Thursday, January 31, 2008

back off, old timer...

Once again, The Man demanded that I head over to the DMV and renew Rhonda the Honda's registration. My girl's now street legal, but needless to say, it was an ordeal. No one sane would ever darken the doorway of the San Francisco DMV, because you have to step over dead bodies to even check in. Obviously, I do my shit in Marin.
The check-in table is manned by a highly competent older gentleman, however it's set up right at the rainy front door with a rag tine line of people queing up and making sure no one was cutting. Once I got to the front, I announced I had a registration renewal and was given number B104. I took a plastic seat and watched the monitors, which let me know that currently, B097 was being helped at Window 6.
Okay, 7 people in front of me.
An older guy kept making wacky faces at me and to my immense dismay, came and sat right next to me, ignoring protocol and refusing to leave the required empty buffer seat.
"What number are you?"
"Oh, I'm B104."
My new friend was G177 and apparently, the G people have to take driving tests. He's just turned 70, thus requiring the government to confirm his ability to operate motor vehicles.
"Well, good luck." I offered.
"Hey, you're supposed to tell me I don't look 70!"
Oh god. This is the DMV, sir. This is not the kinda place you wanna make friends.
He then began to openly laugh at the scraggly looking gentleman at Window 4, directly in front of us who did not have the $52 required for whatever transaction he was trying to complete.
A computerized voice, sounding much like a phone sex opperator announced, "B102 can now be served at Window 12."
2 more to go. But my friend wasn't shutting up. He kept itching his knit cap and trying to look at my paperwork. Not that I had anything to hide, but I'm not wild about this guy knowing my home address.
"B103!" He shouted. "One more for you to go and that's just great because I'm right behind you! Boy, I sure like this system."
Finally it was my turn across the room at Window 17.
"Good luck with your test." I smiled and raced away.
My new friend said nothing. He just made another wacky face at me.
I paid my $119 and for my "09" sticker within 3 minutes, packing up my handbag and making my way to the front door. But of course, I had to pass my new BFF.
I got another face full of wacky before he shouted, "Goodbye Elizabeth!"
Oh great. This grandpa totally knows where I live...

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

it's not on the menu, but i'll have them make it...

Last night, my fabulous friend Chris maintained tradition and took me to bacar for my birthday. Chris has recently sold out his dream of ruling the world in favor of becoming a lawyer and I wildly disapprove. But Chris is also innocent and responsible and unaware of my frequent dining out.
Which is why last night rocked.
The best thing about frequently spending your entire paycheck on not cooking is reaping the benefits.
As soon as we were seated, a server came up.
"Oh my god, I know you!"
It was Mikey, from Scott Howard. He's currently at bacar.
Now, I won't pretend that I'm automatically taken care of by talented servers who know my penchant for Gibsons and anything with onions. But I will admit that dropping the 30th Birthday helps.
A lot.
"Oh honey." Mikey announced. "You're going to have so much fun tonight."
Which is when the champagne arrived.
I have to admit, this turning really old is fun because I'm dragging it out forever. I think we had 8 courses last night, I can't be sure. It was ridiculous. Even better, when the manager came over, because you know, I'm 30, I asked if Emer was around.
Emer was the magical angel that made my dad's surprise party ROCK.
5 minutes later, Emer slid herself into the booth next to me.
With snacks and drinks.
This is a totally a post about how I'm delighted with my birthday, so please feel free to move on. But this is fabulous, you guys. Thank you so much. It continues through to next week, and honestly, I'm so grateful.
30. You guys, 30. Yikes.
I mean, my god. Should I be freezing my eggs...

PS: Again, thanks to CRF, who handed me the wine list and simply said, "Do whatever you want. I just don't want to know." Wow. I really must be old...

rise and shine...

Once again, we're up at dawn! Here's today's Culture Blog post...

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

i'm lying. i won't be nicer...

So, now that I'm basically best friends with Mike Farrah (we do each other's hair and talk about our hopes and dreams), I've resolved to be nicer to Room 200. But they make it so hard!
For example, every once in a while, I stumble upon one of those hilarious interviews with Gavin when he was a lowly little Supervisor and talked about his childhood pets.
Oh yeah. He had a dog named Snoopy.
He also got dumped by his girlfriend for Don Johnson.
How did I not know this? This is right up my alley!
What kind of retard dumps Princess for someone from 1985?
Anyway, enjoy the article! And tune into tomorrow's Culture Blog for 2 recaps; ProRun and my birthday party. You can read all about the Leno/JAV showdown of '08!
I was really hoping Patches would show up and park his cart by the door to wish me a HBD, but it was not to be.
Don Johnson. I still can't get over that shit...

tim riggins was snubbed...

