Even more superficial judging

I don't judge a person by his or her taste in music. Our attachment to music, especially bad music, can often be sentimental; for example, you were listening to Just a Gigolo by David Lee Roth when your high school crush acknowledged your existence with a "hey, are you going to eat those hushpuppies?" so DLR is on your ipod. Conversely, Fight for Your Right by the Beastie Boys may make you feel hot with embarrassment because it reminds you of the time you drove past your high school boyfriend's house only to see him in the front yard, smashed up against a car, making out with a girl named Bernadette. Not that that happened to me. But this song will never appear on my ipod.

So if you have bad music on your ipod, it's no big deal. Dude, I have 3 John Mayer cds on my ipod. I have no room to judge anyone on the music front.

Lest you think I am getting all deep on you, I do judge people by books. In fact, it is my favorite judging method, for it's very efficient. If your favorite book is Bridges of Madison County, we must part ways immediately. We will simply not get along if this sort of thing makes your heart pound. As for The Notebook (not the movie--I haven't seen the movie and I know many of you have free-passed Ryan Gosling based on this movie) we can be friends, but I'll get weird on you when you talk about how much you loved it.

God help you if you give me The Saving Graces and say "you're really going to love this!" because I will take it as a personal insult. You're just better off to admit that you have never read a book at all, as Posh and my brother-in-law have done, and I respect that kind of honesty.

Do you judge people by music or books? What kind of music and which books?


Thanks to Kate O'Connor for this funny hanky photo found via My Love for You Is a Stampede of Wild Horses

So very punchable

As you know, I'm not a violent person, but my fist tingles just looking at this.

Apparently Paige Davis has returned to Trading Spaces, which means that I will continue to avoid the show at all costs.

Reunion Round-Up

George bowling for dollars in Season 2. Just thought it was a funny picture.

All right, here's the Real Housewives of Orange County Season 3 reunion commentary, shotgun style:

1. Tamra's hair. I wasn't crazy about it.

2. Lauri said that there's a "huge misperception" about the amount of plastic surgery they've all had. Yeah, if you have fakey double Ds and admit to having botox and restylane a regular basis, people are going to assume that. It's just ignorance, Lauri.

3. I wish Bravo would have shown us Quinn's new bod. Not fair to say she's lost 22 lbs and then not show it. And Quinn's boobs are fake?! Huh. I didn't know that implants could be made to look like authentically saggy like that.

4. Tamra with her comments about "you nasty little woman" to Quinn and "picturing Vicki juggling Don's balls"--I love you, Tamra, but you need to get a filter. Actually, the Quinn comment was fine, but Vick was having a serious talk about the state of her marriage. I know you were nervous about the reunion, but no need to interrupt Vicki's moment.

5. Did you see Vicki's veins in her neck pop out when see viewed the clip of Don calling her a "lying sack of dogBLEEP" ? I'm afraid that when you're discussing the possible end of your marriage on national tv, it's pretty much over. Go in for the kill, Jeana! Just kidding. Vicki's your friend. Give it a couple of months.

6. Lauri commenting that her son, Josh, is a waiter and just bought an Audi. An Audi. That's an important fact to relate about your recovering addict son, don't you think?

7. Frankie the designer was a fan of the show who emailed Jeana? And they became BFFs? I had no idea. Crazy.

8. Jo! What's up with the vest with the nappy-furred hood? You look like you just stopped by after getting a mani-pedi and a Big Gulp. SO MANY fake smiles from the rest of the cast during Jo's appearance. You could put a gun to my head and I still would not watch her show.

I could have easily hosted this show. Bravo, I'm available for the next season! Let's talk!

Don't Forget

Where's Quinn of the XXL cleavage?

Reunion show tonight, chickens.

I'm no accountant but...

That's our girl in the middle

today I'm going to pretend that I am, and my first meeting will be with Yael Aflalo.

Do you know who Yael is? I didn't until recently (which doesn't mean much because I am a hick as well as an accountant). She's a 30 year old LA-based clothing designer and I think her brand, Ya Ya, could be considered high end because she sells pretty normal looking stuff for mucho dinero:

YA-YA Charcoal Miller in Dean, $235

I probably wouldn't pay $235 for pants that pull in the crotch like that, but I'm going to assume that some people don't mind that (Jessica Simpson, for one, wears Ya Ya).

I discovered Yael when her backyard was featured in the most recent domino. I can't stop looking at this place. Designed by Art Luna, it's very formal and it is stunning. I know you've probably already seen it, but for those of you who don't get domino, check it out:



My (expertly) scanned pictures do this garden no justice; believe me.

And here's the exterior of her house, which has nothing to do with Art Luna, but I am so in love with it:


I'm always into the high contrast of a dark color and white trim. Beautiful.

This garden did not come cheap: $18,400 in statues, $4800 for a fiberglass couch by the pool, and two quartz crystals (pictured above, on the pedestals) for $3300 and $4900 a pop--just a few of the big ticket items. The landscaping alone probably cost a zillion dollars, not to mention the upkeep this baby is going to require. Knowing all of this, I became very concerned that Yael spent beyond her means. So I did some research, and this is what I would say to her:

Hey girl! What's up? I'm worried about you and your 401(k). I'm sure you're successful and all (and you're beautiful!), but can you really afford to be spending almost $20k on four statues? And $10k on custom benches? How much did Art Luna charge you for his services? I know how hard it is to say no to a man who is selling beauty--believe me, I've been there--but really. This yard must have cost a crazy amount of money. You're so young! Do you have a trust fund that I don't know about? I hope so because I see a lot of your clothing taking big markdowns, and I'm scared for you. [this is where she starts to tear up and I give her a tissue]

No, no, it's not a bad idea to invest in your property. But have you seen the market lately? What happens when Jessica Simpson finds another purveyor of snug pants and you find yourself upside down in your mortgage? Will Art Luna buy back your statues and quartz crystals then? I think we both know the answer to that.

