleheads are the new black. Who knew that a group of quasi-literate, chair-jumping, anabolically pumped personal trainers could turn a great trip into a truly spectacular one? Apparently, some national franchise called "Fitness Together" decided to book a conference at the resort for the same week we girls were there. Jackpot! Now, if we were back in New York, these would be the same guys we’d make fun of and sniff “What is he trying to prove, anyway?” But in Mexico, with tequila, they were manna from heaven. The volleyball games on the beach were straight out of Top Gun. Who needs TV? To their credit, most of them were nice (like the southern boy, Clint, from A-LA-BAAAAAA-MA). Some were just funny. I struck up a conversation with one guy about the benefits of hiring prostitutes instead of actually dating women. I am not making this up. Most of the week, we spent sucking in our stomachs on the way to the buffet as we passed these guys reading books like The Business of Personal Training. When they left the resort on Friday, a little part of us died…. FITNESS TOGETHER FOREVER!
7. Everybody Loves Christina. Or “ChrisTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINA!!!!” Viva friend and fellow Mexico-goer Christina rocked it like a hurricane in Mexico. Christina is this very sweet, quiet girl, who was just going about her daily business when seemingly, she was mobbed by every musclehead and Mexican waiter within a 5-mile radius. The men couldn’t get enough of her, and her little pink bikini. We’d be eating and the umpteenth Mexican waiter would be making googly eyes and asking her if she had an “espousa” or a boyfriend, or where she was staying. The best of the bunch was one of the ‘Roid Ragers, this large Spanish (???) man who essentially stalked Christina like she was a wounded gazelle. He’s all intense, following her around the pool, moaning “ChriiiiiiisTIIINA, what room you in? What room she in? I want to know? Where can I find you? What are you doing later? Christina, why you swim away from me? I just want to talk to you!!!!!!!” Sure, you do, buddy. With your penis.
8. Dolphins are like dogs that swim. Or at least that’s what I wanted to believe. Tomai, Christina and I did this "Dolphin Discovery” thing where you swim with dolphins, manatees, and sea lions, which was pretty neat. Every time our main dolphin Chaach swam by, I’d be all “Who’s the good boy????” while rubbing its stomach. I bet you a lot of people do that—at least saps like me who missed their dogs. Beautiful creatures those dolphins. Sea lions are cute too. Manatees, also cute, but they are HUGE, bristly, covered in algae and given to making “Manatee Stew” (think food and God Knows What Else floats around in their enclosure). Next time, I can look at them from shore, and be totally cool. Killer manatees……..
9. Snorkeling is righteous. If you folks are planning a trip to Mexico, follow the old girl’s advice and do the Xelha Eco-Theme Park—it’s snorkeling paradise, and there’s all this other stuff to do as well, like tube down a lazy river (which I failed at—“Nobody puts Viva in an inner tube!”), or lose your credit card while jumping off the Cliff of Courage—and then have someone swim around, FIND it—and GIVE IT BACK. Try THAT in New York!
10. ATVs are scary. Oh screw you, yes they are. Viva friends Jill, Chuck, and Dave call and chirp “We’re going on an ATV excursion.” Viva, who grew up inches outside of NYC and whose childhood experiences with nature consisted of hanging out in shopping malls, is all “Great, I’m game! What’s an ATV???” Yeah. So we can see how this goes down. ATVs, I have learned, are like these dune buggy type things with no shocks and have a propensity to, like, roll over and maim you. I am thinking “Well, we’ll drive these nice little vehicles on a flat beach and won’t that be nice?” Oh no. No, the point of these things is to actually GO OVER bumpy stuff. That is supposed to be the fun part—bouncing around, racing up steep hills, hitting trees. This is what people, apparently, paid money to do. Approximately one minute after the nice Mexican man turned on my ATV, muttered “This is gas, this is brake, GO!” I knew I was totally, completely, and utterly screwed. Usual Viva protocol would involve me pitching an immediate fit and hopping off this deathtrap. But, Viva friends were all excited and I had me some pride, which quickly gave way to general ineptness and fear. I sucked. Apparently, the tour guide likes to put the sucky people at the front of the group, rather than trail at the back, which I was dying to do. I had on this black helmet a la Seargent Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes, and my inner (and outer) dialogue went something like this: “thisfuckingsucksthisfuckingsucksthisfuckingsucksIamgoingtoflipthisfuckingthing and drowninapoolofmyownblood.” Finally, I missed a turnoff. Mexican tour guide-man was annoyed and started gesticulating for me to get back in formation. “Reverse” he yelled. I yelled back “Where the fuck is reverse?!?!?!? You showed me 'gas' and 'stop'!!!!" Jill’s husband Dave, Patron Saint of Panicking Women Who Are in Over Their Head, zoomed over and essentially saved my sorry ass. My pride in tatters, I blathered “I CAN’T DO THIS, I HATE ATVS!!!”—Dave grabs my dear friend Jill, who, God Bless Her Soul, hops on my ATV and takes the wheel, asking "Do you trust me?" I remember thinking "Honey, I think I would trust a well-trained monkey's ATV driving skills more than my own, take the wheel!" I think I clung so hard to Jill’s waist that my nail marks are probably still embedded in her stomach. Once I didn’t have to drive that damn ATV, the trip was great, and created some girl-bonding moments that are burned into my head for eternity. So it was all good. Moral of the story: “Know the Nature of the Beast on Which You are Riding”—is this a double entendre? Absolutely, but this is my blog and I can double entendre anytime I want. So there.
11. A jaguar does not a cheetah make. The Barceló’s one and only discothèque was “The Jaguar” or “ JAG-GUUUUARRRR! (sort of yell it and make “claws” while saying it, and you’ve got it down). The Jaguar prompted all sorts of discussions. Were the huge, seemingly paper-mached creatures outside of the Jaguar, REALLY Jaguars? Or were they cheetahs? They sure looked like cheetahs. And why did it resemble a high school gymnasium on the inside? What was the deal with all that fog? To cover up the fact that no one was really there? Oh Jaguar, we miss you, and your throbbing techno beat, so reminiscent of Joey’s in Clifton!!!! One memorable Jaguar moment actually took place in the ladies’ room wherein a group of befuddled Italian girls stood around their hopelessly drunk friend and watched her puke—IN THE SINK. WTF? American women know enough to grab their drunk girl and throw her in a stall, pull back her hair and sing her a dog while she upchucks. This poor Italian Bella had no such luck. Maybe that’s why she was crying and moaning and carrying on. I’d be crying too, if people left me to yak in a sink. Idiots.
12. Desperate need breeds ingenuity. As a special FYI, champagne buckets make GREAT vomit receptacles, right Tomai? Let’s see if I can spell out the sound she made when she leaped up from the bed in a panic and grabbed the unfortunate bucket in the wee hours of the morning: “HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!” I wanted to help her. I really did. Instead I laid in bed, twitching with residual tequila shakes, giggling. Viva is a good friend.
13. A picture tells a thousand words. Or, in my case, three little words: “You got fat.” Viva is the queen of denial and even though I have porked up like a Thanksgiving turkey in the last year and a half, somewhere inside of me, my inner optimist was like “You’re just a little chubby right now, that’s all!” Yeah. Just like Michael Jackson is a little fond of young boys. So I brought my optimistic, delusional self with me for the Mexico trip, in spite of the fact that everything I brought had tags on it (because I had to buy it new—because my old clothes wouldn’t even get past my hips, much less button up). I honestly believed I was actually holding it together. Until the pictures started rolling in--emphasis on the word "rolling." In horror, I realized that I had lost my chin and gained another ass. The same girl who spent her 20s and early 30s pretty skinny, barely eating, hopped-up on ephedra pills and diet Red Bull, and running around postage stamp-sized skirts, is now a pork chop. This is when I miss my father. I come from a family of super-skinny Irish people who chain-smoked, drank lots of black coffee, and forgot to eat (who does that?). When my old man was alive, he was the Voice of Reality. Our conversations would go something like this: Me: “Dad, why didn’t you eat the dinner I made you?!?!?! Jesus, how many cigarettes did you smoke today? Where is your inhaler? Don’t tell me all you ate all day was that crappy Dunkin Donuts muffin and coffee!!!!” My old man: “Did you put on weight? You look like you’re getting a double chin. Where did you hide those last two cigarettes???” Nobody loves you like family, eh? Who else tells you the truth these days? Viva Husband would let me hit 500 pounds before daring to utter “maybe you should try a carrot stick or something.” Men who are not biologically related to me seem to fear my wrath. Go figure. Anyhow, at home Viva cooks these huge dinners every night of the week, which MAY account for said pork chop-ed-ness. No more. At least for me anyway. I rolled out the usual fare last night (chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits), and left myself with a wee grilled chicken breast. Viva Husband is like “Aren’t you going to have any…..” and I bellowed “THE CHICKEN BREAST IS FINE, thanks.” Dieting sucks. But lacking a chin sucks even more. And I miss my old, little ass. Viva hates baggage. Viva is all about losing baggage in the upcoming months. It won’t be easy, but nothing ever is these days. Updates will be forthcoming.
14. Dogs love you even when you torment them. We all know how goopy I get about my dog. I know, I know, I have some issues. Though I hated to leave Me-hi-ho, it was nice to come home to such a happy, frantic greeting from the Cooperman. How do I repay his love, his loyalty, his unwavering devotion? I make him wear a little sombrero and take pictures of him for your amusement. Cooper sort of reminds me of Max from “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”—he pretty much does what I want him to do, but is miserable about it. Normally he loves lying on the couch. But because I WANTED him to lie on the couch, he wouldn’t do it. Damn dog. So here’s a picture of Cooper lying in front of Viva’s olive green couches, and the yellow walls that are still not the gold color I wanted, even after repainting the room three times. I strategically placed the sippy cup for effect. It’s now his new toy. The boy makes me proud.
15. Friends are the chocolate-chip cookie dough in the ice cream of life. They seriously are. If Mexico taught old Viva anything, it’s that nothing replaces time with great friends. Sometimes we get so caught up in our own angst, we sort of forget to touch base with our pals, and what better opportunity than a week away in Paradise to laugh with old friends and make new ones too??? Viva sends huge “Thank You”s to Tomai, for making all of this happen, to Christina, to being the Sexy Minx that she is, to Samantha, Megan, Carmelina, and Sarah, for being funny, righteous chicks with whom many stories were shared, and especially to Jill, one of Viva’s oldest and dearest, who made me feel like my old, slightly psychotic but fun, self again—no therapy is better than a Scranton-style “Come to Jesus” talkfest with your sister. Much thanks too, to Dave and Chuck, who seemed to enjoy all of our cumulative female shenanigans with good cheer.
I think I’ve covered everything, and if I didn’t, well, my fingers are tired from typing. Thanks for a great time, folks. You all seriously rock.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
VIVA LA TEQUILA BOOM BOOMS....
Your pal Viva has returned from Mexico and is still too dehydrated and covered with bruises and fire ant bites to type anything truly meaningful today. I think I'm just getting rid of the shakes.... It was one hell of a trip, let me tell you.
Check back tomorrow for a recap of the trip, including all the highlights that are fit to print, and why Fitness Together is our New Favorite Corporate Franchise. 'Roid Rage Forever!
Your pal Viva has returned from Mexico and is still too dehydrated and covered with bruises and fire ant bites to type anything truly meaningful today. I think I'm just getting rid of the shakes.... It was one hell of a trip, let me tell you.
Check back tomorrow for a recap of the trip, including all the highlights that are fit to print, and why Fitness Together is our New Favorite Corporate Franchise. 'Roid Rage Forever!
Thursday, November 09, 2006
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?
I disappeared. I know. I know that, according to Morrissey, November spawned a monster, but in my case, October came and stamped on my intestines. So I owe you all craploads of updates, and they are coming.
Just not yet.
Viva is going on vacation, to sunny Mexico, to drink myself into a margarita-induced stupor and lament my soon-to-be unemployment. (Corporate takeovers--BOOO!!!!!!). I'll be gone for a week and when I return, I should have plenty of time to post. From the cardboard box I'll be calling home. My life, she ain't easy.
Anyhow, Viva will be covering:
DURAN IS THE HOTNESS, and why, if you aren't a Duran fan, you should be. Embrace your inner 80s and let your New Romantic Flag Fly. Viva met the boys after a recent concert of theirs, and is only just recovering. This is a story and a half, but I can tell you, that although John Taylor is not aging well, ROGER TAYLOR can beat my drums any time. Hubba Hubba. But I digress.
Britney--by the time I get back, Kevin should have gotten some other woman pregnant. Lots of posts right there.
Anna Nicole--have you been able to look away from this trainwreck? I try, and fail. This is brilliant tabloid fodder.
TomKat--should be "married" by the end of November. Maybe their "baby" will be a part of the ceremony? Don't get me started.
So I apologize for my absence, but don't think I haven't missed you. Once I finish pulverize my liver, I am all yours once again.
I disappeared. I know. I know that, according to Morrissey, November spawned a monster, but in my case, October came and stamped on my intestines. So I owe you all craploads of updates, and they are coming.
Just not yet.
Viva is going on vacation, to sunny Mexico, to drink myself into a margarita-induced stupor and lament my soon-to-be unemployment. (Corporate takeovers--BOOO!!!!!!). I'll be gone for a week and when I return, I should have plenty of time to post. From the cardboard box I'll be calling home. My life, she ain't easy.
Anyhow, Viva will be covering:
DURAN IS THE HOTNESS, and why, if you aren't a Duran fan, you should be. Embrace your inner 80s and let your New Romantic Flag Fly. Viva met the boys after a recent concert of theirs, and is only just recovering. This is a story and a half, but I can tell you, that although John Taylor is not aging well, ROGER TAYLOR can beat my drums any time. Hubba Hubba. But I digress.
Britney--by the time I get back, Kevin should have gotten some other woman pregnant. Lots of posts right there.
Anna Nicole--have you been able to look away from this trainwreck? I try, and fail. This is brilliant tabloid fodder.
TomKat--should be "married" by the end of November. Maybe their "baby" will be a part of the ceremony? Don't get me started.
So I apologize for my absence, but don't think I haven't missed you. Once I finish pulverize my liver, I am all yours once again.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
WHY I DISAPPEAR FOR NO APPARENT REASON
"Where the hell are you?" seems to be the question of the moment, and Viva apologizes for her latest disappearing act. I am where I usually am when you don't see new posts. Back to my desk where the "real work" looms large, and bites me in my ass on a daily basis. Honestly, I wish I could bitch all day about celebrities or even my life in general and have someone pay me handsomely for it, or even not so handsomely, but (as of yet) that ship has not come in. One day, come hell or Hepatitis C, I will get paid for this shit. And the world will rejoice in song!!!!
Until then, I might be elusive, like the Jaguar Shark hunted by Steve Zizzou in The Life Aquatic. Isn't that movie awesome? I love Bill Murray. One day, I will have to post about how my fateful meeting with Bill Murray: I was 10, had huge bangs, and was making brownies while staying in Dan Ackroyd's house for the weekend with my crazy brother and his then-wife. Bill was younger, still pretty bald, cranky as ever, and walking down the street with a large group of people I assumed to be his family. It was pretty funny. Oh I am full of stories like this, but have no flipping time to tell them!!!! Life is a cruel beast, ain't she?
I've got some hanking deadlines looming, but will try to post whenever possible. Or when something fabulous happens.
"Where the hell are you?" seems to be the question of the moment, and Viva apologizes for her latest disappearing act. I am where I usually am when you don't see new posts. Back to my desk where the "real work" looms large, and bites me in my ass on a daily basis. Honestly, I wish I could bitch all day about celebrities or even my life in general and have someone pay me handsomely for it, or even not so handsomely, but (as of yet) that ship has not come in. One day, come hell or Hepatitis C, I will get paid for this shit. And the world will rejoice in song!!!!Until then, I might be elusive, like the Jaguar Shark hunted by Steve Zizzou in The Life Aquatic. Isn't that movie awesome? I love Bill Murray. One day, I will have to post about how my fateful meeting with Bill Murray: I was 10, had huge bangs, and was making brownies while staying in Dan Ackroyd's house for the weekend with my crazy brother and his then-wife. Bill was younger, still pretty bald, cranky as ever, and walking down the street with a large group of people I assumed to be his family. It was pretty funny. Oh I am full of stories like this, but have no flipping time to tell them!!!! Life is a cruel beast, ain't she?
I've got some hanking deadlines looming, but will try to post whenever possible. Or when something fabulous happens.
Friday, September 15, 2006
VIVA HAS A BIRTHDAY; HILARITY ENSUES
Anyone who knows me knows that I shun my birthday like the Bubonic Plague. For one, wacky shit always happens around my birthday--people seem to die on me during this time of the year, terrorist attacks happen, the whole nine yards. In short, my birthday sucks. I have this twisted idea that if I IGNORE my birthday, it's like it never happened and thus, I "forget" to adjust my age when people ask how old I am. It's so convenient. It's so delusional. I love delusion. I wish they would make delusion in pill form and bottle it. Oh wait, they do! It's called Vicodin. Ohhhh I love Vicodin. I hoard them like a squirrel hoards acorns. But anyhow....
How old am I, you ask? REALLY FUCKING OLD. Old enough that not only are my bones turning to dust (see calcium pills above), but other parts of me are dusty as well--like my as-yet unused uterus. My uterus is like the "Handi-Stitch" contraption I bought in the "As Seen On TV" store in the mall and promptly put in my closet once I got home: Chances are, I will never use the thing, but I like to know that it's there and the batteries in it still work, regardless. I never thought I would be old enough to come to the "Do or Die" point when it comes to my reproductive organs, but I am approaching the Double Black Diamond area of Mount Fertility, and let me tell you, the trail down doesn't look pretty. Which is why I prefer to hang out in the Chalet and drink spiked hot chocolate instead.
Enough about dusty uteruses and failing fertility. Let's get to gifts. Every year I compile a list of things I want for my birthday. Some staples remain (money, my youth), but if you're looking for the perfect gift for me, here are some pointers
1. Endoscopic brow lift, restylane injections in lips, labial folds (on my face, you pervs), and brow lines, botox, laser peel, by whoever did Demi Moore's work. I want it all. I want to be buffed to a high sheen, even if this means I will never raise my eyebrows again. Eyebrow-raising is overrated anyway.
2. One month stay at fat farm to regain the ass I had at 26 (which actually came about because I lived on ephedra, black coffee, green apples, and booze for 5 months--ah, youth).
3. Literary agent who gets me some killer book deal that gets me rich enough to freeze my eggs--hell, to even freeze my whole damn uterus until I am ready to use it.
4. Nelly Furtado and Justin Timberlake's new albums (even the geezers like to get their groove on).
5. Subscriptions to every trash magazine out there, so I don't have to read them in the grocery store (Viva is cheap as hell and won't buy them).
6. Cheese fries. (Give me the fries before the fat farm--once I am there, they can just give me one of those colonic irrigations and flush the cheese fries right back out of me).
7. Weekend in NYC where I can get drunk with all of my friends and we can convince ourselves, after 7 or 8 martinis, that we are still young and vibrant, and the world is our oyster. AND we can buy knock-offs on Canal Street. I love knock-offs!
8. Footage of Jessica Simpson shooting her next music video in Alaska, wherein she is mauled by a huge brown bear and torn limb from limb while her father Joe screams in horror. I would watch this every day. In slow motion.
Enough birthday talk, I'm going to get back to work, but not before adding some booze to my morning coffee, even if it is only 9 a.m. The Birthday Girl can do whatever the hell she wants, dammit!!!
Anyone who knows me knows that I shun my birthday like the Bubonic Plague. For one, wacky shit always happens around my birthday--people seem to die on me during this time of the year, terrorist attacks happen, the whole nine yards. In short, my birthday sucks. I have this twisted idea that if I IGNORE my birthday, it's like it never happened and thus, I "forget" to adjust my age when people ask how old I am. It's so convenient. It's so delusional. I love delusion. I wish they would make delusion in pill form and bottle it. Oh wait, they do! It's called Vicodin. Ohhhh I love Vicodin. I hoard them like a squirrel hoards acorns. But anyhow....
How old am I, you ask? REALLY FUCKING OLD. Old enough that not only are my bones turning to dust (see calcium pills above), but other parts of me are dusty as well--like my as-yet unused uterus. My uterus is like the "Handi-Stitch" contraption I bought in the "As Seen On TV" store in the mall and promptly put in my closet once I got home: Chances are, I will never use the thing, but I like to know that it's there and the batteries in it still work, regardless. I never thought I would be old enough to come to the "Do or Die" point when it comes to my reproductive organs, but I am approaching the Double Black Diamond area of Mount Fertility, and let me tell you, the trail down doesn't look pretty. Which is why I prefer to hang out in the Chalet and drink spiked hot chocolate instead.
Enough about dusty uteruses and failing fertility. Let's get to gifts. Every year I compile a list of things I want for my birthday. Some staples remain (money, my youth), but if you're looking for the perfect gift for me, here are some pointers
1. Endoscopic brow lift, restylane injections in lips, labial folds (on my face, you pervs), and brow lines, botox, laser peel, by whoever did Demi Moore's work. I want it all. I want to be buffed to a high sheen, even if this means I will never raise my eyebrows again. Eyebrow-raising is overrated anyway.
2. One month stay at fat farm to regain the ass I had at 26 (which actually came about because I lived on ephedra, black coffee, green apples, and booze for 5 months--ah, youth).
3. Literary agent who gets me some killer book deal that gets me rich enough to freeze my eggs--hell, to even freeze my whole damn uterus until I am ready to use it.
4. Nelly Furtado and Justin Timberlake's new albums (even the geezers like to get their groove on).
5. Subscriptions to every trash magazine out there, so I don't have to read them in the grocery store (Viva is cheap as hell and won't buy them).
6. Cheese fries. (Give me the fries before the fat farm--once I am there, they can just give me one of those colonic irrigations and flush the cheese fries right back out of me).
7. Weekend in NYC where I can get drunk with all of my friends and we can convince ourselves, after 7 or 8 martinis, that we are still young and vibrant, and the world is our oyster. AND we can buy knock-offs on Canal Street. I love knock-offs!
8. Footage of Jessica Simpson shooting her next music video in Alaska, wherein she is mauled by a huge brown bear and torn limb from limb while her father Joe screams in horror. I would watch this every day. In slow motion.
Enough birthday talk, I'm going to get back to work, but not before adding some booze to my morning coffee, even if it is only 9 a.m. The Birthday Girl can do whatever the hell she wants, dammit!!!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
"TWIST YOUR BACK AND NEVER GET OUT OF BED AGAIN!!!!!"
While perusing today's trash, Viva reader (and dear friend) Joe offered this brilliant and scathing observation:
"Kate Bosworth looks like Zelda from Pet Sematary"
Zelda, as horror dorks like us know, was Rachel Creed's deformed sister with the twisted back that was hidden in a back bedroom, as she was, well, sort of scary and given to choking on porridge. I could see totally see Kate choking on porridge.
You know, you never see Zelda and Kate in the same room together. They could be one and the same.... just like LaToya and Michael..... It makes a girl wonder.
While perusing today's trash, Viva reader (and dear friend) Joe offered this brilliant and scathing observation:
"Kate Bosworth looks like Zelda from Pet Sematary"
Zelda, as horror dorks like us know, was Rachel Creed's deformed sister with the twisted back that was hidden in a back bedroom, as she was, well, sort of scary and given to choking on porridge. I could see totally see Kate choking on porridge.
You know, you never see Zelda and Kate in the same room together. They could be one and the same.... just like LaToya and Michael..... It makes a girl wonder.
I GUESS THE KID REALLY IS BRAD'S.
Here's a close-up of little baby Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt, which pretty much assures us that it was Brad's sperm, and not Billy Bob Thornton's, that created her. Now, as much as Brad and Angie annoy the crap out of me, THIS is a cute baby. I mean, it was really genetically impossible for them not to have a cute baby, but still.
Actually though I have seen some pictures of Angelina Jolie as a little kid and she sort of resembles a grouper fish so the precedent for funny-looking WAS there, but Brad has been hot forever so I guess his Hot Baby genes cancelled out her Grouper Fish Baby genes, and they hit the cute jackpot with Shiloh.
Here's a close-up of little baby Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt, which pretty much assures us that it was Brad's sperm, and not Billy Bob Thornton's, that created her. Now, as much as Brad and Angie annoy the crap out of me, THIS is a cute baby. I mean, it was really genetically impossible for them not to have a cute baby, but still.
Actually though I have seen some pictures of Angelina Jolie as a little kid and she sort of resembles a grouper fish so the precedent for funny-looking WAS there, but Brad has been hot forever so I guess his Hot Baby genes cancelled out her Grouper Fish Baby genes, and they hit the cute jackpot with Shiloh.
IT JUST GETS MORE BIZARRE...
This is the latest in the increasingly bizarre death of Anna Nicole Smith's son Daniel. Apparently Anna had to be drugged up from all the grief she experienced, and now has mamory loss about Daniel's death. I am going to sound horrible, but something just seems "off" about this to me. I mean, I totally buy that she was grief-stricken, and I also totally buy that she wanted drugs, but this written statement about "memory loss" coming on the heels of the death being labeled "suspicious" is just.... weird. I hope, hope, hope to God that nothing fishy is going on. As much as this story is horrible now, it could be a whole lot worse. We should have some answers when the toxicology reports are released, and find out more about this "other person" who was in the room with Daniel when he died.
Very, very sad.
From People
Lawyer: Anna Nicole Had to Be Sedated
Anna Nicole Smith's Bahamian attorney, Michael Scott, says Smith had to be sedated after the death Sunday of her 20-year-old son Daniel.
"Anna Nicole was so distraught at the loss of Daniel that she refused to leave his side, and it was necessary to sedate her in order to check her out of the hospital," Scott read from a prepared statement Wednesday, the Associated Press reports.
"The devastation and grief over Daniel's sudden death, coupled with the sedation, has been so extreme that Anna Nicole experienced memory loss of the event," he said.
Police said Wednesday that a third person was in the hospital room when Daniel died, although they did not believe that person acted criminally. Scott identified the third person as Smith's lawyer and confidant, Howard K. Stern. He said Smith and Stern kept trying to revive Daniel after he had been declared dead by staff at Nassau's Doctors Hospital.
He added that because Smith suffered memory loss, it "was necessary for Howard to tell Anna again that Daniel had passed away."
Smith is now in seclusion in the Bahamas with her friends and family, "as you would expect (of) any parent who has sustained this kind of loss."
Scott also called media reports that Daniel had antidepressants of other drugs in his system "sheer speculation. It's irresponsible speculation, may I point out."
Reginald Ferguson, assistant commissioner of the Royal Bahamas Police Force, told the AP that no drug paraphernalia or traces of illegal drugs were found on Daniel, in the hospital room or near the room, and that police believe he'd gone directly to Doctors Hospital after arriving in the Bahamas.
On Wednesday, an official in the Bahamas labeled Daniel's death "suspicious" and said a formal inquiry was set to begin Oct. 23.
This is the latest in the increasingly bizarre death of Anna Nicole Smith's son Daniel. Apparently Anna had to be drugged up from all the grief she experienced, and now has mamory loss about Daniel's death. I am going to sound horrible, but something just seems "off" about this to me. I mean, I totally buy that she was grief-stricken, and I also totally buy that she wanted drugs, but this written statement about "memory loss" coming on the heels of the death being labeled "suspicious" is just.... weird. I hope, hope, hope to God that nothing fishy is going on. As much as this story is horrible now, it could be a whole lot worse. We should have some answers when the toxicology reports are released, and find out more about this "other person" who was in the room with Daniel when he died.
Very, very sad.
From People
Lawyer: Anna Nicole Had to Be Sedated
Anna Nicole Smith's Bahamian attorney, Michael Scott, says Smith had to be sedated after the death Sunday of her 20-year-old son Daniel.
"Anna Nicole was so distraught at the loss of Daniel that she refused to leave his side, and it was necessary to sedate her in order to check her out of the hospital," Scott read from a prepared statement Wednesday, the Associated Press reports.
"The devastation and grief over Daniel's sudden death, coupled with the sedation, has been so extreme that Anna Nicole experienced memory loss of the event," he said.
Police said Wednesday that a third person was in the hospital room when Daniel died, although they did not believe that person acted criminally. Scott identified the third person as Smith's lawyer and confidant, Howard K. Stern. He said Smith and Stern kept trying to revive Daniel after he had been declared dead by staff at Nassau's Doctors Hospital.
He added that because Smith suffered memory loss, it "was necessary for Howard to tell Anna again that Daniel had passed away."
Smith is now in seclusion in the Bahamas with her friends and family, "as you would expect (of) any parent who has sustained this kind of loss."
Scott also called media reports that Daniel had antidepressants of other drugs in his system "sheer speculation. It's irresponsible speculation, may I point out."
Reginald Ferguson, assistant commissioner of the Royal Bahamas Police Force, told the AP that no drug paraphernalia or traces of illegal drugs were found on Daniel, in the hospital room or near the room, and that police believe he'd gone directly to Doctors Hospital after arriving in the Bahamas.
On Wednesday, an official in the Bahamas labeled Daniel's death "suspicious" and said a formal inquiry was set to begin Oct. 23.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SOMEBODY GIVE HER A CHEESE SANDWICH!
Furthering my sneaking suspicion that Orlando Bloom is gaygaygay as can be, here are some pics of Kate Bosworth which show that underneath her baggy black dress, she has the body of a malnourished 10-year-old Thai boy. The only way Orlando could have "dated" Kate this long was either (a) they had a contractual agreement that he never see her naked, or (b) he was straight when he STARTED dating her, but turned gay in revulsion to her spindly form. Either way, Orlando has better sense than to stick his penis anywhere near her, for fear of it getting bitten off and eaten, for protein. That girl is HUNGRY.
Furthering my sneaking suspicion that Orlando Bloom is gaygaygay as can be, here are some pics of Kate Bosworth which show that underneath her baggy black dress, she has the body of a malnourished 10-year-old Thai boy. The only way Orlando could have "dated" Kate this long was either (a) they had a contractual agreement that he never see her naked, or (b) he was straight when he STARTED dating her, but turned gay in revulsion to her spindly form. Either way, Orlando has better sense than to stick his penis anywhere near her, for fear of it getting bitten off and eaten, for protein. That girl is HUNGRY.
TWINS ARE THE NEW "MIXED-RACE BABY!"
Today, the world has welcomed the HOTTEST TWINS EVER! My dear friend and her husband are now Mom and Dad to their snazzy new progeny, Frankie and Ava. Viva is super-thrilled to be a wacky aunt yet again, and has FINALLY found the clip she was looking for from "Ab Fab" to commemorate this momentous occasion--"The Mixed Race Baby"--where Eddy realizes that her soon-to-be grandchild will be the trendiest thing going! The mixed-race baby was the "must-have accessory of the season, it's the CHANEL of babies!"--until Heidi Klum and Seal had to go and ruin it for everyone with Unfortunate Baby Henry. Ah well!!!
Viva declares TWINS the new "Chanel" of babies, and wishes these new ones long, healthy, and happy lives! YAY!!!!
VIVA LA TWINS!
Today, the world has welcomed the HOTTEST TWINS EVER! My dear friend and her husband are now Mom and Dad to their snazzy new progeny, Frankie and Ava. Viva is super-thrilled to be a wacky aunt yet again, and has FINALLY found the clip she was looking for from "Ab Fab" to commemorate this momentous occasion--"The Mixed Race Baby"--where Eddy realizes that her soon-to-be grandchild will be the trendiest thing going! The mixed-race baby was the "must-have accessory of the season, it's the CHANEL of babies!"--until Heidi Klum and Seal had to go and ruin it for everyone with Unfortunate Baby Henry. Ah well!!!
Viva declares TWINS the new "Chanel" of babies, and wishes these new ones long, healthy, and happy lives! YAY!!!!
VIVA LA TWINS!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
...AND DELIVER US FROM CRACK PIPES, AMEN.
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord. Whitney Houston finally files for divorce, after Bobby done blew through all her money on hookers and crack. Time has not been kind to Whitney. Bitch is looking OLD. But maybe now, she'll get herself straight, glue in those dentures, pin on that wig, and sing the way we all remembered she could. Lord knows she needs the money.
From CNN
Whitney Houston files for divorce
LOS ANGELES, California (AP) -- Whitney Houston has filed for divorce from her husband Bobby Brown, her publicist told The Associated Press on Wednesday.
Publicist Nancy Seltzer declined to reveal where or when Houston filed the divorce papers, and said the singer had no statement to make.
"I can just confirm that she has filed for divorce," Seltzer said.
Houston and Brown, who married in 1992, have had a sometimes tumultuous marriage, and rumors of their breakup have surfaced often over the years.
The couple have one child, 13-year-old daughter, Bobbi Kristina.
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord. Whitney Houston finally files for divorce, after Bobby done blew through all her money on hookers and crack. Time has not been kind to Whitney. Bitch is looking OLD. But maybe now, she'll get herself straight, glue in those dentures, pin on that wig, and sing the way we all remembered she could. Lord knows she needs the money.