Am I the only person on Earth who watched Sunday's Screen Actors Guild Awards? No one will discuss the show with me, and I'm dying to dish.
Like what the hell was Mickey Rooney doing there. He was supposed to present some mini-series awards and Gramps was acting like he was receiving one. Then he made some lame vaudevillian joke and announced the winner.
Queen Latifah!
Fabulous. If I could be any celebrity, I'd totally be Queen Latifah. Well, the Queen was attending to important matters of state, but no one filled Mickey in. He just stood there, scanning the crowd saying, "Miss Latifah? Miss Latifah?" as celebrities stifled laughter.
Loves it!
Who the hell is Ruby Dee? Someone help me out. She got a standing ovation and can't read cue cards. Poor Josh Brolin had to introduce the "In Memoriam" section, where we're reminded of all the celebrities who have died in the past year. Immediately, everyone thought to themselves, OMG, Heath!
They did it all classy-like with the Shawshank Theme and cut to commercial at the end. I mean, who wants to see Eva Longoria and Zac Efron present the award for Best Male Performance in a Comedy or Variety Show right after we're all reminded about death?
Nice call, SAG Awards. I wish you woulda thrown Mickey Rooney in there, just for laughs.
I'm delighted that Tina Fey won, and even more delighted that the Cast of the Office won. Stanley was standing up there beaming from ear to ear. I don't know why they let Pam accept the award, with her boring speech. I'd have loved to see Dwight do it in character...

Sunday, January 27, 2008

thank you!!!

Muchas Gracias to everyone who showed up in the pouring rain to my birthday last night. I have the hottest friends in town. I think I'll save the gossipy details for Wednesday's Culture Blog (I *heart* Mike Farrah), but seriously, you bitches are the best. My mom and Zoe and Brian worked really hard to make last night rock, and it totally did. An hour and a half to go!
PS: To my mother who's been calling me all day with, "And 30 years ago, right about now, Daddy was drinking Scotch and I was asking for drugs..." Nice work...

Thursday, January 24, 2008

from me to you...

A few of things I learned tonight.
1. Once is a lovely movie. I paid $4.99 for in on Pay Per View or whatever and it was worth every penny. I cried twice and "Guy" reminds me of my Uncle Bill. You should see it and call me so we can discuss and listen to the soundtrack and talk about our hopes and dreams.
2. As I told KG when she was picking out her wedding dress, "You never know how you really look until you see a picture." This theory has proved itself ONCE again. I just spent the past half hour taking pictures of myself in the mirror in three different outfits. Retarded? Perhaps. But whoever the asshole was who let me go out in that red cardigan/black skirt combo has some explaining to do. Folks, just because it feels cute doesn't mean it is cute.
3. I had a long overdue conversation the other day with an old and very good friend. He delighted in the fact that he'd just found a treasured list in which he listed all of the "women" he'd slept with and put them into categories. Race, breast-size, sexual ability, one-night-stand, repeat, older, younger, cool or not, etc.
I know. Classy.
This old friend...well, was once significantly more than a friend. So like a retard, I asked in which categories I ended up.
Gals, never ask.
Among 6 other things, I was one of the exclusive 16% deemed 'cool.' When I inquired as to what that meant, he responded, "I would be willing to hang out sans sex." Well, shit. That's beautiful. I was also listed under 'repeat' and 'caucasian.' While horrified, I realized something. He keeps a chart of the all women he's screwed. And I kept the Jack of Spades vehicle redemption card the valet gave us the first night we hooked up, lo together many years ago.
"Oh god." He responded, when I pointed this out. "You're such a chick."
Be that as it may, I'm glad I'm not an asshole who makes charts...

tick tock...

I saw an ad on Lifetime the other night, promoing a new TV movie.
Premiering Saturday night at 8pm is 7 Things to do Before I'm 30.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Oh my god. Get a load of this description:

"Pretty, charming, and weight-challenged (at least as she sees it) Lori Madison is a month shy of the big '3-0' when her life implodes. Losing her job, her New York apartment, and her boyfriend in a single day, she goes home to a Colorado resort town to stay with her bigger-than-life mother and supportive brother until she finds some direction. In her childhood bedroom, Lori discovers a list she made as a kid -- "7 Things to Do Before I'm 30" -- and realizes she hasn't accomplished a single item."

I won't be home to watch this because I'll be at my goddman 30th birthday party, but I'm glad Lifetime is giving me a mere 28 hours to complete these 7 mysterious tasks.
Needless to say, I'm TiVoing it...

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

make it exuberant...

In case you need a break from Heath drama, not that I do, my ProRun Recap is up! I even made the little SFGate box on the front page of the Chronicle. RIGHT under a picture of Heath, stealing my thunder...

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

i just can't quit you...

Heath Ledger was found dead today. Like 2 hours ago. I just screamed this across my office.
My co-worker pointed out, amidst gasps of horro, that Brad Renfro died last week and these things always happen in threes.
We all guessed Britney.
*UPDATE!!! He was found naked in Mary Kate Olsen's apartment in SoHo and my mother was a block away when they found him. THIS is the most detailed info I can find.
*UPDATE 2: It wasn't Mary Kate's apartment. Weird...
Oh my god. Heath. I once had a dream about him and I sharing a cigarette and knowing glances on a cable car...

relax. he's doing it today...

Those adorable Brians had me over for dinner on Sunday night and upon arrival, Brian D. poured me a glass of wine and announced, "Oh my god, Squirrel stole a sandwich from a hobo today!"
Squirrel and Popeye are the Brians' treasured pugs.
"Wait, what do you mean?"
"She stole a sandwich from a passed out hobo and ate it! At the park this afternoon."
When I pointed out to the Brians that their rich dogs are stealing food from foodless hobos, Brian L. immediately started digging through their pantry. All of a sudden, he starts lining up granola bars.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh my god, he's making a hobo snack pack."
In addition to granola bars, we decided minty gum would be good, because hobos rarely have fresh breath, a juice box, some toilet paper, chapstick and a triangle of cheese...for protein.
While dog food jokes were certainly made, "Since Squirrel ate his food, we should give him Squirrel's food!" we decided letting your dog steal from a hobo was bad enough.
Brian L. then wrapped it in a brown bag and wrote a note, explaining that his pampered, gay-couple, pure-bred dog stole what must have been a suddenly missing sandwich and this care package was a peace offering.
Brian then decides to give it to the hobo right then and there, knowing exactly where said hobo sleeps it off all day and night.
"But you know, it's down that ravine. I can't really get down there."
"What are you going to do? Throw it at him?"
"Well, I could toss it."
Jesus Christ.
We sat down to our lovely dinner, which did not include cheese squares and Brian plotted his delivery.
When we met up for Happy Hour last night, I asked the Brians if they gave the hobo snack pack to their victim.
"Nope. I didn't do it today."
"Why not?"
"It was raining..."

Monday, January 21, 2008

i've got a lot of free time...

Zoe and I have reinstated our weekend workout. The difference between us, one of the many, is that I drive to the Marina Green and Zoe runs there.
She fucking runs there.
Anyway, our weekly hour and a half along the Bay is obviously spent discussing the minutiae of our lives. I'm talking shit like, "Oh my god, I almost forgot to tell you! I got new shoes!"
We also discuss television at length and in filling Zoe in on all the shows she HAS to watch so we can discuss, I realized I've added a lot to my entertainment regime.
Obviously, I pretty much live for The Office, Friday Night Lights and above all else, Project Runway. Mikey and Eve have gotten me committed to 30 Rock, which is admittedly genius. But Zoe doesn't watch network television.
We're both into Millionaire Matchmaker, where some sad woman fixes up "millionaires" with model/actress types. Sick and disgusting, yes. But as you read this post, you'll see a theme developing.
Like Celebrity Rehab! Zoe rolled her eyes at this one. "Isn't it all celebrities no one's heard of?"
"Well, yeah. But you GROW to love them." Plus, Dr. Drew, the brilliant, mellow and somewhat attractive addiction specialist is kind of a straight Tim Gunn with a stethoscope.
The Real Housewives of Orange County is goddamn stupid. But I can't look away. I just want to bedazzle a crucifix on a tank top and get acrylic nails. And sticking in Orange County, Lifetime brings us Top This Party, featuring a party planner to the insane and appallingly wealthy. My favorite client so far as been 70 year old Dr. Mel and his "friend", the 25 year old Lindsay. Mel and Lindsay keep getting grilled on the details of the their relationship. Everytime Lindsay says, "We're friends. Right, Mel?" Mel just looks down at the ground and shrugs. The guy bought her a boat! But hey, one look at Dr. Mel and his Just for Men and you'd say you were just friends, too.
Finally, I'm back on with the Golden Girls. This morning alone, Rose placed a personal ad in the Community Center newsletter and when no one responded, Blanche and Dorothy made up a guy named Isaac Newton and wrote her love letters. Hello? Genius.
It's been a slow weekend. Sue me...

Friday, January 18, 2008

the love of my life... Don Rickles.
When I was a purple-haired, bitter-ass, high-maintenance, weed-smoking teenager, my hero was Don Rickles.
In fact, my hero is still Don Rickles.
On family trips, I'd play his CDs on my ghetto "disc-man" for Alex, Kate, Matt and Jenny, watching their shock masking pure joy. Don Rickles is God and I've always felt I was born 40 years too late because shit, I love three things above all else: sequins, booze and off-color humor.
I had a rough day at work today and decided to come back to my folks and raid their top-shelf cheese and wine, not to mention their high-end cable as opposed to spending Friday night feeling like a spinster-dork at my own house. I'm currently watching a documentary about Don, cheese on Wheat Thin and Chardonnay almost empty and it turns out, guess what?!?!
Don will be in my old haunt, glamorous South Lake Tahoe on February 16th!
Folks, I put out. I drink like a Kennedy and I curse like a sailor. Plus, I've got some cute outfits. I NEED TO BE AT THE MONTBLEU on the 16th.
The man could be dead in a year.
I'm just saying.
It's my Make-A-Wish...

having a boyfriend is hard...