The good news is that you're very young and if we start now, you can recover. First, no more custom furniture, no more statues, and for the love of God, stop designing pants that look like they're from SJP's Bitten line (wtf is up with that, by the way?).

Second, I think you need to look into a *second* job. Maybe Banana Republic is hiring? Just head to the mall; I'm sure you'll find something.

Third, open an IRA and try to contribute at least $200/month, even if you have to give up the Cristal. I don't to see you "big pimpin'" anywhere, at any time.

Fourth, if you do end up selling-off your garden goods, I will loan you the port-a-grill that we use for tailgates. That's all you really need in a backyard, anyway.

That's it! I'm very hopeful for you. [I give her a hug] Thank you, and I'd appreciate it if you'd pay my $750 fee promptly. Good luck!

Hope she listens, because I'd hate to see her on the streets with those quartz crystals in her shopping cart. They look heavy. For real, does anyone have a guess as to the pricetag on this place? Holy smokes.

Judging Beth (and Mark too!)

Beth and Mark, a study in high douchebaggery

Are you familiar with Beth S., who first appeared on MTV's The Real World LA in 1993?* Beth, age 38, is the one who constantly brags about how successful she is, yet continues to subject herself to various indignities on Real World/Road Rules challenges, the most recent of which is airing now.** Luckily, I do not have to delve into the far reaches of my brain to write a message to Beth because TVgasm.com has already done it for me:

Former, current and future Bunim-Murray cast members; I suggest you consider the show an experience, not a career. Enjoy it, embrace it and then move on. If you have more than 4 Bunim-Murray credits on your resume [Beth has approximately 13 according to imdb], and you still expect to be famous...I can safely say, it's over. And you should probably move on. If not for you, then for the sake of your family and eventual kids. It's one thing to be made a fool for a season, but to be made a fool for a DVD Box Set worth of humiliation...well that's gonna effect your family for generations.

That pretty much sums it up!

Thank you,

Ms. High and Mighty

P.S. I will not be judging Mark at this point because I think he has retired from these challenges, but I reserve the right to judge him should he come out of retirement. Actually, I've changed my mind because I have since looked at his myspace page and under occupation, it says "professional badass" with an income of "over $250,000." Riiiiiiiight. He's Spencer Pratt Part II.


*Remember that one? Foremost in my mind are Jon, the naive religious country singer and Tami, the girl who wired her mouth shut in order to lose weight (and pre-wiring, she sang the catchy "I'm a slave I'm a slave I'm a slave to your lovin'," a song that is sung in my house to this day).

**I just happened upon it, okay? I didn't watch much of it, but I probably will watch all of it at some point, and when that happens, it will be a private matter between MTV and me.

All of you + SGM = TLA

In the past 48 hours, I have read and commented on many, many blogs, and I feel a little trampy. But I can't help myself! You people on my blogroll, and the people I have found through your blogrolls, are simply the most brilliant, beautiful and funny people in the universe. I am happy beyond words to have found this amazing world that six months ago I didn't even know existed.

To the people who don't have blogs but check in here every once in a while, thank you. And maybe you should start a blog because I bet you'd be pretty brilliant, beautiful and funny too.

Have a wonderful weekend, my loves.

SWAK,
SGM

Thanks for the image, Anyaka

Did I miss something?

I don't watch Project Runway religiously, but Victorya went home tonight? And Ricky won? What was the reasoning behind this?* Since when is the Winehouse look acceptable outside of a crack den? Did you read Tim's blog where he said that he thought Ricky's dress was u-g-l-y? Was this some sort of bizarro episode?

Hasn't Ricky been on the chopping block almost every single time? And hasn't Victorya won some challenges? And whatever happened to Tim's show? How does he have the time to write such a lengthy blog?

Did I just write a post made up exclusively of questions? Almost.


*I was putting kids to bed so I didn't see the rationale. Someone please explain. And, for the record, I am officially rooting for Sweet P. I love her designs (the champagne prom dress!) and the fact that she said "hippy dippy" tonight.

Speaking of bad fashion, this scrunchie comment made me laugh.

Fell off the Wagon

Not her. Me.

So! A few months ago, I checked into rehab as the result of a come-to-Jesus meeting that occurred in my basement. Rehab was somewhat successful, and I've been doing really well, even through the holidays. But then something happened, and I slipped. I'm in kind of a shame spiral over it, and the only way I'm going to get back with the program is to be brutally honest about it--here, with you.

Hello, my name is SGM and I am addicted to buying useless crap and then stashing it in my basement when I decide that I don't like it anymore.

Remember those cheap cords that I was going to return to Banana Republic? I returned them (yea! returning is good!) and was walking out when this man at a skin care kiosk (I know, A KIOSK. Does that tell you how sick I still am?) waves me down with a "Honey! Honey, come over here!" I cannot resist an effeminate gay man who will possibly bullshit with me about Britney, so I walk right over even though it is my standard operating procedure to ignore kiosk workers. I think to myself, "Maybe he's selling something good. I'll go listen but I won't buy."

So I walk up to him and the first thing he says to me is "Guess how long I've been here?" I tell him that I didn't know. "Since 9:30! What is that, like 9 hours?" Not quite that long, but you know. I'll sympathize. "I hope you at least own this place" I say, gesturing to the kiosk. And do you know what he says to me? "Oh, girl! No, but I used to sleep with the owner!" and then he gives this kind of grand arm-wave, kind of a "snap!" motion. It enchants me, and without even realizing it, I have set myself up for a relapse.

I'd like to mention at this point, that the kiosk worker has an accent. It is a combination of Israeli and South African (I know, because I asked). The whole effect is very Serge from Beverly Hills Cop, and it is irresistable to me. Roy (that's his name, because I asked) starts in on his spiel, putting his lotions and salts on my wrist. He asks me what my main skin problems are, and I tell him, and then he calls his kiosk colleague over, "Jean Paul! Jean Paul, I need you, please!" Then they stand back and look at me intently and subtly gesture while they discuss me a different language. Then he comes back over and says "you need the Dead Sea mud mask. It will help with your rosacea." Rosacea!? I do not have rosacea! I was just wearing a down coat in a warm mall, plus I was flushed with the embarrassment of gay men examining my aging skin.

I almost walked away at this point. But I don't. Of course I don't. He puts his mineral rich mask on my wrist and starts saying funny things which in turn make me grab his arm and say "I love you." I know, I'm a full-on FREAK, but I am completely out of control at this point. Roy clutches me back and says "Oh honey. Not many people understand me."

Please know that I am totally aware that I am being played. He's a salesman and I'm a customer. I've seen G-String Divas on HBO. I know that the best salespeople feign personal relationships in order to cash in. As he's talking to me, I fully realize that he's camping up the gay for me. But I want to reward his effort and fun-loving nature and somehow make up for his sad kiosk life.

So I decide that I must have the Dead Sea mask that will help with my rosacea. He tells me an outrageous price, a La Mer price (the small jar). Hello! Even I am not that stupid; I kind of do a "bitch, please!" facial expression, and kindly tell him that there's no way I'm paying that kind of money for a kiosk product.

He stares at me for a moment and says in his accented voice "how much are you willing to spend today?" At this point I should have said "Nothing. Good day sir," and walked off, but instead, I say half of the full price because I am a total fucking idiot. He talks to Jean Paul in the foreign language, probably something along the lines of "Oh yeah! I'm gonna make her think she's getting a total deal. Watch this shit." He also does some very convincing tip-tapping on his calculator. He comes back to me and says "come up $6 and it's yours. But you mustn't tell anyone! Not a soul or I will get in big trouble." So of course I come up $6 because we are now co-conspirators as well as BFFs. On my receipt, he writes down his name and his email address and tells me to write him if my rosacea doesn't clear up. But I don't even care. The deal is done. The show is over and I'm already regretting my purchase.

I see him take the mud mask box from the shelf and surreptitiously wipe dust off of it. It still has dust on it when I bring it home and hide it under the sink in the bathroom. I don't even use it for a week, and then when I do, it is not life changing. Shocker. Did I tell you that you remove the mud mask with a little magnet? Yes. The shame.

So yeah. This was a wake-up call. Buying a semi-expensive beauty product at a kiosk for a facial condition that I do not have is the recovering alcoholic's equivalent to waking up naked, in a park, after an all night bender. Time to sober up before I start ordering from the Home Shopping Network.


Does anyone else have this problem? Buying because you like/feel sorry for the salesperson? I thought I'd had this problem beat but certain situations can still get to me. Maybe I need a sponsor. Or, maybe I can be Lindsay Lohan's sober companion and we can keep each other straight. While she pays me $750 a day. Does anyone have her phone number?

A Group Hug for All (except you, Jo)

Good afternoon, my friends! Let's get to the recap of (well, mostly commentary on) the season finale of Real Housewives of Orange County.

1. Lauri's therapy session with Josh: Lauri, why do you make this kid's life even worse by forcing him to air his problems on national television? I can tell that you really love him, but why would you sit him down in front of the harsh glare of spotlights to talk about his deepest feelings? That would send me running back to the crack pipe in no time.

I must admit though, I shed a tear during this segment. We all have problems, you know?

The one good thing that came out of this was that I think I can confirm that Lauri has had corrective surgery on her cleft palette. Or it could be the case that copious collagen injections to her upper lip gives the impression of a repaired cleft palette. Opinions on which one it is?

2. Quinn's alter ego "Roxy": I don't even want to write about this, I was so grossed out. But did anyone else think that Billy didn't recognize her for the first 60 seconds he was trying to pick her up? I could have recognized her dangling bosom from a mile away, but Billy? Not so sure about that.

Good for you for breaking up with him. I couldn't take any more of your desperation. Chill, Quinn, on the manhunt.

3. Lauri's wedding: Lauri, I owe you an apology. I predicted that your third wedding would be an inappropriate and gross display of George's wealth. But you know what? I thought it was beautiful and not at all tacky (except for maybe the pink lighting in the tent, but who can tell without being there in person). You are entitled to have a big ol' fancy party to celebrate your love. I was also pleasantly surprised at how chaste your wedding kiss was. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you, girl.

Enough of the warm fuzzies--was she eating the ENTIRE time she was getting ready? I guess that's good; she's so skinny and I suppose she didn't want to pass out putting on that big gown. And did you all like Lauri a little better after seeing how normal her family is? I liked her even more for not feeling obligated to invite Quinn.

