Category Archives: I’m typing so fucking hard I might break my fucking Mac book Air

Single Ladies.

So if you’re mad, get mad. — The Pretenders

We need to have a conversation. Here’s why. I just turned on Oprah and she’s interviewing Jenny McCarthy about her break-up with Jim Carrey. I don’t have anything against either of them, but are you fucking kidding me? This is your last year of your show and you’re interviewing a C/B-list celebrity about her break-up to some dude who tweeted about it some seven months ago? Are you fucking kidding me, Oprah? I’m not going to use the J-word (journalism) but how is this worth 5 minutes of airtime, let alone almost an entire hour? I just broke up with some dude, where’s my fucking interview? Is someone going to have me on their show so I can complain about how I thought we were “going to go the distance” (because unless you use that cliche you’re not sincere) and how I’ve learned so much about myself and can I make rousing statements like, “LADIES, MAKE YOUR OWN MONEY!” and have an audience cheer for me? Why don’t I get to dispense this pithy Skinny Bitch/”Single Ladies” babble to millions of women? And how did Jenny McCarthy make a career out of this? Oh right, she became Oprah’s friend. If you do that, you’re set for life.

Speaking of “Single Ladies”: no. No more of this song. It was a great song, a great video (“One of the best of all time. OF ALL TIME.“) but when Liza Minelli is limping her way through it in a sequel to an HBO movie it needs to stop. First of all, I am a single lady, but I do not want anyone to put a fucking ring on it. I am in no way ready or willing to get married to anyone, and the idea that all women are dating just so they can wind up with a ring on their finger is fucking insulting. Believe it or not we have other shit we would like to achieve in life. Secondly, I can buy my own fucking rings. Thirdly, if you liked it, you should have treated me with fucking respect. A ring has nothing to do with it. And I know that when Beyonce sings, “Put a ring on it” she’s referring to her hand and not to herself, but there’s only so many times I can hear this song and not associate the word “it” with something else. And what really pisses me off is that I really liked this stupid song! Remember “Crazy In Love”? That was a great fucking song! Beyonce has some great hits! But then it just kind of mushroomed into something else. It turned into something that “I’m-not-a-regular-mom-I’m-a-cool-mom”s claimed as their anthem, as they danced to it at weddings. To quote the great Christian Bale, “It’s fucking distracting.” It’s like the time I went to a Lady Gaga concert that was promptly ruined by the painfully “hip” mom dancing in front of my fucking face and blocking my fucking view for the entire fucking concert. Pull up your goddamn low rise jeans, sit down, and stop embarrassing your preteen daughter. I don’t need to see this. You can enjoy pithy pop songs as much as the rest of us, but you can’t relish it. I’m sorry. It just comes off as sad. Which is why when I see Jenny McCarthy babbling about how okay she is being single as she warms up Oprah’s audience by doing the whole “Single Ladies” dance routine I feel like I’m watching Michael Scott do something awkward on “The Office.” Stop. Please stop.

And Oprah, you need to put an end to this. All of this. “We’ve never broken up,” Oprah randomly announced, about her relationship with Steadman. Oprah, I cannot think of a single fucking person who actually gives a fuck about your boring fucking relationship. I also can’t think of a single person who actually buys that you are in a relationship with Steadman. And you keep talking about how you like to keep your personal life private, so why the hell do you keep bringing it up? If you’re going to let your guests make total fools of themselves by babbling about their break-ups like they’re having lunch with their girlfriends, then at least pull it together and stay out of it. Tom Cruise made a total jackass of himself on your show when he was in love, and you kept your mouth shut. Don’t try to do the girl talk. Maybe try to have topics that aren’t completely inane.

I’m still going to watch the rest of this episode though.

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A Strongly Worded Letter.