From CNN
Whitney Houston files for divorce
LOS ANGELES, California (AP) -- Whitney Houston has filed for divorce from her husband Bobby Brown, her publicist told The Associated Press on Wednesday.
Publicist Nancy Seltzer declined to reveal where or when Houston filed the divorce papers, and said the singer had no statement to make.
"I can just confirm that she has filed for divorce," Seltzer said.
Houston and Brown, who married in 1992, have had a sometimes tumultuous marriage, and rumors of their breakup have surfaced often over the years.
The couple have one child, 13-year-old daughter, Bobbi Kristina.
REMIND ME TO BE AN ASIAN WOMAN IN MY NEXT LIFE
I've never really had any great desire to be Asian, save for the fact that I would likely be a lot thinner, smarter, and would hopefully have some sort of ability to tan. But being an Asian woman has its downside too--plenty of these poor dears have to put up with the boatloads of paunchy balding White men who have that "Little China Girl" fantasy thing going on. That has to be a major buzzkill, and would make me very cranky. I actually had a friend, back in the day, who would only exclusively date Asian women because they were "nicer" to him. As it turns out, every one of these delicate lotus flowers ended up dumping his sorry ass. He never got the hint: White, Black, Asian, it doesn't matter--a woman is eventually going to dump you if you live with your mother and don't have a job.
As for Bergen County, NJ, I've lived there and, although it is lovely, I have no idea how living in this area could INCREASE your life expectancy. If the soaring home prices (think $500K for hovels) and taxes don't kill you, the traffic will. And don't even get me started about the Guidos. There are too many damn people in Bergen County, but maybe overcrowding increases the immune system because a report released yesterday says that Asian women who live in Bergen County, NJ have the highest life expectancy. Who knew? Let's hit the Garden State Plaza, grab some sushi, and go out to Joey's in Clifton afterwards!
From Yahoo News
Where you live linked to life expectancy
By LAURAN NEERGAARD, AP Medical Writer
Mon Sep 11, 6:18 PM ET
WASHINGTON - Where you live, combined with race and income, plays a huge role in the nation's health disparities, differences so stark that a report issued Monday contends it's as if there are eight separate Americas instead of one.
Asian-American women living in Bergen County, N.J., lead the nation in longevity, typically reaching their 91st birthdays. Worst off are American Indian men in swaths of South Dakota, who die around age 58 — three decades sooner.Millions of the worst-off Americans have life expectancies typical of developing countries, concluded Dr. Christopher Murray of the Harvard School of Public Health.Asian-American women can expect to live 13 years longer than low-income black women in the rural South, for example. That's like comparing women in wealthy Japan to those in poverty-ridden Nicaragua.Compare those longest-living women to inner-city black men, and the life-expectancy gap is 21 years. That's similar to the life-expectancy gap between Iceland and Uzbekistan.Health disparities are widely considered an issue of minorities and the poor being unable to find or afford good medical care. Murray's county-by-county comparison of life expectancy shows the problem is far more complex, and that geography plays a crucial role."Although we share in the U.S. a reasonably common culture ... there's still a lot of variation in how people live their lives," explained Murray, who reported initial results of his government-funded study in the online science journal PLoS Medicine.Consider: The longest-living whites weren't the relatively wealthy, which Murray calls "Middle America." They're edged out by low-income residents of the rural Northern Plains states, where the men tend to reach age 76 and the women 82.Yet low-income whites in Appalachia and the Mississippi Valley die four years sooner than their Northern neighbors.He cites American Indians as another example. Those who don't live on or near reservations in the West have life expectancies similar to whites'."If it's your family involved, these are not small differences in lifespan," Murray said. "Yet that sense of alarm isn't there in the public.""If I were living in parts of the country with those sorts of life expectancies, I would want ... to be asking my local officials or state officials or my congressman, 'Why is this?'"This more precise measure of health disparities will allow federal officials to better target efforts to battle inequalities, said Dr. Wayne Giles of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which helped fund Murray's work.The CDC has some county-targeted programs — like one that has cut in half diabetes-caused amputations among black men in Charleston, S.C., since 1999, largely by encouraging physical activity — and the new study argues for more, he said."It's not just telling people to be active or not to smoke," Giles said. "We need to create the environment which assists people in achieving a healthy lifestyle."The study also highlights that the complicated tapestry of local and cultural customs may be more important than income in driving health disparities, said Richard Suzman of the National Institute on Aging, which co-funded the research."It's not just low income," Suzman said. "It's what people eat, it's how they behave, or simply what's available in supermarkets."Murray analyzed mortality data between 1982 and 2001 by county, race, gender and income. He found some distinct groupings that he named the "eight Americas:"
_Asian-Americans, average per capita income of $21,566, have a life expectancy of 84.9 years. _Northland low-income rural whites, $17,758, 79 years. _Middle America (mostly white), $24,640, 77.9 years. _Low income whites in Appalachia, Mississippi Valley, $16,390, 75 years. _Western American Indians, $10,029, 72.7 years. _Black Middle America, $15,412, 72.9 years. _Southern low-income rural blacks, $10,463, 71.2 years. _High-risk urban blacks, $14,800, 71.1 years.
Longevity disparities were most pronounced in young and middle-aged adults. A 15-year-old urban black man was 3.8 times as likely to die before the age of 60 as an Asian-American, for example. That's key, Murray said, because this age group is left out of many government health programs that focus largely on children and the elderly. Moreover, the longevity gaps have stayed about the same for 20 years despite increasing national efforts to eliminate obvious racial and ethnic health disparities, he found. Murray was surprised to find that lack of health insurance explained only a small portion of those gaps. Instead, differences in alcohol and tobacco use, blood pressure, cholesterol and obesity seemed to drive death rates. Most important, he said, will be pinpointing geographically defined factors — such as shared ancestry, dietary customs, local industry, what regions are more or less prone to physical activity — that in turn influence those health risks. For example, scientists have long thought that the Asian longevity advantage would disappear once immigrant families adopted higher-fat Western diets. Murray's study is the first to closely examine second-generation Asian-Americans, and found their advantage persists.
I've never really had any great desire to be Asian, save for the fact that I would likely be a lot thinner, smarter, and would hopefully have some sort of ability to tan. But being an Asian woman has its downside too--plenty of these poor dears have to put up with the boatloads of paunchy balding White men who have that "Little China Girl" fantasy thing going on. That has to be a major buzzkill, and would make me very cranky. I actually had a friend, back in the day, who would only exclusively date Asian women because they were "nicer" to him. As it turns out, every one of these delicate lotus flowers ended up dumping his sorry ass. He never got the hint: White, Black, Asian, it doesn't matter--a woman is eventually going to dump you if you live with your mother and don't have a job.
As for Bergen County, NJ, I've lived there and, although it is lovely, I have no idea how living in this area could INCREASE your life expectancy. If the soaring home prices (think $500K for hovels) and taxes don't kill you, the traffic will. And don't even get me started about the Guidos. There are too many damn people in Bergen County, but maybe overcrowding increases the immune system because a report released yesterday says that Asian women who live in Bergen County, NJ have the highest life expectancy. Who knew? Let's hit the Garden State Plaza, grab some sushi, and go out to Joey's in Clifton afterwards!
From Yahoo News
Where you live linked to life expectancy
By LAURAN NEERGAARD, AP Medical Writer
Mon Sep 11, 6:18 PM ET
WASHINGTON - Where you live, combined with race and income, plays a huge role in the nation's health disparities, differences so stark that a report issued Monday contends it's as if there are eight separate Americas instead of one.
Asian-American women living in Bergen County, N.J., lead the nation in longevity, typically reaching their 91st birthdays. Worst off are American Indian men in swaths of South Dakota, who die around age 58 — three decades sooner.Millions of the worst-off Americans have life expectancies typical of developing countries, concluded Dr. Christopher Murray of the Harvard School of Public Health.Asian-American women can expect to live 13 years longer than low-income black women in the rural South, for example. That's like comparing women in wealthy Japan to those in poverty-ridden Nicaragua.Compare those longest-living women to inner-city black men, and the life-expectancy gap is 21 years. That's similar to the life-expectancy gap between Iceland and Uzbekistan.Health disparities are widely considered an issue of minorities and the poor being unable to find or afford good medical care. Murray's county-by-county comparison of life expectancy shows the problem is far more complex, and that geography plays a crucial role."Although we share in the U.S. a reasonably common culture ... there's still a lot of variation in how people live their lives," explained Murray, who reported initial results of his government-funded study in the online science journal PLoS Medicine.Consider: The longest-living whites weren't the relatively wealthy, which Murray calls "Middle America." They're edged out by low-income residents of the rural Northern Plains states, where the men tend to reach age 76 and the women 82.Yet low-income whites in Appalachia and the Mississippi Valley die four years sooner than their Northern neighbors.He cites American Indians as another example. Those who don't live on or near reservations in the West have life expectancies similar to whites'."If it's your family involved, these are not small differences in lifespan," Murray said. "Yet that sense of alarm isn't there in the public.""If I were living in parts of the country with those sorts of life expectancies, I would want ... to be asking my local officials or state officials or my congressman, 'Why is this?'"This more precise measure of health disparities will allow federal officials to better target efforts to battle inequalities, said Dr. Wayne Giles of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which helped fund Murray's work.The CDC has some county-targeted programs — like one that has cut in half diabetes-caused amputations among black men in Charleston, S.C., since 1999, largely by encouraging physical activity — and the new study argues for more, he said."It's not just telling people to be active or not to smoke," Giles said. "We need to create the environment which assists people in achieving a healthy lifestyle."The study also highlights that the complicated tapestry of local and cultural customs may be more important than income in driving health disparities, said Richard Suzman of the National Institute on Aging, which co-funded the research."It's not just low income," Suzman said. "It's what people eat, it's how they behave, or simply what's available in supermarkets."Murray analyzed mortality data between 1982 and 2001 by county, race, gender and income. He found some distinct groupings that he named the "eight Americas:"
_Asian-Americans, average per capita income of $21,566, have a life expectancy of 84.9 years. _Northland low-income rural whites, $17,758, 79 years. _Middle America (mostly white), $24,640, 77.9 years. _Low income whites in Appalachia, Mississippi Valley, $16,390, 75 years. _Western American Indians, $10,029, 72.7 years. _Black Middle America, $15,412, 72.9 years. _Southern low-income rural blacks, $10,463, 71.2 years. _High-risk urban blacks, $14,800, 71.1 years.
Longevity disparities were most pronounced in young and middle-aged adults. A 15-year-old urban black man was 3.8 times as likely to die before the age of 60 as an Asian-American, for example. That's key, Murray said, because this age group is left out of many government health programs that focus largely on children and the elderly. Moreover, the longevity gaps have stayed about the same for 20 years despite increasing national efforts to eliminate obvious racial and ethnic health disparities, he found. Murray was surprised to find that lack of health insurance explained only a small portion of those gaps. Instead, differences in alcohol and tobacco use, blood pressure, cholesterol and obesity seemed to drive death rates. Most important, he said, will be pinpointing geographically defined factors — such as shared ancestry, dietary customs, local industry, what regions are more or less prone to physical activity — that in turn influence those health risks. For example, scientists have long thought that the Asian longevity advantage would disappear once immigrant families adopted higher-fat Western diets. Murray's study is the first to closely examine second-generation Asian-Americans, and found their advantage persists.
THE NUTS LEADING THE NUTS
is being saved by 
Sometimes a story makes life so easy for me. I really don't even have to come up with anything snarky to say. Read on about How Stephen Baldwin wants to have a big "Come to Jesus" with Tom Cruise. You can't make this shit up.
From MSNBC
Praying for Tom Cruise
Stephen Baldwin says he is praying for Tom Cruise’s soul.
“On the Hollywood list of people I pray for often, Tom Cruise is probably No. 1,” the youngest of the Baldwin brothers told Radar Online. “I’d love to break bread with him and pray with him, and I’d love for the Holy Spirit of God to reveal the truth to him.”
Baldwin also says that Cruise is a “very different guy” from the person he was when they worked together on “Born on the Fourth of July.”
“That regular Joe quality seems to have been lost,” Says Baldwin. “When you buy enough of your own hype, then it’s not who you are anymore.”
The born-again Baldwin has written a book about spirituality, “The Unusual Suspect: My Calling to the New Hardcore Movement of Faith,” but when asked by Radar Online to name the Ten Commandments after much fumbling came up with only six. He was totally stumped when asked to name the seven deadly sins.
is being saved by 
Sometimes a story makes life so easy for me. I really don't even have to come up with anything snarky to say. Read on about How Stephen Baldwin wants to have a big "Come to Jesus" with Tom Cruise. You can't make this shit up.
From MSNBC
Praying for Tom Cruise
Stephen Baldwin says he is praying for Tom Cruise’s soul.
“On the Hollywood list of people I pray for often, Tom Cruise is probably No. 1,” the youngest of the Baldwin brothers told Radar Online. “I’d love to break bread with him and pray with him, and I’d love for the Holy Spirit of God to reveal the truth to him.”
Baldwin also says that Cruise is a “very different guy” from the person he was when they worked together on “Born on the Fourth of July.”
“That regular Joe quality seems to have been lost,” Says Baldwin. “When you buy enough of your own hype, then it’s not who you are anymore.”
The born-again Baldwin has written a book about spirituality, “The Unusual Suspect: My Calling to the New Hardcore Movement of Faith,” but when asked by Radar Online to name the Ten Commandments after much fumbling came up with only six. He was totally stumped when asked to name the seven deadly sins.
THE HOLY FAMILY EMERGES
Here's the first picture of the Jolie-Pitt clan en masse. I think it is pretty funny how these two had no problem trotting out poor Maddox and Zahara like show ponies when they were infants, but when it came to their BIOLOGICAL child, well, Shiloh was too good for such wanton displays. Nice to see that Brad and Angie are finally treating their three children like equals on this nice day out together.
Oh who are we kidding, you know Brad and Angelina totally love Shiloh way more than those other two. Once that kid arrived, Maddox and Zahara were probably relegated to sleeping on straw mats in the basement. Angelina will say that this is to "keep them in touch with their culture." Suuuuuuuure.
Here's the first picture of the Jolie-Pitt clan en masse. I think it is pretty funny how these two had no problem trotting out poor Maddox and Zahara like show ponies when they were infants, but when it came to their BIOLOGICAL child, well, Shiloh was too good for such wanton displays. Nice to see that Brad and Angie are finally treating their three children like equals on this nice day out together.
Oh who are we kidding, you know Brad and Angelina totally love Shiloh way more than those other two. Once that kid arrived, Maddox and Zahara were probably relegated to sleeping on straw mats in the basement. Angelina will say that this is to "keep them in touch with their culture." Suuuuuuuure.
MORE BUMMER NEWS...
Looks like Anna Nicole Smith's son Daniel's death was not a natural one, which totally sucks. Doctors are mum, but are hinting towards an "overdose of antidepressants" which caused this kid's demise. Can you blame poor Danny? How many years of Nicole and Howard and Kimmy and Sugar Pie and that horrible Bobby Trendy could any human being take? I'd be depressed too, dammit!
Toxicology reports will be released on Friday. Daniel has be described as a straight "A" student, quiet, shy, and nice. This really is a shame.
From The New York Post
BOY BLUNDER: DOCS EYE RX OD IN ANNA SON'S DEATH
By DAVID K. LI
September 13, 2006 -- The only son of model Anna Nicole Smith did not die "a natural death" in the Bahamas, but wasn't a victim of foul play, a top Bahamian official said yesterday.
Pathologists are still running tests on the body of Daniel Smith, 20, who died Sunday in the maternity wards of a Nassau hospital where he was visiting his mom, officials said. Anna Nicole Smith had given birth to a baby girl three days earlier.
The Nassau Guardian newspaper reported that investigators found antidepressants in Smith's body, and were zeroing in on an overdose as a possible cause of death.
Magistrate and Coroner Linda Virgill declined to confirm that report, but told The Post, "His death was not a natural death. It means you can rule out external forces [foul play], but he just didn't go to sleep and not wake up."
Virgill said she knows what likely killed Smith, but wants to confirm it with tissue exams before making a public announcement.
"We do know the cause of the death, but we will not release it, pending some more toxicology results," Virgill said.
Pathologists expected to keep Daniel Smith's body until at least Thursday. Anna Nicole plans to send her son's remains to California for a funeral, according to a mortuary in the Bahamas.
The outspoken model traveled to Doctors Hospital in the Bahamas to give birth, so she could dodge paparazzi, her representatives said.
The TrimSpa-hawking, formerly supersized sexpot gained fame as Playboy's 1993 Playmate of the Year. She married an 89-year-old, wheelchair-bound oil tycoon 14 months before his death, touching off a years-long probate battle that went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Her 6-pound, 9-ounce girl was born on Thursday, and Daniel Smith arrived in the Bahamas on Saturday to greet his new baby sister. The name of the father, a photographer, hasn't been made public.
During his visit on Sunday, Daniel Smith began to vomit and cough up blood before passing out, according to the Guardian. Doctors performed CPR for 22 minutes but could not revive him.
"It is very important that we wait for the pathologist's report. We believe that will answer all the questions," said Reginald Ferguson, assistant commissioner of the Royal Bahamian Police Force.
A spokeswoman for Anna Nicole and her diet product, TrimSpa, said the company has yanked all TV ads this week that were going to celebrate the model's second trip to motherhood.
"What we've had to do is replace the creative," said the spokeswoman, Robin Bonnema. "At this point, we were contractually obligated [to run ads]. The air time was purchased well in advance."
Looks like Anna Nicole Smith's son Daniel's death was not a natural one, which totally sucks. Doctors are mum, but are hinting towards an "overdose of antidepressants" which caused this kid's demise. Can you blame poor Danny? How many years of Nicole and Howard and Kimmy and Sugar Pie and that horrible Bobby Trendy could any human being take? I'd be depressed too, dammit!
Toxicology reports will be released on Friday. Daniel has be described as a straight "A" student, quiet, shy, and nice. This really is a shame.
From The New York Post
BOY BLUNDER: DOCS EYE RX OD IN ANNA SON'S DEATH
By DAVID K. LI
September 13, 2006 -- The only son of model Anna Nicole Smith did not die "a natural death" in the Bahamas, but wasn't a victim of foul play, a top Bahamian official said yesterday.
Pathologists are still running tests on the body of Daniel Smith, 20, who died Sunday in the maternity wards of a Nassau hospital where he was visiting his mom, officials said. Anna Nicole Smith had given birth to a baby girl three days earlier.
The Nassau Guardian newspaper reported that investigators found antidepressants in Smith's body, and were zeroing in on an overdose as a possible cause of death.
Magistrate and Coroner Linda Virgill declined to confirm that report, but told The Post, "His death was not a natural death. It means you can rule out external forces [foul play], but he just didn't go to sleep and not wake up."
Virgill said she knows what likely killed Smith, but wants to confirm it with tissue exams before making a public announcement.
"We do know the cause of the death, but we will not release it, pending some more toxicology results," Virgill said.
Pathologists expected to keep Daniel Smith's body until at least Thursday. Anna Nicole plans to send her son's remains to California for a funeral, according to a mortuary in the Bahamas.
The outspoken model traveled to Doctors Hospital in the Bahamas to give birth, so she could dodge paparazzi, her representatives said.
The TrimSpa-hawking, formerly supersized sexpot gained fame as Playboy's 1993 Playmate of the Year. She married an 89-year-old, wheelchair-bound oil tycoon 14 months before his death, touching off a years-long probate battle that went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Her 6-pound, 9-ounce girl was born on Thursday, and Daniel Smith arrived in the Bahamas on Saturday to greet his new baby sister. The name of the father, a photographer, hasn't been made public.
During his visit on Sunday, Daniel Smith began to vomit and cough up blood before passing out, according to the Guardian. Doctors performed CPR for 22 minutes but could not revive him.
"It is very important that we wait for the pathologist's report. We believe that will answer all the questions," said Reginald Ferguson, assistant commissioner of the Royal Bahamian Police Force.
A spokeswoman for Anna Nicole and her diet product, TrimSpa, said the company has yanked all TV ads this week that were going to celebrate the model's second trip to motherhood.
"What we've had to do is replace the creative," said the spokeswoman, Robin Bonnema. "At this point, we were contractually obligated [to run ads]. The air time was purchased well in advance."
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
THINGS THAT SHOULDN'T MAKE ME HAPPY, BUT DO ANYWAY
Kate Hudson is young, really pretty, a movie star and a gazillionaire (even though she will have to give Jesus half of her money, most likely), and for all these reasons, I get a visceral thrill out of seeing Kate carrying around some extra luggage in the midsection. That's not very nice of me, now is it? I mean, picking on a woman who obviously is just showing her Badge of Motherhood. If she were any normal woman, I would defend her right to pooch out with her bad self. This extra luggage is really not Kate's fault--the poor thing turned into Two Ton Tilly while pregnant with Ryder Russell and gained 60 pounds, then had to drop the weight in about 4.4 seconds to be ready to film The Skeleton Key a few months after giving birth. As young and as lithe as she was, no body can take that kind of abuse, which has resulted in the above poochfest.
I mean, the woman has a six-pack otherwise--or a 5-pack with a pooch on the end, depending on how you want to spin it. But she wears her Badge of Motherhood well, and I still would take her body, even with corn niblets for boobs and the above-mentioned pooch over my fat ass any day.
Still, I am sort of happy to see that this 20something isn't perfect. Oh, the glow I get from basking in pretty people's imperfections. YAY!
JUST WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS....
Another Federline. Reports are (albeit from the National Enquirer, so take it with a grain of salt) in that Britney has popped out a baby boy, a younger brother to Sean Preston Federline. And Kory Federline. And Kaleb Federline. The Maury Povich Show has taught us that stupid people love to breed indiscriminantly, and the Federlines are the Poster Children for Family Planning.
From The National Enquirer
BRITNEY GIVES BIRTH: IT'S A BOY!Pop princess Britney Spears gave birth to a 6 pound, 11 ounce baby boy just before 2 a.m., September 12th at a Los Angeles hospital, insiders told The ENQUIRER in an exclusive."Kevin took Britney to the hospital in the evening hours of Sept. 11 to prepare for the Cesarean birth," an insider said. Only her mother Lynn, and her sister Jamie Lynn were present at the birth. None of Kevin's family was there."Kevin sent a text message over his cell phone to all the Federline family members to let them know," the source said.Britney wanted to have her second child on September 14, the first birthday of Sean Preston but Kevin put his foot down, the source said. He didn't want the kids to have the same birthday.Published on: 09/12/2006
TOM HANKS BEAT HIS FIRST WIFE!
Well, no he didn't, but I thought the headline would be more catchy if I said he did. It's all about the drama! Anyhow, even though he wasn't bitch-slapping anyone, court papers were unearthed recently, which paint Mr. Hanks as a meanie who sabotaged his ex-wife's career and "verbally abused her." Tom, of course, shot back that all of this was about moneymoneymoney, so who knows what really went down? It's not like Tom's first wife has any comment on this--she died in 2002 of bone cancer. Thrown over for a big-toothed "looker" like Rita Wilson, then biting it because of bone cancer. That's gotta suck.
From The New York Post
Tom Hanks is seen as one of Hollywood's nice guys - but the Oscar winner's first wife, the mother of his kids, strongly disagreed with that perception.
In newly unearthed court papers published in the upcoming bio "The Tom Hanks Enigma," by David Gardner, actress Susan Dillingham charges that Hanks harassed her and attempted to kill her career.
"My husband has repeatedly verbally abused and humiliated me during the past 90 days in my home. This caused me to suffer great emotional distress," Dillingham wrote an L.A. court in asking for a restraining order against Hanks.
Dillingham, whose stage name was Samantha Lewes, died from bone cancer in 2002. During their messy divorce, which began in 1985 and dragged on for three years, the actress said Hanks tried to force her into depositions as she took the lead roles in a series of plays. "[It's] designed to harass and upset me at a time when I should be focusing all of my energies on my job," she wrote in one legal missive.
Hanks shot back in his own legal filing, alleging that Dillingham was delaying a divorce trial "merely to harass me and try to squeeze an unfair settlement out of me."
The couple - college sweethearts who wed after their son, Colin, was born in 1977 - began to have problems when Hanks' career took off in hits like "Splash" and Dillingham's stalled. They also had a daughter, Elizabeth, in 1982.
"Tom was spending less and less time at home . . . [and] with two children to care for and a husband who was away for long stretches . . . it was difficult [for her] to get work," Gardner writes. A year after the divorce, Hanks wed actress Rita Wilson.
Gardner also reveals that Hanks' kid brother, Jim, played a Forrest Gump-type character in a little-known soft-core sex flick two years before Tom created the role that won him an Oscar. In "Buford's Beach Bunnies," Jim invented the "now-famous jerky run associated with Forrest Gump" and, like Gump, showed a shy politeness toward women by calling them "ma'am," the author says.