So is Ashley getting the car or what? And what was the budget for this shindig?

4. Tamra Barney: You weren't really on this show much, but I must mention you because I finally saw your 40th bday party episode, and I would love to be your friend in real life. I am delighted to no end when you grab people's boobs, and I just think you've got a great sense of humor. (Note: I put Tamra's full name here so that when she googles herself, she can read this post and email me. Hi Tamra!)

5. Vicki and her "issues": Vicki, you must see a therapist asap regarding your jealously and control issues (but I beg of you, have the dignity to not do it on tv). I have never heard more insincere complimenting nor seen more forced smiling in my life than on the last 2 episodes. Also, when your daughter has to cut you off (at Jeana's party), that's a bad sign. And Don? I think he needs to be with Jeana. Despite all of this, I like you Vicki. Pull your shit together.

6. Jeana's party: All right, this is getting long so I'll wrap it up. This party probably cost as much as my wedding. Sushi and an open bar for what looked to be 125 people (well, that's what my wedding was)? Good lord. And back to Vicki--how high maintenance can she get? She drank her signature drink, a "blue cheese stuffed olive dirty martini." Holy Jesus. You know Jeana had to order the olives special for her.

My special message to Jo: you suck. You suck beyond comprehension. You act like a 16 year old who is trying to get the attention of the popular boys. My girl Tamra agrees, too and so does Ashley. I love how this show is edited so that we are able to witness every innuendo concerning the travesty that is Jo and her music career.



All right, if you've made it this far, then congratulations. Overall, the show wrapped up nicely and I was quite pleased with the finale. I'd love to hear your takes--fire away!

EDIT: Yummy gossip on Housewives' real estate (and info about Slade too--I always wondered how he could afford that house, Jo, and the obnoxious Hummer. Turns out, he can't!). Thank you, Paloma of La Dolce Vita for the most excellent tip!

Do I even need to remind you

Ah, the sweet innocence that is Lauri

that the wedding of Lauri and George will be broadcast tonight? Even if you haven't watched one episode of Real Housewives of Orange County, you can still tune in for countless examples of plastic surgery "afters" and the inappropriate lavishness of a third wedding.

Burning questions (cue the organ music): Will Quinn be invited, and if so, will she "release the beast" on the dance floor? Will Ashley receive a car for being Lauri's maid of honor? Will Lauri's son Josh ruin the wedding with his "poor choices" or will Lauri ruin it with her poor parenting? Am I a total loser for loving this show?

I'm planning to post a recap tonight/tomorrow,* so if you don't want to know about the finale, don't come around here. Also, if anyone wants to do a write-up on the kids and the royally fucked-up futures that await them, please let me know and I'll happily link to you.


*Maybe. It depends on how pathetic I'm feeling.

Punching, and violence

My husband walked in the door from work the other night and said, apropos of nothing, "if you could punch anyone in the world without suffering any repercussions, who would it be?" It was the topic of discussion on the radio on his drive home. He had his answer and wanted to know mine.

Before I tell you my answer, I will preface with these two thoughts.

1. This is a total guy question. I have no interest in punching anyone. Not only would it hurt my fist, but I would do absolutely no damage, which would be embarrassing.

2. This may surprise you, but I really don't hate anyone enough to punch him or her. In fact, I like most everyone. There are exceptions of course, but very few.

Because my husband will answer such questions as "if you were gay, which celeb would you want to sleep with?" (George Clooney), I decided to skip the 2 thoughts outlined above and answer him.

Rachael Ray. I'm sure that doesn't surprise anyone who reads this blog with any sort of regularity. I've threatened her with a lawsuit. I've practically put a bounty on her head. I could punch her, if I so desired. She's asking to be punched, don't you think?



My husband was shocked: "But she's done nothing to you!" He went on and on about it, for approximately 2 minutes. He demanded a person I knew in real life. I couldn't think of anyone. I asked him whom he would punch, and he named this guy who played on his soccer team in college 14 years ago. Then in his celeb category, he picked Brett Favre. Don't ask; there are many reasons, most having to do with Favre shit-talking the Broncos many years ago. My man knows how to hold a grudge.

Whom would you punch? No need to preface with your distaste of violence because I've already covered that.

Celebrity or not. Purely hypothetical. Answers please.

Another picture of haggard Pam

. . . because someone has to do it. Poor thing is one bar fight (and subsequent lawsuit) away from being that slutty girl I knew in high school who now strips at the place by the airport.

Godspeed, Pam.

Getting the Recognition I Deserve!

What's hot now? ME, bitches! Elle Decor has FINALLY recognized that I am a bona fide design blogger.* Why else would I receive this Professional Discount Offer?




. . . because I am a professional design blogger! It's non-transferable, okay? That means that regular old bloggers, dumbshits who write about celebrities and reality tv, cannot get this special rate.** Do you think I can qualify for a trade discount based on this? Oh my God! I'm headed to the Denver Design Center tomorrow to find out.

Thank you, Margaret Russell! You won't regret it! ***

_________________

*Believe it or not, a popular design blogger has questioned my status.

**Don't burst my bubble by telling me that your dog or your dentist's office has received this same offer. And for the love of God, please don't rat me out by telling Elle Decor that I don't speak of design on this blog.