GCHI11

Dear West Hollywood,

You are out of your FUCKING MIND if you think I am going to pay for this parking ticket. You need a pass to park, I know, and guess what? I HAD the pass. It somehow FELL off of my REARVIEW MIRROR and onto the FLOOR OF MY CAR BUT IT WAS STILL THERE. The ticket says the pass had to be “visible.” ANYONE WITH EYES COULD SEE THAT THE PASS WAS IN THE CAR BUT ON THE FLOOR. That is visible. Were the pass shielded in an invisible forcefield then I could understand the ticket. But by your literal standards, the pass was visible.

If someone were to come up to me and say, “Which part of Los Angeles should we burn down?” I would without a doubt point to you, West Hollywood. YOU ARE FAKE. You are everything that is wrong with Los Angeles. I doubt anyone would miss the Sunset Strip. The Whiskey and The Roxy were last famous in 1979 and that’s being generous. You are now known for the Hustler store and the lot that used to be Tower Records. DAZZLING ACHIEVEMENTS.

At least the Valley has a thriving pornography industry. At least it’s honest. YOU ARE NOTHING BUT SHIT, West Hollywood. You are where B-list celebrities like Seth MacFarlane decide to make their residence, and that’s being generous. That is all you have. I am allowed to say this because I am actually born and raised in Los Angeles which is a fucking rarity in this town, apparently. I am not from Ohio. I am from here. I decree that you BURN, WEST HOLLYWOOD. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU SO MUCH. GET MORE PARKING, ASSHOLES. FUCK YOU AND ALL OF YOU.

Sincerely,

Willem Dafoe

P.S. TEDDY’S, YOU PEAKED IN 2005. I KNOW IT, YOU KNOW IT, WE ALL KNOW IT.

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To The Gentlemen.

Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads.
Dr. Emmett Brown

People often ask me, “What’s your blog about?” I usually say something like, “Oh it’s about being a girl in Los Angeles.”

I don’t know what this blog is about. But I do know that people read it. So on the off chance that one of the four people who read this is male, this is for you, buddy:

1. Zachary Braff, stop following me. This is the 2nd time in 6 days that you and I have been in the same place. Oh I know: you didn’t mean it, it’s an accident, you don’t know who I am, blah blah blah.

2. This one is important. Gentlemen:

If you are on facebook and you are in a relationship you need to put that shit on your profile.

If you have a girlfriend you need to click the little button that says “In a relationship.”

It takes two seconds and saves heartache.

I am talking to you, guy I vaguely alluded to in a post a month or two ago/guy who broke my heart about six months ago. Guy who I’ve kind of missed.

You don’t even need to put the name of the person you are in a relationship with. But you need to declare it. To not declare it is tacky. And weird. I’ve had guy friends who counter that with, “I don’t want people to know about my personal life on facebook.” Are you serious? Really? Really Charlie? Then don’t get on facebook. Get on linked-in or get your own website where you can put whatever the fuck you want.

3. If you have my number and are texting/calling me for the first time to see me, please suggest dinner. I am worthy of dinner. Drinks = please take off my skinny pants and do things to my genitals on my couch while “Who’s The Boss?” plays in the background. I don’t want to speak for all women, I really don’t, but I know that most of us appreciate being asked on a real date. And look, there are times when all I really want to do is get into your skinny pants with the TV on for background noise. But if you don’t invite me out to dinner then you will never find out. Now if you’re taking me out for drinks at a jazz club or something, that’s different. But if you ask me to meet you at the bar where they serve free hot dogs, then have fun with yourself and Tony Danza.

Even Patrick Bateman took his women on dates.

4. I always say that with a great number comes great responsibility. I’m not joking. I mean, I am kind of joking when I say it because to say that with a serious tone of voice would make me sound like a tool, but the sentiment behind it is real.

5. Be a gentleman.

I’m going to stop here because if I go any further then my head may explode. This is why my relationship with Sven is so good. Imaginary boyfriends are the best kind of boyfriend.

**Note: guys who have been gentlemen to me and are awesome, thank you. This is not directed towards you. Pizza party!**

To elaborate on #3, here’s the post that started it all: Does Anybody Date Anymore?

Let’s Talk About It — White Denim

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