So after receiving a press release from JAV and reading my padre's article on a proposed Marin Commuter Tax for Golden Gate Bridge commuters, I wrote a scathing blog in which I expressed anger at my boyfriend for apparently supporting said tax.
Because we have such a healthy and communicative relationship, Marky and I talked it out this morning and he clarified both his position and his adorableness.
Thank god, because I don't want to die alone and this is the most stable relationship I've ever had.
Anyway, Mark explained that it's going to cost a ton of cash to fix Doyle Drive and if it collapses, we're all fucked. (He put that slightly more delicately.) Which is why he's already helped to secure almost half of the cost from the state and believes the current plan of the Marin Commuter Tax is unfair. All I'm allowed to quote is "San Francisco should not move forward independent of the leadership and concerns of Marin County."
Isn't it cute how he comes up with these sound bites off the top of his head? The rest of our conversation is off the record, but you people don't want the details of Spots/Leno pillow talk anyway. You'd just roll your eyes and groan, "Oh those kooky lovebirds."
So setting the record straight, Mark is not in favor of the proposed Marin Commuter Tax Plan and I had forgotten how boring actual governing is.
Hopefully, the Leap Day debate will be dicey! I've already taken off work, I can't wait to see what Carole wears. I do have to hand it to JAV, tho. He has JAV dog clothing for sale.
Yeah. Like dogs can vote...

stop the presses...

Bill Wilson, you're the greatest photo-journalist of our time.
I believe you may have captured Alex Tourk and Gavin on the same playground! I guess while Alex was outside making sure Jackie was being hip, Gavin was mostly inside coloring.
I wish someone made them sit on the thinking bench and talk their shit out like big boys. If Alex T. is going to front some big political consulting company, I guess it's good he and Gavin N. can party with the same fabulously accessorized candidate.
Rock on Jackie. Building bridges...

more like cursed...

Thank god I have Joe in my life who doesn't know how to tell time and calls me at 7:30 in the morning because homegirl woke me up just in time for Gavin on Alice!!!
Alex and I both crashed at our folks last night after dinner at Bungalow 44 where we ate at the bar and my brother got hit on by an old ass cougar who kept announcing how drunk she was while showing him her daughters' hooker photos on her phone.
So this morning, now wide awake, I struggled with some clock radio trying to find 97.3 only to realize that someone set it to AM.
AM? Really? For what? News?
Finally on Alice, I had a few minutes to kill so I rummaged around to find a pen and something to write on, convinced Gavin would make my Friday with lots of sound bites and gems, like the time he confessed on Energy Gay Radio that he didn't use just one kind of hair gel. He creates his own blend.
That pretty much made my year. Christ, I'm still talking about it.
Amid much fanfare, Gavin shows up and is...motherfucking boring.
I blame the Alice Morning Show for this because they spent the majority of Gavin precious time talking about some stupid bowling alley. Who the hell bowls? Certainly no one in a state touching an ocean.
So right away, everyone congratulates Gavin on his engagement and how hot Swiss Miss is. "I'm blessed."
Barf. Gross. Sick.
But at least talk about it!
Nope. All we get is that Gavin pawns people he doesn't want to talk to anymore onto Swiss Miss. Duh. That's her job. That's like, Chapter One of Political Spousing for Dummies. I guess the Alice Morning "Crew" got to go to Gavin inaugural bash at the DeYoung where there was an open bar and apparently, the drinks were stiff.
Gavin quips, "It's all that alcohol I haven't had in the past year."
He went on to claim that he hasn't had a drop of booze this whole time, and only misses it when he's bored. Really? I start missing it at around 2pm.
We finally move onto the Tatiana the Tiger story, although Gavin keeps referring to her as a lion. He also called the mauling victims "drunk and stoned" but said that "shouldn't be a death sentence." Apparently, they had Grey Goose in their car. Nice.
Then we get onto the goddamn bowling alley for an eternity until suddenly, Gavin has to go.
Oh, and his parting words, amidst more fucking congratulations on his foxy fiance?
He wants kids.
Barf. Gross. Sick...

* I almost forgot! A kid at THIS EVENT asked him if it was true that Gavin only had one chest hair. I love this kid...

Thursday, January 17, 2008

i win...

So my brother and I were going to have mellow, laid-back, premium cable night at our folks right now. Ma and Pa are out of town and we want to raid my father's freezer full of homemade lamb stock and complex cheese and Molonari's raviolli. The man's freezer is like Ina Garten's wet dream.
My brother walked in the front door, looked at me and said, "Oh, is that what you bought at Banana Republic today?"
"It's really cute. I like it. It's different."
Stay home with that kind of compliment? Hell no!
I was all, "There's nothing to cook. We could go to D'Angelo's?"
"Or Bungalow 44?"
"Ugh, I don't know."
There's one straight man in my life whose opinion counts.
We're going out! I love my brother...

making it work...

I've been accused of being 29 forever. Not true, I tell you!
I've been 29 since January 28, 2007.
And you know what that means. Yeah, I turn 30 in 11 days.
I am none to pleased about this unfortunate turn of events, other than being delighted I've lived this long. And while I vow never to lie about my age, I refuse to lie about how freaked out I am either.
Folks, I'm freaked out.
Which is why I'm celebrating this tragic event over a full, 9-day week.
Last year, deemed "Beth's Last Hurrah", we had a big, classy sit-down at the WashBaG. Obviously, that can't happen this year. So I'm inviting my peeps (and by peeps, I mean people who's e-mail address I have) to a dive bar blow-out. My mom's hooking us up with Mexican food, the Brians are in charge of a cake, the BFF is on "Dignity Patrol" and I plan to enter my 30's surrounded by fabulous friends and looking as acceptable as possible.
Which means...New Outfit!
When I was a kid, my mom wouldn't buy me a new dress until I could list 6 events to which I would wear it.
As my birthday is relatively close to the holidays, my six places always were: Father/Daughter Dance, Payne's Christmas Party, Ryken/Spotswood Pre-Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve Mass, Kids Beth's Birthday Party and Family Beth's Birthday Party.
Easy. Done. One big taffeta monstrosity for all of December and January.
Now that I'm (almost) 30, the times have apparently changed.
Parents no longer fund my wardrobe. And I need a birthday ensemble.
Which is how I ended up at Banana Republic this afternoon.
I was in there last week, shoving some pushy woman out of my sale section when I took a good look at her.
Once she stopped laughing, I filled her in on my dilemma.
"Oh, an outfit for the party. It should be casual, right?"
I'd wear a tiara to a matinee of Superbad if I could get away with it. One of the many things I'm not is casual.
She was no help.
Finally in Banana solitude mere hours ago, I selected three different "tops."
Ugh, I can't decide. Maybe I should just concede that I'm old and wear a touristy "Alcatraz" sweatsuit.
But seriously. This is like, the biggest decision of my life...

oy vey...

I'd been wondering what ever happened to Veronica Ruiz, the woman who went missing on Mount Tam and whose mother I met in the midst of all of this. Finally, they found her body on Sunday during a search and rescue training exercise right by my folks' house. She died of a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.
Over a guy? A stupid guy? A dipshit, under-developed, says the wrong thing guy?
I can understand a broken heart. Hell, I'm the one that practically collapsed in front of a bar on Cole St. with KG trying to comfort me until the BFF's boyfriend showed up and announced, "Alright, we'll take it from here."
He put me to bed with a bottle of Chardonnay and an MTV Made Marathon. Turns out, I survived. Because, shit. It's only a GUY.
The thing that sucks is that, when her mom showed up in my office, holding my hand and crying about how it was raining and her daughter might be cold, Veronica was already dead. But her poor mother was in hell, convinced her daughter needed immediate help.
I've certainly had my issues with Joanne. But if I was going to off myself, I wouldn't let my poor parents wallow in worry, wondering for months if I'm in some hallowed out tree-trunk eating bugs and waiting for them to find me.
Anyway, now I have to take this missing poster off my office window and I'm all depressed about it.
Mystery solved...

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

two dollars is starbucks, mark...

My favorite political columnist, travel companion and all around adult male recently wrote about a proposed double toll on the Golden Gate Bridge called the Marin Commuter Tax.
Double toll? What the fuck? Daddy, stop this travesty!
For those that don't commute over the Golden Gate Bridge every day like some of us have done since we were 14 goddamn years old, I'll explain.
Going from Marin to San Francisco, you pay $5, or $4.6o-something if you have Fasttrack, which I do. With this proposed tax, we'd have to pay $2 to go back to Marin. At least at peak hours, whatever that means.
Back in the day, I'd commute from home in Mill Valley to high school in San Francisco, and these days, I commute from San Francisco to my job in Mill Valley.
Hey, once a townie, right?
Well, in the hotly contested race for State Senate in District 3, making up most of San Francisco and all of Marin, guess who's the only one against this horrible toll?
Nope, not my boyfriend, Mark Leno. Or my nemesis, Judge Judy on Crack.
But JAV!
JAV? Caring about the commuters?
Well, while he refuses to invite me to his parties (FYI: I still take the highroad and invite him to mine) JAV has kept me on his mailing list and just sent an e-mail saying Alan Dershowitz in Drag has changed it's mind!
But wait. That means...Mark? MY MARK? Wants to tax me? How is this possible. Normally, I don't give a shit about platforms or policy or whatever you call them. I'm always on Team Mark, unless I'm at Tiramisu in which case JAV knows the owner and it's kinda like being in Godfather IV. But taxing the "working poor" of Marin and San Francisco! Mark! Say it ain't so! Why do you hurt me with this?
Oh please. This isn't break-up worthy. Mark and I are SO still together. He's just going to have to make up my extra tolls in Gibsons. And of course, fix things with his future father in law.
Which will be easy since Scrappy is moderating the Leap Day debate.
I just hope Carole shakes hands this time...

i'm not feeling fierce right now...

God, I love Wednesdays! HERE IS MY PRO-RUN RECAP and tune in at noon for thoughts on what the fuck is up at the zoo...

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

bitches, i'm sick...

None the less, the highlights:
1. The BFF had me over for drinks before dinner. Her boyfriend had received what she deemed "fancy Champagne" for Christmas and I was allowed to partake.
Okay. Glorious, I like booze. I'm saving a bottle of Moet for my birthday, even.
I arrived, disheveled and starving to find...Dom Perignon! Hell motherfucking Yes! It came with an instruction booklet and everything! The BFF and the BF didn't see what the big deal was, but I did. I felt like I was losing my virginity again, and it was just as good.
Okay, actually, it was better.
2. My brother, Becky, Big Chris, The Brians and Bob came over for dinner on Sunday. I'm beginning to love Sunday dinner again, as long as it's like an episode of Friends. I screwed up my brussel spouts, but otherwise, my really hot lawyer made fresh bread and Bob brought Tecate and I remember it was lovely. Big Chris stayed late and watched crappy TV movies with me and the next thing I knew, I woke up...SICK.
Being sick sucks. This isn't fake, get out of work, spend all day drinking Spumanti and doing your nails. This is gross, Dayquil and toilet-paper-as-Kleenex ugly. Feel free to send floral arrangements. I'm probably close to death.
I'm cranking out my Eve stuff now, God willing...

PS: Confidential to Molly and Chris, I'm alive. But thanks for worrying. Shit, one day!

Friday, January 11, 2008

bill wilson gets artsy!

God bless that Bill Wilson, for following Gavin everywhere I can't. I'm all over Barak, but here's Gavin 4 BLOCKS from my house, telling my ghetto-ass neighbors how some woman who wouldn't be caught dead eating a churro will better their lives. Hey, I'd kiss Clinton ass too. Actually, I'd do a lot more than that to William Jefferson, but moving on...
Check out that eagle. It looks like it's about to shit on Gavin. And get a load of Angela Alioto's twin, who if you check out the whole sequence of photos, totally bogarts the Mayor. Share the wealth, Ang. Is that Dwight Schrute in the background? He'd be way cuter if Golden Boy wasn't glowing like Jesus walking on water and stealing thunder.
I said I wanted a Venti!
OMG, Ragone! He's so casual. I thought it was a hobo at first, but then I realized it's Bjorn working some WWII jacket, like Bette Midler in For the Boys.
Love it. Love Ragone.
I don't know what's going on here, but it delights me to no end. It's either a fight or a heart to heart. Both would be awesome. And is that woman in the unfortunate haircut and London Fog in the background a bodyguard. Because we love her too.
Smile, Svetlana!Bill Wilson, this is awesome. We've got the Virgin Mary, Hilary Clinton and Jesus. Feel free to bring all three to my birthday party, by the way...

Thursday, January 10, 2008

self help...

Last week I expressed my SHOCK at Mayor Gavin Newsom’s unfortunate engagement. In the interest of healing, I’ve decided to detail my seven stages of grief. Perhaps, in writing about this horrible turn of events, I will finally be able to move on and get on with my life. This week, I present to you DENIAL and ANGER. And don’t forget, you’ve got BARGAINING, GUILT, DEPRESSION and ACCEPTANCE coming soon!

Stage 2: DENIAL

My soulmate is going to have some high society, Carneros vineyard, valet parking, organic food, open bar wedding, where he stands at the end of some manicured lawn in front of 600 of his nearest and dearest watching the apparent love of his life walk down the aisle?
And somehow, it won’t be me?
I find this hard to believe.
It’s like the Earth has fallen off her axis. This is not God’s will. We’re in bizarro world.
Maybe it’s not really happening and this is some way of distracting us from the fact that he’s about to fire a bunch of people no one cares about anyway.
What kind of engagement is announced by an uptight, chain-smoking, bespectacled, “close” friend of the couple, event planner? The fake kind!
Stanlee Gatti? That’s who breaks this devastating news? This is the sort of thing we’d want to hear from Walter Cronkite, it’s so earth-shattering.
War, assassination, famine, genocide, Gavin engaged?
Yeah, I don’t want Stanlee Fucking Gatti to be the one to break the news. Call me crazy, I need a slightly more reliable source. Perhaps someone who doesn’t have their florist on speed-dial. Is that asking too much?
I’m sure Swiss Miss and her cadre of “girl’s girls” are all aflutter, pouring over back issues of Martha Stewart Living Weddings and stockpiling Dexatrim. Well, fine. Let them plan their fake wedding and its sly attempt to distract us from far bigger problems.
Like all of the things that could and WILL happen to prevent this disaster from taking place. There are wagons, folks. And people fall off them. Most likely into the arms of loose-moraled blogger. Hey, I can pass out on a doorstep any day of the week and twice on Sunday.
I’ll believe it when I see it.

Step 3: ANGER

After all I’ve done for Gavin he’s going and marrying someone else. Year after year of swooning over him and his stupid hair products, defending him to any hippie who’d listen, maintaining a polite and court-required distance of 100 yards at all times.
And Princess stabs me in the back.
I’m livid! I’m horrified! Quite frankly, I’m offended!
How dare he watch network television, much less get engaged to an actress from a show no one watches.
And to think, I would’ve done anything for him. Put up with his boring friends? No problem. Pretend to love hobos? Done. Set foot in Matrix? Uh…are the drinks comped?
Anyway, I think this whole engagement thing is some passive-aggressive way of getting back at me for making fun of his…well, everything.
Gavin! I’m just teasing! It’s how I flirt!
But this? Spending the rest of your life with Bee Saver? Please.
I’ve stuck by fratboys’s ass through booze and bimbos, hobos and hair gel. And this is how Gavin chooses to repay me. That’s just great.
Fine. Get married. Again. See if I care.
Maybe this one won’t make inappropriate jokes about your package in public. Maybe this one won’t immediately give birth to some gay’s child. Maybe this one won’t be from the planet Zeldar.
Aw, who’m I kidding.
I give it a year. Two max.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

guy, say it ain't so...

Tragedy strikes again. Today's Culture Blog is up on SFGate. 
This is a crime against humanity, if you ask me. 
What the hell are we going to do on Mondays...

i've just collapsed on the floor in hysterics...

According to M&R, "An eyewitness tells us Newsom showed up at Tiffany's on Union Square three days before Christmas with his sister to pick out the ring. Our source says it was about 3 carats and cost a bit over $100,000."

That rock is MINE!!!!!!!!!

I hate to say it, but after a 20 year old retard, apparent rehab and a huge sex scandal that people will never shut up about, Swiss Miss kinda earned that FABULOUS ring. If it were me, I'd spend every minute of every day just gazing at it, twirling it in the light and whispering, "Mrs. Gavin Newsom, Mrs. Gavin Christopher Newsom, Mrs. Elizabeth Anne Newsom..." Wha? Oh, I mean, er. Nevermind...

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

yellow? in this weather? please...

According to the Chronicle, Gavin has just been sworn into his second term and was joined onstage by his dad, sister, nieces and "his new fiancée, Jennifer Siebel, who sported a yellow dress and diamond engagement ring, and whom Newsom referred in his speech as 'the love of my life.'"
Dear God in heaven, what the fuck? I just threw up a little in my mouth.
I've been rapidly trying to find photo evidence of this bullshit, but the only snippets that are up are on ActLocally and you can't see much. I believe I made out Swiss Miss pretending to play with Gavin's nieces in some attempt at pre-aunthood. All I could wonder was how it was explained to them that they had another weirdo aunt to tolerate and imagined her speaking to them as if they were retarded.
I bet she gives them really gender-specific gifts like tiaras and tutus.
Actually, my birthday's right around the corner. That doesn't sound so bad.
None the less, yellow? It's 12 degrees outside and looks like the end of the world. Half the Bay Area has no power and trees limbs litter the roadways. Yellow? YELLOW?
City Hall's rotunda is not conducive to yellow. Personally, I'd go with a nice Bururry Prorsum first-lady-esque statement. But I guess that's just me. Yellow makes me look like a bruised banana.
And this probably goes without saying, but I'm going to need to see this rock. I'm talking color and clarity, people. Here's hoping it's a marquis in YELLOW gold...

zach braff...

I have just woken from a nightmare in which I was a Rwandan refugee. Seriously. It was very elaborate, involving all kinds of horrible attacks and a forced abortion and a filthy refugee camp where I kept looking for journalists so my story could be heard by the world.
One would think I watched some depressing Rwandan documentary immediately prior to going to bed.
Friday Night Lights.
And when I'm wide awake in the middle of the night because I'm afriad to go back to sleep for fear of unconscious genocide, I do something along these lines:

Monday, January 07, 2008

this is way better news than Gavin and Swiss Miss...

...but horrible news for my mother.
The Brians got engaged on New Year's Eve!!!

I am now scouring fabulous gay wedding websites and planning my outfits for the various parties and showers I'll be throwing! I can report that the proposal was highly traditional and happened on the balcony of their cruise ship cabin. Fabulous! Only this news could help me recover from recent tragic events.

Congratulations Brian and Brian!!!!!

Friday, January 04, 2008

where's billy tyne when you need him...

Oh yeah. The bottom of the ocean.
Anyway, for those that aren't in gorgeous San Francisco right now, let me fill you in. I'm about ready to build an ark. Up before dawn, I decided to be productive and clean my house, prep my Culture Blog, do my laundry and actually hit the gym before work.
Really, this is unheard of.
So I pack my real clothes and my hairdryer into my Timbuktu and venture outdoors. My god. Trees in roads. Trash cans everywhere. Frightened pedestrians with inside-out umbrellas.
Slowly I made my way down Van Ness (I think I saw Gavin's Towncar!) and onto the Golden Gate Bridge which featured big flashing "CAUTION/HIGH WIND" signs.
I have shitty windshield wipers as it is, but visibility was so low anyway, all of us stayed in the middle lane and moseyed along at 30mph.
Finally at SuburbaGym, I checked in just as the lights flickered.
"If the lights go out, we're going to evacuate!" I was informed by an enthusiastic trainer. I grabbed a Saveur and my iPod, complete with new Cardio Mix (I was up REALLY early) and hit the eliptical. 15 minutes in, the lights went out.
I fought a monsoon-like torrent to get to my car and called my boss.
"The electricity is out in Mill Valley. Like OUT."
We agreed. We weren't working today. Only, this means I have to drive all the way back to my house. Across that damn bridge again. I mean, I'm not hanging at my folks house, 5 minutes away, unless there's premium cable and chilled Chardonnay.
Those of us willing to brave the freeway travelled along at our safety pace, and I was delighted my fellow drivers were as paranoid as me.
Folks, it's bad out there.
I swung by Safeway on my way home to stock up on provisions. After all, it's supposed to be like this all weekend.
Right there in the premium booze aisle, it happened.
Lights out.
When the electricity goes out at Ghetto Safeway, all hell breaks loose. FYI.
After a second, the generator kicked in, warming up the emergency lights and check-out swipers, but for a second there, I was convinced I'd be raped next to the discount champagne.
I grabbed what I deemed good "stuck in my house watching VHS cassettes all weekend" food. So basically, those Safeway brand appetizers and lots of "100 calorie" packs of random junk food. I was nervous the lights would be off at home, but lo and behold, here I am. Illuminated.
My mother just called, trapped in Mill Valley. "I'm bored! And I'm getting sick of listening to KCBS on a goddamn transistor radio! Call me back!"
Yeah, it was worth risking my life on the GGB as opposed to huddling up next to my mom, a transistor radio and some warm Chard.
Half the streets around me have been shut down, but if you're in the hood, stop by for some Safeway apps, cheap but cold booze and my VHS collection. We can start with the Mighty Ducks and work our way up to You've Got Mail...

PS. Let's talk about the Penn divorce later! Call me...


I know, I know. I'm awake so early. Maybe it's because I'm so riled up about Brittney getting thrown in the funny farm. Or Maybe it's because Obama swept Ohio! Or was it Idaho? Iowa?
One of those states no one cares about, anyway.
This is great news for me, as I'm on the Obama train to DC for obvious reasons.
Oprah says so.
But if Obama's going to be president, and I certainly don't want to jinx it, there's something that doesn't really concern me as much as I can't help but notice it.
Will this be the first time in American history where our President is at war with a terrorist who shares his name, save for one letter?
Is this a horrible question? Don't act like you never noticed. I mean, how many times has someone called Obama "Osama"? And probably vice versa. It would be like it the middle of WWII, electing someone to overthrow the Nazis named Hatler.
Hey, it's no big whoop to me. I'm just throwing it out there...

Thursday, January 03, 2008

coffee filters and maxi pads...

I could barely contain myself, so I cranked out last night's ProRun recap early. Enjoy it, designers...

don't worry. i'm still into serial killers...

These days, I'm rediscovering a slight obsession with hoarders. I love them!
My absolute favorites are the Collyer Brothers, Homer and Langley, who lived alone as bachelors in their family's Harlem mansion until their deaths in 1947. They rigged there house with booby traps and after Homer went blind, Langley saved every newspaper for decades so when Homer regained his sight, he could catch up on the news.
Homer, you see, would regain his sight with a diet of 100 oranges a week.
For reasons I can't figure out, someone anonymously called the cops and claimed there was a dead body in the Collyer Mansion. After digging through the place for 2 hours, the fuzz finally found Homer, slumped over and only 10 hours into his demise.
Langley was nowhere to be found. Everyone thought he went on the lam and really, that might explain who called in the anonymous tip.
Until 2 weeks later, when a worker found Langley dead. 10 feet away from Homer.
Homer blind and paralyzed, Langley crawled through tunnels made of newspapers to bring him food, until one of his own booby traps collapsed on him. Without Langley, Homer starved.
So what I don't get is who the hell called in the anonymous tip?
The brothers didn't have a phone. It was basically impossible to get in or out. And it's not like they had any friends. My only theory is that some nosey neighbor housewife chain smoking in curlers had been staking out the Collyer Mansion out of boredom and fascination, thus figuring out when one of them had died.
I'm not wild about it, but it's all I got.
Obviously, I'm open to other suggestions...

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

up early means bloody marys...

Here're my thoughts on the most ridiculous turn of events in the history of faux love...
Ah, Tahoe.
Needless to say, I drowned my immense sorrow in lots and lots of vodka. I hope you all did as well. I actually had a really fun time at our ghetto ass hotel, home to the $2 drink, 24/7.
God bless Nevada.
Harrah's on New Year's Eve, however, is another story. It's like Douchetown, USA. Mikey and I looked at each other over a Vitamin water bottle filled with booze and were in awe.
6 of us crammed into a hotel room for two nights, where I'm proud to say, security was only called once.
You think I'm kidding? Think again.
Hey, that's what you get for $2 drinks, Lakeside Inn and Casino.
Our first night, we went to some nightclub called Vex, where you have to wait in line and pay for the privilege of watching go-go dancers grind each other in cages.
We spent the next day lounging around eating Cheetos and watching the Law and Order marathon before dinner at the hotel.
Then we hit "The Strip."
I don't know how people get away with calling 4 casinos in a row a "strip" but the place was insane. I've never seen so much body glitter in my life.
I passed out at around 2am, having lost $10 on video poker and woke up to my 5 co-horts, sprawled all over the place, one with what I've decided is a broken hand, another with a knee the size of a basketball.
Hey, that's what you get for $2 drinks, Lakeside Inn and Casino. In an uncharacteristic move, I walked away unscathed. This hangover, however, I'm still dealing with...
*The Culture Blog might be up today, if Eve doesn't fire me for being a late, drunken slacker...