The following is a list of all entries from the humor category.
My dear Caesers Place, everyone knows that Las Vegas isn’t for children. So why try to appeal to them – and fail? Why even bother? Sin City is for debauched bachelor and bachelorette parties, and for people who enjoy losing money and drinking, and getting lap dances while losing money and drinking. It’s for appletinis, kiwitinis, espressotinis, and other drinks that might as well be served in a toilet because that’s where most of it ends up. Vegas is for bad behavior, bad choices, and even worse hangovers, which is why there’s a high concentration of people who woo-hoo out of limo windows. There are bars and clubs called Krave, Tabu and Joystixx – proof that the city is too drunk to spell. Vegas is for prostitution and illegal drugs and places where you can shoot an AK-47 and a grenade launcher, as in a gun that actually launches grenades. That explode.
Shut up, you’re welcome, Anne Choi
My parents are coming to visit soon so the weekend was supposed to be a productive one in cleaning the house. But then all my intentions were thrown out the window when I realized that there was one more channel to my basic cable lineup. TBS came through loud and clear. After “Friends” reruns, I was introduced to “Sullivan and Son” and fell in love with this hilarious Vince Vaughn produced sitcom. With such comedy nuggets like “You don’t know how good a midget lover is until one goes up on you”, there was no way I could pay attention to a mountain of dirty laundry.
Then I wondered if there were any other channels that had magically decided to entertain me this weekend. Wonder of wonders, there were! Nice to see you again Food Network, E!, Bravo, TLC, Lifetime, TV Land, MTV, VH1. Better luck next weekend, vacuuming and dishwashing!
Dear reader, you may be wondering why I’ve devoted an entire and outright enthuisiastic post to television, but you have to understand that I’ve gone without premium cable for years and had to rely on the tiny sets attached to the cardio equipment at the gym so I could keep up with the Kardashians. I was so desperate for access to channels higher than 23 that I did consider paying the family I babysit for letting me watch their TV.
It should come as no surprise that I didn’t turn off my TV all weekend for fear that my new friends would disappear if I did, taking a page from the “Friends” episode where Joey and Chandler discover free cable porn.
It’s the little things, people.
Melissa McCarthy has a mouth to make a sailor blush. As a rough and tough Boston cop in “The Heat”, she’s partnered with squeaky clean and prim FBI agent Sandra Bullock to chase down the bad guys. I don’t peg Sandy as a comedy actress, but then again her marriage to Jesse James was a joke. But everything Ms.McCarthy touches turns to comedy gold. As evidenced by her second “SNL” hosting gig, she’s brilliant with physical comedy and her timing is genius! In “The Heat” she’s reunited with “Bridesmaids” director Paul Feig, who plays the doctor in the film. She’s also reunited with her real life husband Ben Falcone (air marshall Jon in “Bridesmaids”) who plays as one of her many one night stands. The screenplay was written by Katie Dippold, writer for “Parks and Recreation”, who has since become my literary hero as I want to grow up to be just like her. I know she’s already hard at work crafting the sequel.
I’ve seen this movie once already and I’ve got plans to see it again and again and buy the DVD as Christmas gifts for all my friends. What else can I say but “the heat” is on this summer!
The red band trailer is hilarious because swear words make everything funny. Just ask Thug Kitchen.
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.
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 inside too because your money goes to a worthy cause.
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: