Sweet readers, in three months when the “Star Trek” DVD comes out, invite me over so I can watch the last thirty minutes of the film. You see, I just cannot possibly stay up past 10:30 p.m. for anything. Whether it’s Melissa McCarthy hosting SNL or seeing the new “Star Trek” before it hits theatres, I just cannot.do.it!
I scored an advanced screening for a 9:00 showtime last night but had to leave before the movie was over. It was a school night and I just had dinner on carbs at Whole Foods (jalapeno mac n’ cheese and chicken fried tofu if you must know) and I willingly admit that I love my bed more than anything in the world. So I went home to my bed to dream about touring with the Avett Brothers.
I would trek anywhere with those guys.
Lean Cuisine’s new Salad Creations, found in the freezer section, are meant to add some pizzazz to a boring salad at lunchtime. All you have to do is BYOL (bring your own lettuce), per the instructions on the box.
The other day, my 50 something co-worker brought one in for lunch to try. As she was firing it up in the microwave, I asked where her lettuce was with which to complete the meal. She didn’t have any.
I almost paid $156 for a plane ticket to New York City for Memorial Day weekend today. Not that I need to go on vacation. There are impending layoffs at work. Honestly, I never thought it would happen to me. Unemployment always happens to someone else. Like spinsterhood. I never thought that I would be 30 and single, like I certainly could not have grown up to become an old maid. Yet here I am, a month from another birthday I’ll be celebrating alone. It’s been so long since I’ve had a boyfriend. I think about the four year old of being single. I think about the one year old of unreturned phone calls. I think about the nearly eight year old of “I love you”. I give them names and personalities. I give them skinned knees and runny noses. I give them brown eyes and homemade cookies. I give them time outs and allowances. I give them a lot of attention for not being real. I heard the neighborhood ice cream truck seranade of “It’s a small world” on repeat in my head this afternoon as I sat in a dimly lit office trying to work. I must be going crazy. I’ve been suffering with a headache the past two days that has no intention of subsiding, even with two advil, so the lights are dim like my thoughts. This is my valley.
Sophia Grace and Rosie, pint size powerhouse duo frequently seen on “Ellen”, can only milk their cuteness for so long. Well, boobs.
Last Saturday, Plaza Midwood’s favorite hipster haven, Buffalo Exchange, sponsored their annual Dollar Day Sale with proceeds supporting the Humane Society. Let me paint the scene:
*If you’re one minute late to the 11:00 a.m. start time, you very well should have stayed in bed.
*There are two racks of clothes set up on the sidewalk outside of the store and they are only partially organized. You are only vaguely aware that the blouse you snatched up was meant for a woman’s physique. Which brings me to my next point…
*The associates overseeing this clothing free for all will tell you that you can’t try anything on because that would mean entering the store which is prohibited. You even have to pay for your $1 items before entering the store if you want to continue shopping.
*Since there are two racks of clothes set up on the sidewalk with a horde of eager shoppers, not to mention non-shoppers who are just trying to squeeze past to queue up at Lunchbox Records for Record Store Day, you run the risk of ending your life by stumbling back into Central Ave. traffic with an armful of discounted clothes and becoming roadkill.
*But you run that risk because you remind yourself that every article of clothing and accessories is ONE DOLLAR!
*Cash only, vultures! Your only saving grace is the Wells Fargo across the street.
*And you’re S.O.L if you forgot your granola bag because B.E. won’t supply you with a plastic bag. Of course they will sell you a reusable one for $2. But then you think that you could have bought two pairs of men’s jeans for $2 and quickly rescind to carry your haul in your arms to your car.
*After it was all said and done I spent only $10 on one pair of jeans, one winter jacket, one vest, and seven tops!
*Make plans to go next year, ya’ll! Not only will you look good on the outside with your new threads, but you’ll look great on the insdie too because your money goes to a worthy cause.
I knew that Bobby Deen was no longer dating Katy Mixon, but what I didn’t know is how young his new bride to be Claudia Lovera is, 27. Read ‘em and weep, ladies. I’m actually more surprised at the fact that 42 year old Deen is getting married. I can only surmise that someone is pregnant. She lives in Chicago. (How did these two meet considering the reason Katy and Bobby split was because the long distance thing was taking its toll?). Her tweets are protected but her Pinterest board is fair game. She’s an avid runner so her stats are posted everywhere. And she was in the Boston Marathon last week. She really should have locked this shit down before her future MIL announced on her Facebook page the news of their engagement. Here’s the happy couple exercising together.
I wonder how Ms.Nixon is holding up today. Me, I’m gonna see what Jack Deen is up to.
Bruegger’s Bagels is celebrating 30 years of business with free bagels. Head over to their Facebook page to print your coupon for 3 free bagels on Thursday April 25th.
For my 30th birthday last year, I wanted to include the Thunder from Down Under crew in my week long Las Vegas itinerary. After dining at the Stratosphere one evening, my friends and I followed up the meal with some lively entertainment, lively meaning half-naked. For those individuals living under rocks with access to my blog, Thunder from Down Under is like Australian Chippendales. Great, now I have to explain what a Chippendale is. Chippendales can only be explained as cufflinks and bow ties.
After a $20 photo opp after the show, a dandruffed club promoter was advertising that his club, Cathouse (which has since closed), was the place to be after the show because it meant free drinks for the ladies and an appearance by the Thunder from Down Under crew in about thirty minutes. Me and my six inch heels walked ALL the way to the club inside of the neighboring hotel and after an hour or two of no sign of any Australian broods (because they were probably at home with their wives and kids sitting down to a nice Vegamite dinner) and two watered down cranberry vodkas, I wanted nothing more than to cab it back to our hotel room.
For months, I’ve been wanting to hit up Soul Gastrolounge for their disco brunch with roller-skating drag queen Bethann Phetamine; a cultural event that happens only on the second Sunday of the month. And yesterday when the day finally arrived, I was reminded of the time I went to a Las Vegas club with the promise of hot Aussies. Turns out that brunch with drag queens is a literal drag. I arrive at 12:00 with co-workers only to be told that the wait would be 45 minutes. We waited across the street at Nova’s Bakery with coffee where I made jokes about bread, “…ain’t no challah back girl”. Finally our party of five was seated. I asked our waiter where the drag queen was, like perhaps she was between sets and powdering her nose in her dressing room, and he said that she would not be making it in today because of being ill. A disco brunch sans drag queen is just brunch and I could have done that where I didn’t have to pay $11 for overdone eggs. The French toast my co-worker tried to order was 86′d like the drag queen. I suggested she return to Nova’s and buy some bread for them to make her meal. What kind of restaurant runs out of bread?! More importantly, what kind of self-respecting drag queen doesn’t have an understudy?
The moral of this story, dear kittens, is that you shouldn’t waste shoe tread or an entire Sunday afternoon on something that isn’t guaranteed. If drag queens or hot Australian men aren’t involved, there’s just no reason to get out of bed.
This is what I wanted to see yesterday: