Friday, August 31, 2007

happy birthday, mikey!

I thought for Mikey's birthday, which, much like Jason's, is today, I'd share with you an array of rarely seen photos, which when viewed together, completely capture the essence of MDS...

Thursday, August 30, 2007

better early than never...

My wonderful friend Jason, who is also known as both 'BTOB' and 'Bikeshorts', always gets screwed on his birthday because it's the same day as Mikey's, which is tomorrow.
Mikey is turning 24. Jason is not.
However, Jason's getting something for his birthday only a select few posess.
That's right. His very own label!
Click on "Jason" at the bottom of this post and you will be rewarded this countless hours (okay, maybe like, 2) of Jason adventures all captured here. Lucky you. And lucky Jason.
You've got to like a guy that gets THIS EXCITED about the Oscars.
Happy Birthday, J!
Here's your goddamn blog...

meet my new boyfriend...

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

i almost forgot...

I should never assume that you just KNOW TO GO HERE every Wednesday at noon. Mine is 'Brickhouse', by the way...

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

confused hag...

Just like everyone else alive, I'm delighted that Homophobic Senator Larry Craig, R-ID is a big, flaming, airport homo.
And the most concise version of events and commentary can, as usual, be found here.
Apparently, Senator George Michael happened upon an airport men's room that just happened to be conducting a anonymous gay bathroom sex sting, made eyes at the undercover cop and went in the stall next to him. The Senator then proceeded to do a little tap dance routine or similar, apparently using the international sign for gay, gay bathroom sex.
He was then arrested and pleaded guilty, wanting to get this whole "misunderstanding" over with.
Oh, and the gay rumors have been following this queeny grandfather of 9 since the Reagan Administration.
Yeah. He's so straight.
Here's what baffles me: How were they going to do it? I mean, airport bathrooms are kinda crowded. It's not like the men's room at Badlands, where people just lean up against a wall and get busy. Plus, they were in locked stalls next door to each other, with the Senator apparently blocking the door with his luggage, sneaking a shiny shoe over and rubbing the bottom of the divider with his hand.
Was he going to shimmy across on the floor?
Seriously? I'm so confused...

Monday, August 27, 2007

forgetting the canoli...

Occasionally, I sneak out of work at lunch and hit SuburbaGym, taking advantage of the abundance of empty cardio machines and free range of the remote controls. When I began on the elliptical, there were two geriatrics reading newspapers and not giving a shit about any of the three TVs up on the wall. So I grabbed the remote for TV3, switched it to Bravo, of course and delighted to find The Godfather just starting, began my workout.
15 minutes into it, all sorts of middle aged men show up and start eyeballing the remotes, prompting me to stare at TV3 like no one's ever stared before. This is my passive aggressive way of saying, "TV3 is mine, Baby Boomer."
At least 4 of them came over and asked if I was watching TV3, annoyed that some of us chose to sweat to award-winning timeless classics as opposed to CNN or ESPN or gardening or whatever they were desperate to watch.
Aren't all men supposed to love the Godfather? Wasn't I doing anyone with a penis a favor by bringing the Corleones to SuburbaGym? Don't they have jobs?
I was put in the awkward position of grunting "No. I'm watching that." constantly, making me seem like some sort of mafia-obsessed, TV3 Nazi.
Which I kind of am...

oh dignan, say it ain't so...

Word on the street (internet) is that Owen Wilson tried to kill himself yesterday.
Apparently, after downing some pills he slit his wrists.
Jesus Christ.
Owen? My favorite Wilson? What could possibly be so horrible that you'd deprive the world of Bottle Rocket 2? His publicist is issuing a statement later today. I predict "rehab" which is code for looney bin...

Friday, August 24, 2007

of course his name is chris...

Am I crazy or is this story pure heaven?
I'll recap. Apparently, a relatively not-unattractive 35 year old Oakland School Board Member had an "innappropriate" relationship with a 17 year old.
He sent her text messages. He hugged her in his car. He called her "Dearest."
It sounds cheesy, but he means it.
I guess they couldn't be together because of his girlfriend.
And the law.
So, other than wondering if Oaktown Romeo is going to resign, I'm dying to know what his poor, OLD girlfriend thinks about all of this. I mean, speaking as a 29 year old spinster, I can identify with worrying that your significant other is going to run off with a really sophisticated 12 year old.
Jesus Christ. Who are these men?
This guy is one step down from Scott Peterson, whom we all know I love deeply...

