Category Archives: what’s going on you guys

Why Facebook Ruined Everything

You listen to me, facebook. You listen good and hard. Ready?:

YOU ARE A LIFE RUINER.

Yes. Yes, before you came along, Facebook, I was completely content with not knowing what my ex’s new girlfriend looked like. I didn’t have to know that maybe my friends all went out one night to a rad party, complete with Marilyn Monroe impersonator, without me. I didn’t need to know that my crush was writing on another girl’s wall rather than my own.

So fuck you, Facebook. Yeah you pretend that you’re all about “social networking” but we all know that’s just code for “stalking people”. Because if it wasn’t about stalking then why would you give us so much access to peoples’ personal info? Why, Facebook? Why come? Don’t you realize that I am capable of making myself feel bad without seeing all of the people I cannot screw and parties I was not invited to?


You know what I think, Facebook? I think you’re a cocky bastard. I think you rolled up onto the internet thinking, “Ho ho ho Friendster, looks like someone’s not aces anymore. And Myspace, old boy? Someone’s wearing a little long in the tooth. HUM TE HUM. I do belive I’ll take this shit to the next level!” And you know what? You fucking did. You fucking took it all to a new level.

You spawned twitter, you ignorant fuck. Now I know for a fact that I’m being ignored by a crush because I can see that he had time to update his twitter but not to respond to my text. So thanks a lot, Facebook. Thanks for rolling up like The Fonz, flashing your thumbs up “so and so ‘like this'” shit and allowed all kinds of fucked up internet sagas to unfold.
You’re like the later seasons of Beverly Hills, 90210, facebook. It started out so innocent, so fun. But then what did you do, Facebook? You got rid of Brenda Walsh (or in your case, added the facebook chat feature.) And it was scary, but then you brought in Valerie (photo tagging) and shit was fun. But then you just got weird and uncomfortable by sending Brandon Walsh away (changing your layout) bringing back Luke Perry (changing your layout) and bringing in Gina (changing your layout yet AGAIN, you smug motherfucker).

So in the immortal words of Bubble Boy to The Joker, why can’t I learn how to quit you?


You are a dick, Facebook. You are a dick and you’re only going to hurt me in the worst way, but I’m going to take it because it’s all I know. I was raised on you, Facebook. You showed me the way through college. I remember my first profile photo. I remember when your walls didn’t distinguished who posted what and this one time this guy Jon accidentally deleted my entire wall. Those were good times.

Ugh. Facebook. One day, I will run away from you, never to turn back. No Facebook. Don’t look at me like that. I’m just a girl, standing in front of a Facebook, asking it to love me.

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Party Chat

Last night was bizarre.
First of all, yesterday began with The Mad Men casting. I waited in a long ass line only to be told at the front of it that since I was not registered with central casting I needed to come back tomorrow. Oh hell naw. I called my mom and begged her to come by to give me my social security card which I needed for registration and the beautiful wonderful woman that she is, she drove out to Burbank to give it to me. (Yes I live with my parents, and No I don’t think that’s sad. But I am going to milk it until it gets sad.) So finally once I registered I had to wait in another long-ass line so I could be photographed so the casting people could look at my photo out of hundreds in their casting book and somehow pick from that my beautiful face.

I think I looked great. They have my number and they’re going to call it? Right? Right. I would give my left tit to be on Mad Men.


(Natalie Wood is so goddamn fantastic)

Because I spent the entire day at the casting I had to go straight from there to this party in Hwood that my dear friend Laura was invited to because she writes for Angelino magazine. I was her plus one! By the time I got there I had a massive headache because I realized only then that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast because of the casting. The party was hosted by Julianne Moore and was promoted by Soyjoy, who we soon found out, makes fucking disgusting soy protein bars. I needed food so I chowed that down as well as the microscopic hours’dourves that were circulating. I also threw back a small sour apple martini and chugged down 2 bottles of water.

We got to stand a few feet from Julianne Moore and holy fuck the woman is tiny. She’s maybe 5’4” and this is in heels. And she looks like a goddamn 20 year old. She’s gorgeous. (From the back though her elbows give her age away. But she’s still fucking gorgeous.)

By this time my head wouldn’t stop throbbing. Some sort of iron chef show was about to start, with Julianne Moore as one of the judges, so we went upstairs to watch. Along the way I ran into a lovely girl who was at the Mad Men casting so that was fun. LA is really very small.

We sat upstairs and in a few moments we realized that Amy Smart was sitting across from us with her publicist or something. She was wearing an absolutely hideous dress. It looked like a giant scarf. WTF.

And suddenly I began to feel quite nauseous.


I’m sitting there, feeling sick, my head throbbing when Laura says the most beautiful words: “This is dumb, I wanna go.”

So we left and then I realized, I need to get to the bathroom, now. I felt myself ready to vomit and I really didn’t feel like embarrassing myself. However the line to the bathroom was long so I said, “Fuck it, let’s go” and figured maybe I could force it down. Thankfully a beautiful man said, “Are you looking for more bathrooms? There’s some downstairs.” I could have hugged him, but instead, my stomach having heard the news, sent me on a mad dash to the restrooms.

I threw up the ritz cracker-sized turkey burger appetizer. I told Laura I was sick but that I was okay. So off we headed into the night.

As she was driving me to my car I realized that I needed some advil because my headache was even worse. And then I realized something horrible: I was going to be sick again. Thanks to Laura’s mad driving skills we made a screaming left turn into an alley near a 7-Eleven where a homeless man watched me vomit into the street while poor Laura, horrified, could only mutter, “Oh MY God.” I then went into the 7-Eleven to purchase advil, tums, and a loaf of white bread, since I remember hearing that bread was good for an upset stomach.

We drove to the parking lot where my car was, and sat. I could barely eat any bread and I have never wanted to be home so badly in all of my life. I could feel another wave of vomit rising so I convinced Laura that I was absolutely fine and was ready to drive home. She reluctantly drove away and as I watched her hybrid disappear into the night, a geyser of vomit erupted from my throat, sending me into fits of projectile vomiting in the bushes of a parking lot, splashing my dear Marc Jacobs pumps in the process.

However, after that, I felt much better, and got home without further incident.

I still have no idea what happened. I am not the sort of person who gets randomly sick like that. And I’ve fasted all day before, on Yom Kippur, and usually break the fast with champagne, so I don’t know what made last night any different. It was one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me, but it made me realize the truth in an old cliche:

Timing is everything.

Imagine if I had vomited at Julianne Moore’s party?

It would have been Far From Heaven and the last of my Boogie Nights, for after an incident like that, my name would be one of The Forgotten and I would be known as the Psycho who was ill.

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Under my rock no more: Twilight

I’ve finally crawled out from under the rock I’ve been living and watched “Twilight” last night. First of all I had almost no idea what it was about other than a teen vampire falling for a normal teen. So I guess my first question is, was the film supposed to be hilarious? Because I think I laughed too much. My second question is why the fuck was 90% of the film tinted blue-green? Was someone unable to read the light meter? And I guess my most pressing question is…

Why the fuck was the vampire in high school? Homeboy looked straight-up 25.

Look, I get that if the vampire wasn’t in high school then there would be no book/movie. But dude had Luke Perry syndrome. This occurs when a lead actor, who is supposed to be in high school, looks 30 by the second season. It’s like, “Why is Benjamin Button hanging out with those teens?”

Zac Efron — looks like a teenager.
Dude from Twilight — looks like my dad.

OK OK I’m kidding, he doesn’t look like my dad. But he could easily pass for a college kid. So why go to high school? Or why not cast a dude who actually looks 17? When Kristin Stewart asked him, “How old are you?” and he said, “Seventeen” I laughed. Then when the sun hit him and suddenly his shirt was unbuttoned, Desmond in “Lost”-style, I laughed again and then even more when in the next scene his shirt was suddenly buttoned. I GUESS VAMPIRES ARE TOO SEXY FOR THEIR SHIRTS, TOO SEXY FOR THEIR SHIRTS, SO SEXY THEY SPARKLE AND SHINE LIKE BENEFIT BODY LOTION.

I have no problem with Twilight really. I found it amusing. But holy fuck they better check the white balance for the sequel.

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Merry Passover!

Friends, a few years ago I found a book in my parent’s garage from the 1960 titled “Datebook’s Complete Guide To Dating”. You can bet your sweet bippy that excerpts are going to appear on this blog along with my charming commentary. If that’s something you’re interested in then stick around. Otherwise you can go fuck yourself, RYAN SEACREST. STOP CALLING ME. I TOLD YOU I’M NOT INTERESTED. LEAVE ME ALONE.

Until then, Happy Pesach!
Audrey Hepburn does not approve of your shenanigans. 
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just what is it about american apparel?

(somehow or another my hair always winds up in my face right before the shutter clicks)

I KNOW THAT everyone and their mother has this dress from American Apparel. It is the double U neck dress. The short sleeved one. I bought it on ebay in a clever move to try to avoid paying AA’s shameless prices and wound up saving about a dollar. GREAT.

I have no idea how to wear this thing. I know that it’s probably a prime piece for building on but sometimes I just want to put on a fucking dress and be done with that shit. I don’t want to have to build on it. I want to wear it. And I don’t want to have to wear spanx with it and some magical Harry Potter type alohamora bra that magically hides underneath the tight material.

BUT LOOK AT THE FABULOUS CLEAVE:

To quote Blondie, “I didn’t have the nerve to say no.”

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David Bowie and relationships

It has come to my attention that people are actually reading this blog.

Which, don’t get me wrong, is great! But this means that I need to come up with things to write about and to fix this atrocious layout. I can’t do web layout for shit so expect the same crappy look for a while until someone takes pity on me.

I haven’t had a boyfriend since ’07. This is not an accident. That was an odd relationship, one of those where you look back and think, “Huh, how ’bout that”. Which is the same sentiment I have while watching Alton Brown’s “Good Eats” and if your feeling on a relationship is the same as that on a show on the Food Network you’ve got some problems there, stardust.

I emerged from the whole ordeal a little worse for wear. I can no longer listen to the Magnetic Fields. Which honestly isn’t a huge drag for me. They’re like Belle and Sebastian but with a deeper voice. I’ll take B&S.

One of the most awkward things about breaking up is what to do with all of the stuff that accumulates. Everything that he gave me, I sold. However there was one item in particular that was a bit harder to get out of my life.

I have a huge thing for David Bowie. He is my favorite musician of all time. My ex, in an attempt to be thoughtful, bought me a HUGE framed photo of David Bowie. Sweet, right? Well the problem here is that 1.) It was friggin HUGE and 2.) It was the scariest fucking photo of David Bowie that I have ever seen. Seriously, it was in black and white and it was a closeup of his face, and the expression he had made me want avert my eyes and start praying to Jesus Christ for fear that an albino priest was going to emerge from my bathroom with a whip. I mean that’s how fucked up David Bowie looked. His eyes followed me everywhere. And by this point in the relationship I knew I wanted out but I was too much of a pussy to say so. So every time I went out the door or into the kitchen or really ANYWHERE (I lived in a studio apartment in New York) all I saw was David Bowie and all I heard was, “Ground control to Major Tom…YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS FUCKED WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING GET THE FUCK OUT YOU STUPID BITCH commencing coutdown engines on…”

When we finally broke up I had a bit of a quandry with this giant Bowie face. He was not as easy to sell or give away as a Magentic Fields CD. Again, I lived in NYC at the time and it just so happened that as I was breaking up I was getting ready to move back to LA. So everything that I didn’t want to grag with me back to California I needed to get rid of, and fucking fast.


(note: this is not the actual GBF but it’s close enough)

Now there was this unwritten rule about my apartment building: whatever you didn’t want you would leave on the bench in the hall. This was how I managed to snag some cool items like a stack of LPs and an H&M sweater. But could I really leave Giant Bowie Face in the hallway? In my hallway? I know it sounds ridiculous but I felt like it was just saying, “HEY EVERYONE I JUST GOT OUT OF A BAD RELATIONSHIP AND I’M WEIRD. WHY ELSE WOULD I BE HERE IN YOUR HALLWAY?”

My BFF was helping me move and she had no suggestions for disposing of Giant Bowie Face. I just couldn’t leave it in my hallway. It was saying too much. So I devised a plan. “We are going to drag GBF into the elevator, hit a random button, and leave him in the hallway of that floor.” And my friend actually agreed that this was a genius idea.

So we dragged GBF into the elevator and prayed to God that no one else would get in. Now at the time two friends of mine also lived in this building and so I couldn’t choose their floors. But for some reason I also decied that this meant I couldn’t choose the floors immediately above or below them. This left us fewer options.

“Why not the top floor?” my friend suggested.
“The top floor? THAT’S THE FIRST PLACE THEY’LL LOOK,” I screeched.
“Who?”
“I DON’T KNOW. You pick a floor.”
“Ok, how about eleven?”
“ELEVEN? BUT THAT’S THE FLOOR RIGHT BELOW MINE.”
“So?”
“So they’ll figure out it was ME.”
“How??”
“I DON’T KNOW. PEOPLE TALK.”
“What people?”

FINALLY, we got out on a floor, I don’t remember which one. She checked to make sure that no one was in the hallway and we dashed out with GFB, dumped him on the bench and shot back into the elevator like we were having that classic high school dream where we’re naked in the halls.

The last thing I remember before hitting the button is seeing this giant, angry David Bowie face staring back at me, and wondering what poor soul was going to have the shit scared out of them once they got out on their floor.

And then I laughed. And couldn’t stop.

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