***For those who don't understand this post, it's kind of a joke between the design freaks and me. I love love love design blogs and design bloggers make up a chunk of my readership. Perhaps because of this, I have somehow been categorized by the blog world as a design blogger. BUT I NEVER WRITE ABOUT DESIGN AND IN FACT KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT! Ha ha, get it? Joke's on Elle Decor!

Winner winner chicken dinner!

Congratulations to my husband, the winner of the Real Housewives of Orange County Recap Contest! He was the only one who submitted an entry before the deadline, which was admittedly very tight. His entry was verbal and went something like this:

Tamra's husband is so cheesy. He got her a $40k Rolex. And he bought a yacht with his partner. He must own that dealership. Do you know how he gave her the Rolex? Is there a lingerie line called Juicy or something? Are you sure? Because he said that the Juicy panties would fit in this little box and then she opened it and it was the Rolex. And do you know what Tamra said? She said that Simon is the horniest guy she's ever met and that he can't sell cars without having sex, SO THEY HAVE SEX EVERY DAY.

Then he looked at me pointedly. That's it. He only watched 10 minutes and turned it into a ploy for more sex, which is against the contest rules. He is therefore disqualified.

The new winner is Katiedid! She had the most complete recap, which was submitted via the comments:

Tamra DID get a 40K Rolex to replace her 30K Rolex, but only after her hubby felt her up in front of all of the party guests. Payback. Vicki looked like she was choking on the ice cube from her champagne (I know...ice in your champagne is sooo klassy!) after she realized SHE did not even have a rolex. (BTW she may be trading her hubby in for a yunger model who will shower her with rolexes...stay tuned!)
Laurie has hired a psychotherapist to whip her errant druggy son into shape so he won't ruin her wedding. The therapist has, what, two days to "fix" him? Good luck! If the therapist can do it, she should take a whack at Brittany!
Then there is poor Quinn. I did not realize what a devout born-again Christian she is. She is very worried about saving the soul of her non-Christian boyfriend Billy, but has decided it can wait until after her sex-romp weekend in Vegas.

Next week: Lauri's wedding!

I especially loved the part about Vicki's ice cube and Lauri's son being magically fixed before the wedding. Oh, and the walking contradiction that is Quinn. Thank you, Katie! Please email me with your address and shirt size: scentedglossymagazines@gmail.com

Honorable mentions go to Habitually Chic, who has realized that it takes a bit of masochist to watch this show; Brilliant Asylum, who pointed out the essence of Tamra (money over manners); and Kids Got Hitched for her general enthusiasm about the show and her observation that Quinn is a snoozefest.

My next event will a be caption contest for this picture:


Just kidding. But you know that horse is thinking something.

Tiara photo courtesy of damselfly58

More than you ever wanted to know

...about the Real Housewives of Orange County.

1. If you are unfamiliar with the show and are home right now, drop everything. Bravo is airing a marathon.

2. I MUST meet the people who wrote the Wikipedia entry for RHOC. I thought I was an expert on RHOC--no way. I am not even in the same ballpark as these people. Scroll to the bottom of the entry. There is a treasure trove of information waiting for you. If you can stomach it.

3. Vicki, Lauri and Jeana have an online store* featuring this lovely shirt:


and I must buy it. So . . .

4. I am announcing a contest.

Here's the deal: I won't be home during tonight's episode and I don't have TiVo, so I need someone to give me a recap. Watch it, summarize it as you see fit, and then email it to me at scentedglossymagazines@gmail.com. Submission deadline is tonight at midnight (mountain time) because I won't be able to sleep without knowing what happened. I will post the winning recap/commentary and send you one of those shirts, straight from the OC with love. Implants are not included.


*They sell Arbonne on their website too. Fucking Arbonne! My neighbor sells that out of her house.

Do you know who this is?

I can't stop laughing. Find the answer here.

Beyonce makes a fool of me

I recently joined a gym and let me tell you, it has been a loooong time since I've been to the gym. The last time I set foot in a gym, mp3 players did not exist, so I was quite thrilled to strap on the ol' ipod and bounce my fat around to my own playlist. That is, until Beyonce's Irreplaceable came on. Oh my God, I am compelled to move to this song. Indeed, I have no choice but to move.

So picture me on the treadmill, a 36 year old white mother with a graduate degree, clenching her fists fighting to KEEP. IT. IN. while I hear "to the left, to the left . . . everything you own in the box to the left . . ." If you aren't familiar with this song, don't worry. I will post it at the bottom so that you will know the power that is Beyonce. Anyhow, I must move my head and shoulders in a leftward (is that a word?) motion when I hear "to the left, to the left." I also have lip-synch to this part, at the very least. And my hands, they have to be . . . out, fingers slightly apart, fully extended. I'm sure I looked like I was having a mini-seizure trying not to dance and sing with Beyonce.

And then after Irreplaceable? Gold Digger. That's right. Just try not dancing to Gold Digger. TRY IT. If you can remain still while listening to that song, well then I'll give you a trophy. A trophy that says "I am dead inside," because that is what you would be if you're not dancing to Kanye. I want to watch you when you hear "we want pre-nup, we want pre-nup, yeeeeeeeeeah," and see what you do. Myself, I have to be doing a "raise the roof" type of movement (similar to this person). It can be ever so slight, but it has to be there. It must be there or I will explode.

Please tell me that this is not my own psychological disorder (I think it would be classified with Tourette's). What songs have this type of effect on you? Besides Gold Digger, of course.



And now, I present to you: Irreplaceable. (fyi, the first 20 seconds or so are silence. Stick with it.)

Dear John

I was about to do a post admitting that I have this itty bitty crush on you, but then when I was searching for an nice picture of you on Perez, I decided that I think we're better as friends. I mean, there was post after post of you doing weird things, like making gooey eyes at Jessica Simpson:


Do you cringe when you see that? Me too!

And then there were all of these little jokes you do for the paps. For example:


No, no, listen. I get your sense of humor and many times I think that you're quite funny. But sometimes I just think that you're trying too hard--putting on too much of a show, you know? It didn't help matters when I saw this post about how Adrian Greiner picks up girls and it made me queasy and a little hesitant to become emotionally involved with a celeb.

It's all very strangely coincidental, actually. Did you see that episode of Entourage where Vinny picks up this girl in a bookstore and they go to a hotel and have fantastic sex? And then later, when he asks if they can get together again, she says no. Her reason: she's engaged and her fiance gave her a free pass should she ever have the chance to sleep with Vinny Chase.

Well, John, immediately prior to this post, I had you lined up to be my "free pass" person. I believe my husband's exact words to me on the subject were "if you can manage to 'hit that', then go right ahead. I'll even watch the kids." He obviously thinks that I couldn't swing it, but hello, Marky Mark rapped my name 16 years ago. Pop stars like me! He also thinks that you're gay. Don't take it personally, John. I think he's just jealous that you had dirty sex with Jess.

Bottom line is, I'll be using my free pass with another celeb. No, please. No begging; I've made up my mind. However, if you want me to be the subject of Your Body is a Wonderland Part 2, I'll be okay with that as long as you don't mention my cellulite or muffin top. And you can be assured that I'll always listen to your music with much fondness, but in a very platonic way.

I'm sorry I had to do this on the blog. I know it's a total a-hole move, but I just couldn't face telling you in person or even on the phone. Plus your agent wouldn't give me your address or cell number. Please know that I still care for you as a person and hope we can still be friends.

Sincerely,
SGM

Wait! I have coupons!

Us Weekly is reporting that Brad and Ang went to Chuck E Cheese when they were in Missouri visiting Brad's family. Dude, even I don't go to Chuck E Cheese (unless I am heavily sedated). And I certainly don't go during flu season. They must either really love their kids or really love cleaning up vomit.

Setting the Record Straight

As a longtime fan . . . er, viewer, of The Real Housewives of Orange County, I'd like to shed some light on the true natures of some of the cast members. It's easy to stereotype these women because of their blonde hair and extravagant lifestyles, but I'm here to tell you that they are much more complicated than they seem and cannot be shoved into neat little packages. In this post, I hope to dispell some common misconceptions about Housewives Lauri, Vicki and Quinn.

Misconception #1: Lauri is stupid.


No. In fact, she's quite the opposite. I'm telling you, she's running circles around the rest of us. For example, last night when she was talking about how her life has changed since meeting fiance George, she said, "my life has taken a 360 degree turn." I'm sure many viewers thought "doesn't she mean a 180?" or "bless her heart" (see previous post), but not me. I understand Lauri's type of genius. What she was really saying was this: she used to be happy and really rich, then she divorced (twice) and became sad and destitute, and now she is again happy and really rich. Full circle, right? 360, just like she said.

Another example: last season when Lauri was shown getting ready to attend a Republican fundraiser with George, she said something along the lines of "George is a Republican, so I guess I'm a Republican. I'm not sure what that really means, though . . . " and she has a nervous giggle and tapers off into silence. I'm telling you, Lauri's thinking is right up there with the greatest philosophers of all time. What is being a Republican? Does anyone really know? Deep.

Just because Lauri has blond hair, a fake tan and grotesque implants, DO NOT think that you know who she is. You do not. She is a thinker, and hopefully that will be her legacy on this show.

Misconception #2: Vicki is not A Giver


Near the end of Season 2, when Lauri is given some sort of zillion dollar Mercedes as a surprise gift from George, Vicki puts on a big show of acting so thrilled for Lauri. But then in her voice-over, she admits "Yes. I am jealous. I've had to work for everything I've ever had and Lauri just gets it handed to her on a silver platter."

Okay, things get a little convoluted here, so bear with me. At Lauri's bridal shower, which aired last night, Vicki delivers a beautiful toast and talks about how George is so nice, and Lauri is the greatest and they deserve all of the happiness in the world. In her voice-over, she says "I meant every word I said. I'm a giver." I'm sure that many viewers rolled their eyes and thought, "oh, she's just trying to make up for all that mean shit she said about Lauri before." Plus, there is not a more phony utterance in the English language than "I'm a giver." Usually it means "I am a taker, and I will not hesitate to suck you dry with my incessant fast-talking and screaming." But Vicki? She was absolutely telling the truth. Did you see the makeover she gave her assistant? Turning her into a mini-Vicki, complete with blond hair, boob-revealing clothes and Brazilian wax? That was not cheap. She also gave her daughter Brianna a Mercedes out of the blue. Who cares about ulterior motives. Vicki is A Giver.

Misconception #3: Quinn is a useless and bizarre addition to the show

This is actually true. Quinn, I'm sure you were invited to be a member of the cast, but I don't for the life of me understand why. You seem very sweet and all, but you don't fit in. I don't understand how you survive (do you have a job? a home?) and I don't think you've had any plastic surgery (and honey, you either need a lift or you need to cover up some of your 8 inches of cleavage). I just don't get why you are on this show. Oh--one more thing--give up on your golf pro who won't answer you when you ask "are you my boyfriend." Haven't you ever seen Sex and the City? He's just not that into you. Plus he corrects your grammar. You're too old for that crap. Lose him.


As far as I can tell, there are no misconceptions about Jeana, Tamra or Tammy. What you see is what you get. Jeana is happy to be losing 180 pounds (in the form of her husband), Tamra is a self-described Botox-junkie, and Tammy is pretty but irrelevant. If any of this changes, you will be the first to know.

If you have any questions or comments about prejudice suffered by the Real Housewives and their ilk, please feel free to leave them in the comments section and I will address them in order.

Thank you,
SGM
Real Housewives of Orange County Expert

Hey Y'all

On New Year's Eve, I was in my kitchen, halfway listening to the pre-show for some bowl game when I heard what sounded like heavy foreign accent coming from the tv. My first thought was that there must be an intruder in the house because my husband would never change the channel from football to non-football unless there was a gun pointed to his head. So I went to investigate, only to find that the channel had not been changed, and that the man speaking was Clemson's head coach, Tommy Bowden. His Southern accent was so thick that I could barely understand him without watching his mouth. I was completely enthralled.*

I have been besotted with the South ever since reading Prince of Tides in high school and seeing Harry Connick Jr. in concert when I was 19. Mmmmm, girl! I would have given it all (if you know what I mean) up for that man and his accent! Seriously, he was so funny and charming and who doesn't love a musician? But then he shoved his Victoria's Secret model wife in my face and I thought that was really rude. And shallow. I mean, I had many journal entries devoted to him and his Southern sexiness. Many. I thought he would come to his senses eventually and divorce her, and then we would bump into each other, just walking down the sidewalk when he was in town for a show. He'd remember me from the concert in 1990, and say "would you like to grab a drink?" and the rest would be history. Then he was looking kind of old-ish on Will & Grace, and the floppy hair wasn't doing it for me anymore, but there was still a tiny spark. I think my bubble finally burst when I saw him in the Heidi Montag Us in the "Celebrities: they're just like us!" section, where he was pictured attending a Knicks game with his 10 year old daughter and they were doing a fist bump and looking all rosy and happy. So, whatever. I'm over it.

I digress. My point is this: I am worried that, with the increasing homogenization of our society, the Southern accent and all of its trappings (rules of etiquette**, funny phrases, love of mamas and SEC football) will disappear. Any lingering racism can die off, of course. But not the other stuff.

My friend Debby was born and raised in Atlanta and moved to Denver 2 years ago. She has the accent and abides by all the Southern rules of conduct, but she's not at all politically correct and has the most hilarious stories. The woman is really fucking funny. Sometimes I even have to ask her to translate herself, like when she says "they're in high cotton." This means "they're rich" or "they're doing well," fyi. She has become my tutor in Southern-ness. Are you interested in one of her lessons? Here are her most important Southern guidelines:

1. Nice girls don't drink straight from bottles or cans. Corollary - only sluts drink from bottles and cans.

2. Nice girls don't chew gum in public. Corollary - only sluts chew gum in public.

3. When a Southerner asks for a "Coke," the appropriate response is "what kind?" because Coke is a generic term for soda.

4. "Bless your heart!" often translates to "F-you"

5. "Bless her heart!" pretty much always translates to "what a f-ing moron"

6. People who don't write thank-you notes are the worst kind of trash.

I love this stuff! I'm not trying to convert to Southern because I couldn't fake the accent for long, and plus, I just don't think it's possible. I think it has to be in your blood. To all of you Southerners out there, I fear that you are a dying breed, and my friend Debby agrees; it pains her a bit that her kids aren't growing up in the South and that they will likely marry Yankees. I'm not going to encourage all Southerners to reproduce because that would include Britney and her kin, but what are you going to do about your rich (as in colorful) American subculture disappearing? Where do you see the South in 50 years? And is anyone else a sucker for a Southern accent? Chime in.

*Any grown man with the name Tommy is all right in my book, and this guy really is quite charming (and probably a big-time good ol' boy). Here is a link to an interview with him so you can hear the accent for yourself.

**Do yourself a favor and read these because they are extraordinarily funny.

For further reading, please see I Love Being Southern

EDIT: Please head on over to In(side) the Loop for a follow-up post that will leave you crying with laughter. God bless the South!

Expand your vocabulary

The beautiful and vivacious JJ directed me to one of my new favorite blogs, Girl Gone Child. You know a blog's going to be good when the categories alone (Vaginas; Hipsters and Douchebags) make you laugh (what can I say, I have the sense of humor of a thirteen year old boy). Here's an excerpt from their ever so astute glossary:

Cheri

N. A haggard, single mother with tattoos.

Back in the day, Cheri was HOT – smoking hot. But she’s never been very bright. She pursued a career as music video dancer and got caught up with a Jake* who convinced her to keep the baby, then bailed once he realized that babies cry a lot. Cheri always relied on her looks to get by, but she doesn’t look that great anymore, and the tribal arm tattoo is starting to fade. Thank god for Gunnar (Cheri’s 4-year-old son). He’s what keeps her going to her job at the tanning salon five days a week.

Usage:

“I feel sorry for that kid’s mom. She must be a Cheri.”

You'll have to go to the site to find out what a Jake is. Happy reading.

Pictured above, Pam Anderson, the patron saint of Cheris.

The Sweet Smell of Chemicals Takes Me Back....