Thursday, August 23, 2007

one plus one equals trouble...

Lo, Mo, Grey Cloud and I went to dinner at TWO last night, followed by drinks at W.
I've maintained throughout GC and my tumultuous relationship that no one loves him like I love him. And while this may be true, he has a particularly special and undefinable relationship with Lo, which both baffles and delights me.
This morning, however, I figured out what they have in common.
Both of them will talk you back from common sense.
Should we order another course? Should we get more drinks? Should we go home with a stranger?
No. Probably not.
But Lo and GC find a way of making it all okay.
It's not okay, when you put on your now too small jeans, hungover and in some douchebag's shitty apartment. But the night before, when they slam down credit cards and convince you that it'll all be okay if you just have one more drink and relax...well, it seems like a good idea then.
Everyone needs a friend like that.
It's good. It's healthy. It keeps you from becoming a square.
But the two of them together, this odd couple of trouble?
Well, shit. Order me another Gibson...

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

perfect, perfect man...

And my love for Bill Murray only grows stronger...

Wednesday means two things...

Top Chef and another Culture Blog from Spots...

and i thought i lived in the ghetto...

I went and saw the brilliant Funny But Mean last night, supporting the wonderful BFF, along with my good pals Richard, Ryan and Nacho. Conveniently, FBM takes place at the Exit Theater, deep in the middle of the Tenderloin. And after the hilarious show which all of you bitches missed, I had to walk myself back to my car, past "hotel" after "hotel", all of which seemed to have signs in their front windows which read, "Lomax Hotel is NOT a Hotel. Residents ONLY!"
It was very Josh Baskin.
Needless to say, there were large groups of people in varying stages of undress in front of each and every "hotel" and ALL of them had something to say to and/or about me and my freshly washed hair.
"Girl, where you think you are?"
Um, I think I'm in the ghetto, jammie pants. Unlike you, who thinks we're at a slumber party.
"Hey! Smile at me!"
I don't want to make you jealous of me and my many years of dental care.
"Where you goin', baby. Buy me some dinner."
I'm going home. To my house. Where people just quietly mug you as opposed to openly taunt you and then erupt into breathy laughter.
My ghetto invloves lots of broken car windows and lonely hobos passed out in doorways. THIS ghetto, last night's ghetto...well that's a whole different ballgame. People openly wander the streets, in scantically clad gangs having one big, cracked on, obnoxious, scary, dominant shindig. And I waded through them alone, clutching my knock-off under one arm and my virginal innocence under the other...

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

some hot comedy...

This is a friend plug. I never do this (other than you should all go see Funny But Mean tonight) except in brilliant and rare exceptions.
Folks, this is my friend, Arthur. You should check him out, if he ever comes to a town near you...
Arthur Gaus's Hilarious promo reel!

Add to My Profile More Videos

Monday, August 20, 2007

i bet she registers at sanrio...

I have it on (who knows how good) authority that Brittanie Mountz is engaged to either the General Manager of Aqua or the owner or dishwasher or something. If you'll recall, because it's not like there's been any other interesting news in the last year, Brittanie was the hostess with the mostess at Aqua when she met Gavin and wooed him with her childlike, supermodel wiles.
Note to self: Aqua is the place to score dates.
Well, I think this is fantastic. God bless her and her valet/sommalier/cheese cart pusher fiance. One less available vixen on the streets is fine by me.
I have no idea if this information is at all correct, obviously. I just heard it from someone who heard it from someone who knows this chick that worked in a dental office with this kid who sat on a bus next to BM's cleaning lady...

Thursday, August 16, 2007

that's a really shiny tie...

Ooooh, Gavin pictures unavailable to the public. Until now!
Here's Mikey's mom (our future wedding attendee) at some fundraiser with Gavin. Apparently he said, "It's nice to see you again, Karen." Obviously, he re-thought he prepared, "Beth is the love of my life. Please tell her."
Next time, maybe...

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

a chris i don't like. unheard of...

Don't worry. I'm not a hippie. I just wanted a dicey, fun to write about race. Oh well...

thank god i didn't mention 'jump'...

I know I curse the dreaded suburbs. I sincerely hate the fact that I work in my yokle hometown and not the big, bustling city in which I currently live. I can't stand the constant barrage of designer dogs and nannies walking the little blond children far too slowly.
But I take it all back.
Because yesterday, while pumping gas, I made Sammy Hagar laugh.
And I realized, there is something way better about making a (has been) celebrity laugh than one of you regular people. Suddenly, my life was validated. The thrill is indescribable. I wanted to hop onstage and do my little tequilla act for everyone.
Instead, I sent a mass text alerting my peeps to my incredibly exciting news.
Here's a smattering of response:
Mikey: He was probably trying to get away from you.
Kelsey: Random.
Ben: Too bad it wasn't David Lee Roth.
Alex: I bet he thought you were crazy.
And finally, Zoe: Wha? Where? Was he driving "55"...

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

what does that make me...

I was in no mood this morning. For some reason, my ghetto ass work connection can't open Yahoo, Hotmail or SFist today. Thank god I can access DListed, or I'd kill myself.
Anyway, my apologies if I seem like an e-mail slacker.
Then my mom calls to "check in", as I'm busy re-starting and shutting off my computer on repeat, my only means of technical repair know-how.
Champagne Bakery gets my order wrong, from curried chicken salad, which I was so goddamn excited about, to some radish filled Cesar monstrosity covered in cheese I must pick off.
Finally, the INSANE neighborhood woman starts banging on my office window, clamors through the front door and starts talking gibberish. Sara is new to our office and I didn't have time to tell her about the neighborhood loon, who, if you need a celebrity equivalent, is 100% Maude.
Hands down, no question.
Amidst the gibberish, Nutty busts out with "I'm turnin' 72 tommorrah."
Sara cheerily responds, "Happy Birthday!"
Wacko turns to me.
"Ya not gonna say Happy Birthday?"
"Happy. Birthday."
She proceeds to stay for 20 minutes, resting the entirety of her body on my shoulder, telling Sara she "loves" her, singing nonsense songs and looking at the pictures covering my wall.
"Is that ya husband?"
"Nope. That's my brother."
"Ya big brotha or ya baby brotha?"
"My baby brother." I replied. "His name is Alex."
"Well, then is THAT ya husband?"
"No. That's my roommate Mikey."
"Ya live with a man and ya not married?"
Dear god.
She leaned in even closer.
And HAND TO GOD, she goes, "Is that Gavin?"
(Needless to say, Gavin is up at work.)
"Yeah." I laughed. "That's Gavin."
"Oh!" She leaned back. "He's a cutie."
Hmm. Maybe she's not such a fruitcake after all...

Monday, August 13, 2007

shouldn't you be in group...

Check out this tidbit from today's M&R:
"Just in time: Eight new arrivals to San Francisco's Walden House drug and alcohol rehab center decided to take a stroll across the Golden Gate Bridge the other day when one of them spotted a woman clinging to the platform's outside railing and looking distraught.
They tried talking her back over, but without success. Then, just as the would-be jumper let go with one hand, a Walden House client reached over and grabbed her windbreaker while two others pulled her back over the railing to safety.
The cops arrived, and she was whisked off for psychiatric observation.
"They were buzzing for quite a few days," says Jori Schlecht, a onetime client who now runs the 815 Buena Vista West center.
And this week, Walden House plans to throw a pizza party in their honor."

Wait a second. That's what you do in rehab? Twart public suicide?
And these new arrivals can just walk across massive bridges NEAR LOTS OF BARS by themselves, stepping in whenever trouble arises?
They probably helped a bunch of little old ladies cross the street and chased down a couple of purse snatchers on their way back to rehab.
The best/worst part of this story as that these junkies saved someone's life 200 feet above shark infested waters and all they get is what I assume is a "dry" pizza party. If I went on an afternoon stroll and ended up pulling someone back from the brink of death, I'd need one hell of a Gibson...

Friday, August 10, 2007

but is she allowed to leave that state...

Thank you Becky for alerting me to Carole "Judge Judy on Crack" Migden's PROBATION. It has made. my. day.
I make no secret of my total distaste for Senator Migden, because I think she is the antichrist and she once yelled at my dad.
She also, if you'll recall, accused me of lying, was proven wrong and never apologized.
This, I will never forgive.
So you can imagine my delight at her getting probation for reckless driving. She even has to check herself into jail and pay $700 in fines. I wonder who her Parole Officer is? The next time I see her, I'll ask.
"Hey Bolero, who's your PO?" rolls off the tongue nicely...

we need a table for three and a tie...

Last night, Grey Cloud took us to his home away from home.
I'm very torn on the Olympic Club.
On one hand, it's an uptight, elitist, sexist and probably racist private club, which my father and brother belong to, but to which I am denied membership. On the other hand, it's kind of like being in a movie, it's where my family have spent a lot of important occasions and it's always packed with cute, rich boys.
Keep in mind, as a rule, cute rich boys are douchebags.
Anyway, Grey Cloud has booked every Thursday night while he's in town at the Club, because as every good Olympian knows, Thursday night is buffet night.
And you know, it's rare you get to see a good ice sculpture these days.
We got ready at 916B, Grey Cloud typically dressed to the nines and me finally breaking in my new stilettos. Mikey, who is a fancy pants banker and dresses as such, arrived home, took off his tie, had a martini and grabbed his keys.
"You're not wearing a tie?" I asked casually.
He ignored me.
We arrived early and set up shop in the bar, ordering drinks from Manny.
(Quick story about Manny; The last time GC was in town, we grabbed drinks at the Club. I approached the bar to get another glass of Chardonnay and Manny asked to whose account he should charge my drink. When told the name, he asked me to point Grey Cloud out. "That guy, sitting over there in the grey suit." Manny casually replied, "Oh, you mean C. Thomas Howell? Got it."
I. Love. Manny.)
Suddenly, a group of 20-something, well-dressed and hot guys showed up. There must have been 10 of them. I leaned over to Mikey. "Oh, look. It's a douchebag convention." Grey Cloud, caught in a rare moment of sipping on plain water, replied, "Jesus Christ. It's like Boiler Room."
He was right. There was a high Vin Diesel vibe going on.
Manny came by and informed us our table in the main dining room was ready. We hopped in the elevator, went up a floor and approached the hostess desk. Immediately, GC declared, "We're ready for our table. And a tie."
It is at this point, I thought Mikey might kill himself.
"Oh my god."
"Mikey, I told you at home."
"I thought you were kidding."
No. Olympians are very uptight about these things.
The dining room is kinda like being on a cruise ship. There are huge chandeliers. Everyone's really dressed up. The food is kinda 'eh' and the service is kinda random. Mikey sat down, grumbling next to me. "The only reason I'm okay with this is because I just saw the douchebag convention is picking out ties in the foyer."
We ordered wine and Mikey removed his jacket, hanging it on his chair behind him.
Immediately, a server appeared and asked him to put it back on.
"Are you serious?"
Yes. Olympians are very uptight about these things.
We headed to the buffet, where I suddenly heard, "Beth!"
Oh look. It's my godmother and family. Much like Willie Brown, all of the men stood as I approached the table.
Which I adored.
I introduced my boys, who were far more concerned with deviled eggs and the carving station than meeting my people. And then, another, "Beth!"
Oh god.
More people.
And I'm standing around, wobbly on these goddamn heels, trying to balance a plate of creamed spinach while simultaneously hugging people I see once a year.
An image of me loudly crashing to the floor popped in my head. I excused myself and went back to our table, where Mikey pointed out the obvious.
Aside from getting to pretend you're in a movie and getting to charge everything to Grey Cloud's oblivious father, you've get crappy food in a really uptight, slightly too-bright environment and you have to run into your parent's friends and be charming and polite and well-behaved.
So, again, I'm torn on the Olympic Club. Their treadmills have built in flat screens and the little sandwich shop overlooking the indoor pool has incredible curried chicken salad sandwiches. And there's a constant douchebag convention going on, not to mention weird chocolate mousse in wine glasses and a ridiuclous dress code, just to make everyone nervous...