Well, no he didn't, but I thought the headline would be more catchy if I said he did. It's all about the drama! Anyhow, even though he wasn't bitch-slapping anyone, court papers were unearthed recently, which paint Mr. Hanks as a meanie who sabotaged his ex-wife's career and "verbally abused her." Tom, of course, shot back that all of this was about moneymoneymoney, so who knows what really went down? It's not like Tom's first wife has any comment on this--she died in 2002 of bone cancer. Thrown over for a big-toothed "looker" like Rita Wilson, then biting it because of bone cancer. That's gotta suck.
From The New York Post
Tom Hanks is seen as one of Hollywood's nice guys - but the Oscar winner's first wife, the mother of his kids, strongly disagreed with that perception.
In newly unearthed court papers published in the upcoming bio "The Tom Hanks Enigma," by David Gardner, actress Susan Dillingham charges that Hanks harassed her and attempted to kill her career.
"My husband has repeatedly verbally abused and humiliated me during the past 90 days in my home. This caused me to suffer great emotional distress," Dillingham wrote an L.A. court in asking for a restraining order against Hanks.
Dillingham, whose stage name was Samantha Lewes, died from bone cancer in 2002. During their messy divorce, which began in 1985 and dragged on for three years, the actress said Hanks tried to force her into depositions as she took the lead roles in a series of plays. "[It's] designed to harass and upset me at a time when I should be focusing all of my energies on my job," she wrote in one legal missive.
Hanks shot back in his own legal filing, alleging that Dillingham was delaying a divorce trial "merely to harass me and try to squeeze an unfair settlement out of me."
The couple - college sweethearts who wed after their son, Colin, was born in 1977 - began to have problems when Hanks' career took off in hits like "Splash" and Dillingham's stalled. They also had a daughter, Elizabeth, in 1982.
"Tom was spending less and less time at home . . . [and] with two children to care for and a husband who was away for long stretches . . . it was difficult [for her] to get work," Gardner writes. A year after the divorce, Hanks wed actress Rita Wilson.
Gardner also reveals that Hanks' kid brother, Jim, played a Forrest Gump-type character in a little-known soft-core sex flick two years before Tom created the role that won him an Oscar. In "Buford's Beach Bunnies," Jim invented the "now-famous jerky run associated with Forrest Gump" and, like Gump, showed a shy politeness toward women by calling them "ma'am," the author says.
VICTORIA BECKHAM IN "THE TWILIGHT ZONE"
IS 
Anybody else seeing the resemblance between Posh and her
Eye of the Beholder castmates?
You would think that, with all of her money, she'd pay someone to slice off that pig snout. Or at least whittle it down. I may be fat, but this bitch is ugly and I can lose weight.
Daft, daft girl.
IS 
Anybody else seeing the resemblance between Posh and her
Eye of the Beholder castmates?
You would think that, with all of her money, she'd pay someone to slice off that pig snout. Or at least whittle it down. I may be fat, but this bitch is ugly and I can lose weight.
Daft, daft girl.
WORLD'S UGLIEST BABY TURNS 1 TODAY
Lock up your daughters or, uh, your livestock. Henry Gunther Ademola Dashtu Samuel turns a year old today, while the world wonders how a supermodel and a rock star could create a child that could one day hold the title role in The Hunchback of Notre Dame--without any make-up, no less. Not one to leave scary enough alone, Heidi and Seal are in the midst of brewing their next "creation." Let's hope it's not a girl. Yikes.....
From
Celebrity Baby Blog
Happy birthday Henry. You are now 1 year old!
Name: Henry Gunther Ademola Dashtu Samuel
Birthday: 12th September 2005
Famous for: Being the second child and first biological child of supermodel Heidi Klum and her singer husband, Seal.
Name meaning: Henry's father Seal's real name is Sealhenry. Gunther is after Heidi's father and Ademola is a name from Seal's family. Dashtu is a name Seal came up with, meaning "-2" to illustrate the concept of another child, as explained by Heidi on Conan O'Brien.
Siblings: Henry has an older half-biological sister, Leni. Heidi considers Seal Leni's father.
What they said:
How has life changed for Klum since becoming a mother twice over?: "Two kids' car seats, more diapers and, as any new parents will tell you, less sleep."
Eight weeks after Henry was born, Heidi walked the catwalk for Victoria Secret, saying that "if you like what you do, you can juggle everything."
Even though Heidi is a business woman and supermodel, she says that her "favorite (role) is being a mom and wife."
Lock up your daughters or, uh, your livestock. Henry Gunther Ademola Dashtu Samuel turns a year old today, while the world wonders how a supermodel and a rock star could create a child that could one day hold the title role in The Hunchback of Notre Dame--without any make-up, no less. Not one to leave scary enough alone, Heidi and Seal are in the midst of brewing their next "creation." Let's hope it's not a girl. Yikes.....
From
Celebrity Baby Blog
Happy birthday Henry. You are now 1 year old!
Name: Henry Gunther Ademola Dashtu Samuel
Birthday: 12th September 2005
Famous for: Being the second child and first biological child of supermodel Heidi Klum and her singer husband, Seal.
Name meaning: Henry's father Seal's real name is Sealhenry. Gunther is after Heidi's father and Ademola is a name from Seal's family. Dashtu is a name Seal came up with, meaning "-2" to illustrate the concept of another child, as explained by Heidi on Conan O'Brien.
Siblings: Henry has an older half-biological sister, Leni. Heidi considers Seal Leni's father.
What they said:
How has life changed for Klum since becoming a mother twice over?: "Two kids' car seats, more diapers and, as any new parents will tell you, less sleep."
Eight weeks after Henry was born, Heidi walked the catwalk for Victoria Secret, saying that "if you like what you do, you can juggle everything."
Even though Heidi is a business woman and supermodel, she says that her "favorite (role) is being a mom and wife."
RUDY HUXTABLE IS A COKE WHORE
TO 
Should we be surprised? I bet all of this started back when Bill Cosby would make little Keisha some "Jesus Juice" to drink before he invited her into his trailer to "rehearse."
God I am going to hell. Anyhow, here's the whole story.
From Bossip
Bossip has exclusively learned that Keisha Knight Pulliam formerly of the Cosby Show (Rudy) has a cocaine habit that goes back years.
Multiple sources tell Bossip that Keisha ran in an elite circle of Morehouse and Spelman students in Atlanta who dabbled in cocaine while in college. The source who is a member of this circle says he witnessed Keisha do a line of coke at a party and that one of their friends from Florida dropped out of college and fell on hard times due to this cocaine culture within this elite group of primarily wealthy students.
“Keisha still does coke and it is widely known by her friends, it’s not a secret” says a source.
Bossip has contacted members of this circle of Morehouse and Spelman students and Keisha’s cocaine habit is said to be beyond “dabbling”. Sources tell Bossip that Keisha came to Spelman College during her freshman year "round and plumpy" and not only used cocaine for the high, but to lose weight as well. “Cocaine was the drug of choice to lose weight for the elite group of girls at Spelman” says another source to Bossip.
Sources say Keisha still does coke but her habit is “managed and covered up pretty well.” It seems no child star from the Different Strokes and Cosby Show days made it squeaky clean from the child star syndrome.
TO 
Should we be surprised? I bet all of this started back when Bill Cosby would make little Keisha some "Jesus Juice" to drink before he invited her into his trailer to "rehearse."
God I am going to hell. Anyhow, here's the whole story.
From Bossip
Bossip has exclusively learned that Keisha Knight Pulliam formerly of the Cosby Show (Rudy) has a cocaine habit that goes back years.
Multiple sources tell Bossip that Keisha ran in an elite circle of Morehouse and Spelman students in Atlanta who dabbled in cocaine while in college. The source who is a member of this circle says he witnessed Keisha do a line of coke at a party and that one of their friends from Florida dropped out of college and fell on hard times due to this cocaine culture within this elite group of primarily wealthy students.
“Keisha still does coke and it is widely known by her friends, it’s not a secret” says a source.
Bossip has contacted members of this circle of Morehouse and Spelman students and Keisha’s cocaine habit is said to be beyond “dabbling”. Sources tell Bossip that Keisha came to Spelman College during her freshman year "round and plumpy" and not only used cocaine for the high, but to lose weight as well. “Cocaine was the drug of choice to lose weight for the elite group of girls at Spelman” says another source to Bossip.
Sources say Keisha still does coke but her habit is “managed and covered up pretty well.” It seems no child star from the Different Strokes and Cosby Show days made it squeaky clean from the child star syndrome.
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