I was at the bookstore today when I smelled a fragrance that transported me to 1987. It was Shaper, the hairspray that all of the popular girls and wannabes at my high school were using copiously to fluff perms and elevate bangs in the late 80s.

If you went to high school or college in the late 80s - early 90s, then perhaps you will know what I am talking about. If you are younger, then God bless you, and remember to wear sunscreen. If you are older, then I was always jealous of you when you and your friends were hanging out with my smoking HOT 18 year old neighbor while I was but a wee 12 year old with braces and a flat chest.

Back to my point. This hairspray was magical, so magical that it crossed geographical boundaries. My friend who grew up in Phoenix coveted it, as well as my friends who grew up in Omaha, Tulsa and Kansas City. My friend from Laramie, Wyoming once had it taken away in lieu of grounding--it was so crucial to her daily routine and such a luxury item that to take it away was most punishing. Maybe its power was limited to the midwest? The smell was so distinctive and so intoxicating due to its high desirability among teens in the late '80s, and it was all but forgotten in my shriveling brain until I smelled it at the bookstore on the highly coiffed woman in front of me in line. I wanted to ask her about it, to share my joy in the aroma of Shaper, but was fearful that she would view me as a perv. So I remained silent and inhaled. I don't use hairspray and haven't for years, so I won't be buying it. Plus, it's an aerosol can and probably carcinogenic. But if someone turns its chemical-ly scent into a reed diffuser, I'm in. So glad to see it is still for sale and not in a time capsule in Wichita, Kansas, waiting to explode.

This picture makes me snort with laughter. Can it actually be real?

To those of you who are of the proper age, do you know of this? Did you use Shaper? If not, how did you get your bangs so high? Do tell.

Just one more thing. The woman in the picture looks so familiar to me. What's her story? Is she still with the guy (who is actually pretty cute minus the hair)? And the child--boy or girl? I swear that the mom and dad were voted "Cutest Couple" at my high school in 1987. I'm getting out my yearbook.

My Unnatural Hatred of Ann Taylor and other Strong Emotions Experienced at the Mall

I went to the mall last weekend, and part of me wasn't happy about it for the obvious reasons: it was packed, I had returns, and I was bound to spend more money. The other part was happy because, well, I was bound to spend more money.

First stop, Anthropologie. I'd like to thank the 20 year old cashier for not being snotty about my returns. I appreciate that, truly. Then I was off to browse, and I spied these:


and I stared at them for 10 seconds, which is a freaking eternity considering my Anthropologie-induced ADHD. It's an ecosphere, a little self-contained, self-sustaining world of tiny baby organisms that move and swim right before your very eyes. Alas, it was $248, so it was not to be mine (but fyi, (In)side the Loop found smaller versions for less at Brookstone). The picture is beautiful, and I assure you that the ecospheres are even more beautiful and fascinating in real life. I'd like to point out that I did not spend a single penny at Anthro. In fact, I made money due to my returns.

Second stop, Pottery Barn. Guess what? I had a 3+ year old gift card (actually it was a paper gift certificate because there were no PB gift cards in 2004) and I was determined to redeem it, even if it meant I had to throw down with the manager. After walking around for approximately one hundred years, I finally found a lovely pillow. In fact, I think it is BB8's Lovey pillow. I braced myself, walked up to the register and handed the cashier my gift certificate and said "I think I'm about to complicate things for you." She looked at it and said, "No you're not," and proceeded to let me pay with a gift certificate older than my 3 year old child (which they damn well should have because there was no expiration date). It totally threw me off. Thank you Pottery Barn. Thank you for not challenging me, because while I was ready to pull the hair of your manager, I really didn't want to.

Then I went to Banana Republic and proceeded to spend all of the money that I had earned at Anthropologie. Just basics--straight denim skirt (to wear with my new BOOTS), cream-colored skinny cords (also to wear with my BOOTS. BR insists that they're boot cut, but not in my book and anyhow, they're going back because they look cheap) and a black sweater (which I'm not even going to link to because it looks like crap on the website. God, BR, would you please invest some money on the website?!).

I wasn't really ready to go home, so I engaged in my own form of mall torture. I went into Ann Taylor. I hate it there. I hate the clothes, I hate their merchandising, I hate the way it smells. I cannot trace the roots of my hatred exactly, but think that it started when several years ago, the most matronly and unattractive (personality-wise) woman in my office proclaimed her love for all things AT. I now see the whole store through dirty, stinky-colored glasses. I do not have this issue with Ann Taylor Loft; they are free to exist and sell and prosper. But Ann Taylor proper can burn to the ground. If you buy from Ann Taylor, I beg you not to hang your head in shame or be angry with me. Please, please know that this is my own personal issue, a sort of sgm kryptonite, and that I am aware that my feelings are slightly irrational. I'm sure that many decent and attractive people wear AT clothes. Its website is better than Banana Republic's; I'll grant it that much.

While I was in Ann Taylor, my husband called with the urgent message that our 3 year-old was CRYING and that I'd better come home with my soothing skills before he had to call 911. Normally I might be a bit annoyed with this request, but not this time because he was still coasting on the goodwill garnered from buying me the Heidi Montag Us magazine before Christmas.

Before I sign off, I'd like to go ahead and admit my love for and sometimes inappropriate use of parentheses. I used 8 pairs in this post, which is a lot, but that's who I am, man. Like it or leave it.

For further reading on malls, I direct you to this, one of the funniest things I have ever read on the web.