Thursday, August 09, 2007

the eagle has landed...

Grey Cloud is here. And by here, I don't mean "in town." I mean, physically here. Golf clubs and all.
He might even join me at Saturday's Gavin event, but only "for the publicity."
God help us...
*Oh shit. Grey Cloud just reminded me. As we dined at the bar at Flytrap last night, who should walk in?
Willie Brown.
Needless to say, one of the highlights of my life was saying, "Willie Brown, please meet my good friend Chris."
GC is hard to impress, folks. But WB kinda cinched it.
Not that he remembered me...

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

these are my people...

Necessity required that I swing by GhettoGas on my way to work this morning and lo and behold, the condemned, dilapidated shop continued to provide more blog fodder than I know what to do with. The place was packed with an array of hobos, school children and neglectful parents who think it's a good idea to take their toddlers and accompanying tricycles into GhettoGas.
Yeah, you heard me. Tricycles.
Worse, the kid on the trike parked himself IN the front door, prohibiting anyone from entering or exiting. I was the bitch that needed to enter. And I was the bitch who looked bitchier and bitchier everytime I said, "Excuse me."
My voice began all kid-talky, high-pitched, oh-god-don't-hate-me. But after like, 7 "Excuse me's", I was over it.
I finally stepped over the child who remained not oblivious, but uncaring, an approached the cashier with my $20. At GhettoGas, I refuse to insert my credit card at the pump, wisely deeming it too risky. I got in line behind 4 middle school kids, all of whom were purchasing an array of dusty candy and none of whom could complete their transaction for various reasons. One kid didn't have enough money. Another kid rethought his Skittles and went back for something better. A third kid couldn't make up her mind about what kind of Red Bull/Rockstar she wanted. It literally took them 10 minutes to make their way tricycle, still guarding the door as if a look-out for some impending crime.
The hobos, needless to say, just stood around eating their chimichangas from 1973. I guess it was too windy to hang out on their usual crates outside.
I finally made my way back to Pump #8 where my $20 waited to be turned into gas. A woman in an Audi station wagon had pulled in behind me, and as I pumped my gas she gave me a knowing look.
Oh hell no.
Don't comisserate with me, yuppie. You could get me shanked...

Monday, August 06, 2007

slick willie...

As Zoe and I arrived early for some Gavin event I dragged her to last week, we decided to grab a quick drink across the street at Enrico's. We sipped our drinks and checked out the scene, spending most of our time obsessing about the really hot drummer in the jazz band, who was dressed in all white ("...kinda like a house painter. I like it.") and clearly too cool for school.
From our little banquette, I gazed out the french doors to the people dining outside.
"Oh my god, Zoe. That's CBig!"
"And she's having dinner with Willie Brown!"
"Shut up!"
We decided to say hi on our way out and nervously adjusted our outfits as we made our way to the sidewalk. CBig, because she is a flawless person, immediately waved us over and was delighted to meet the "famous Zoe." She then introduced us to Willie Brown and the chick he's always with, Sonya Something Complicated. And folks, sure we were on our way to stalk the current well dressed mayor, but just know, the gauntlet had been thrown down before Gavin even showed up.
Because his predecessor STOOD to shake our hands.
You know, cuz we're ladies.
We couldn't get over it. That is, after we casually and calmly excused ourselves. Willie Brown, old school, fedora sporting, perfectly dapper former Mayor of San Francisco stands to meet a lady.

espressotinis and brain...

I love Flytrap. I've decided it's my official Cheers, provided my money tree starts blossoming.
I love the giant Gibsons. I love the rose petal presentation. I love the overtly flirty staff.
This is the kind of place you'd meet Willie Brown and he's stand to shake your hand.
I also love Lo and Mo.
And I loved our weekend.
But I do not love the complex streets of Alameda...

Friday, August 03, 2007

are you shitting me?

Okay, Gavin can not date Daphne "Melrose Ho" Zuniga, if for no other reason than she has an "Ask Daphne" section of her website.
What. The. Fuck.
Hey, I got a question. Dear Daphne, where the hell have you been since 1993?
And what the hell is a kindness gallery?
I don't know about you, but mercury poisoning sounds contagious. And I don't eat fish, so, you know, I'm clean.
Stop toying with me, Gavin. You're making me crazy.

The following video accurately captures my feelings for Gavin. I must insist that you watch it in it's entirety. This, folks, is what's called 'selling it.' And this is what I plan to perform outside of City Hall until Gavin has me arrested. Enjoy...

is this because i was "with" him last night...

I'm not one to gossip but according to the Bible, Gavin and Swiss Miss broke up.
Call, text, e-mail and comment with details. I need them ASAP. I'm goin' nuts ova here.

*Okay, okay. Let’s all calm down.
I’m saving the main story for later, but the BFF and I attended some snoozer Gavin event last night, attended by like, 5 nerds and a brilliant Gavin staffer who claims to read this very blog. Once the BFF figures out how to get her camera phone photos to become computer photos, I’ll obviously post them.
Gavin arrived sans Swiss Miss and spent like, half an hour after introducing a movie and then not watching it having his photo taken with everyone from the bouncer at Showgirls to an Armenian radio show host, who made me take her picture. I took this opportunity to talk to Gavin’s bodyguard, who is pretty much the nicest guy on earth and was just standing around watching Mayor Rockstar schmooze in the middle of Broadway. I promised said bodyguard that everything was off the record, which sucks, because he told me some good shit. None the less, it was really fun to talk with him, if only for his response to “Would you take a bullet for Gavin?”
ANYway, I got kinda sick of watching strippers and crack whores trying to get their slimy mugshot taken with my soulmate, so the BFF and I decided to call it a night. Gavin got in his Town car and I watched him drive off into the mist. I knew, as per the bodyguard that Gavin was “done for the night” and couldn’t help but wonder, if he going home to HER.
Apparently and gloriously not…

no jaden?

I don't know how I'm not supposed to comment on this article about an Arkansas family who just gave birth to their 17th child. All 17 children have names that begin with the letter "J", probably for Jesus or Judgement or J'stupid. The mom's name is Michelle. And the dad's name, not surprisingly, is Jim Bob.
That's right. Jim Bob.
Michelle, poor thing, has been pregnant for 10.5 years on her life. Isn't that like an elephant's gestation period? Oh, and they want to have more. Because that's just what Arkansas needs.
Who do we blame for this travesty? The Bible?
You know how every family has a fuck up? Some kind of random kin can't get their shit together and constantly let everyone down? (I know. If you can't figure out who it is, it's you. Er, me.)
You got 17 kids, at least 5 of them will end up in jail. Odds wise.
Joshinda's going to be pregnant by the time she's 11.
Jeffrie's already hurting small animals.
Christ, I think we all know little Jedidiah is a secret cutter...

Thursday, August 02, 2007

move it, bojangles...

Yesterday, the cops went through Golden Gate Park and "rousted" the hobos, whatever that means. Why they had to do it at 4:30am is beyond me. Did they need to catch the hobos before they left for work? I'm confused.
Anyway, the hobos were then taken to some big tent in the middle of the park where little angels sent from heaven tried to book them in shelters and tell them about county benefits. They also passed out bagels and blueberries. Oh, and orange wedges. Why do they always give hobos orange wedges? Anyone? To me and my fellow latch-key children, this kinda sounds like after school day care. Not a whole orange. A messy, un-peeled wedge. Because they're not filthy enough.
Oh, and the article features this trio of hobos. Hobos? Those are not hobos Those are just some edgy hipsters. Maybe the main one, who calls himself "Repo Violence" might be a little hobo-y. But the other two probably have a band called something ironic and generation specific, like 'Easy Bake Oven.'
I guess the city just needs to do a better job putting an actual face to the "hobo" because these three look like they probably have most of their teeth and a stylist.
So now they're talking about closing the park between midnight and 6am. Fine with me. The only time I'm in the park, sans vehicle, is to hit the Japanese Tea Garden and crash the occasional DeYoung gala. Like the hobos are going to check their Rolexs and suddenly say to one another, "Hey, Patches. It's 11:55. Should we call a cab?"
God bless that Heather Knight for getting the best quote from Gavin I've ever heard. "My mother told me that nothing good happens after midnight..."
Oh Gavin. Oh sweet, innocent Gavin. I have so much to teach you...