Tea and sympathy

I am sick AGAIN. No one has assured me that it's definitely not avian flu or diphtheria, so while it feels like a minor cold, I welcome your sympathy (and presents...I'm fairly sure diphtheria warrants many, many presents). While I am napping and consuming my weight in echinacea, please enjoy another in a series of Oscar photos:

I'm not sure which is more bothersome; the fact that Elisabeth Shue is even at the Oscars, or the fact that she's there dressed as a math teacher, complete with orthopedic sandals.

Quincy Jones' middle name is, dead serious, "Delightt". Talk amongst yourselves.

Ok, we'll discuss the Oscars later, I am still being treated for Extreme Boredom and I don't think I'm emotionally ready to revisit that show yet. But I just need to say this.

Thank you, Rashida Jones. Thank you very, very, very much. I know you're catching a lot of flack for this Holly Hobby meets pregnant '70's housewife wearing her drapes a la Sound of Music getup, but seriously. You at least gave me something to do during this "show". Wondering why exactly you chose to wore the exact shoes that some of my friends wore to their Bat Mitzvahs in 1995 saved me from literally dying of boredom. The apparent addition of white tights to this ensemble? Just added another layer of intrigue. This was the Lost of Oscar outfits.

Whatever, you kick all sorts of ass on The Office and your dad is Quincy Jones, so you're all right with me. I haven't quite forgiven you for Little Black Book, but I'm working through it.

Weather forecast for the DC Metro Area, Sunday, February 25

Wintry Mix, possible ice/rain/sleet turning into rain later in the day. NO SNOW. NO ACCUMULATIONS.

Seriously, "meteorologists"? You're really not very good at this. Now, how is one expected to drive to Maryland to get kosher Chinese food to eat whilst watching the Oscars in this non-accumulation of over three inches of non-snow?

Housewives, squids, and missing mascara, oh my!

You guys, I am SO RELIEVED that Marcia Cross finally had her babies. This picture has been freaking me out for weeks now. Please also consider the fact that she was actually due in APRIL. I don't know if human skin can stretch that much. If you are a twin or a triplet or whatever, please go call your mom and thank her right now. Come to think of it, I was two weeks over-due and 23 inches long (average newborn=18 inches) when I was born, so I'm calling mine as well.

Ok, also this story on CNN.com about a gigantic squid scares the ever loving hell out of me. I have a love/hate thing with the ocean. I LOVE the beach, but something about being out in the middle of the water and seeing nothing around for miles and miles and not being able to see what's under me makes me want to cry just thinking about it. I don't know why. Actually that's a gigantic lie, I know exactly where this fear comes from-there's a scene in The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (if you've never seen it GO rent it right now-like for serious, leave work and do it), one of my favorite movies as a kid, where they are like floating in the ocean and they see what looks like an island but is actually a giant sea monster. See, right now I'm remembering it and feeling a little shaky. We're action-packed with issues over here, kids.

I have nothing to write about, today has been kind of boring. Do you really care about how I found my missing 8 billion dollar mascara? Probably not. But it was exciting. Maybe you had to be there. For a small fee, I might reenact it and post a video on You-Tube.

Thoughts that I think

-If you had a nightclub and named it "Club Seals", would that be kind of funny and clever or tacky and mean-spirited? What if you opened it next to PETA's offices? Because if they were like "that is gross and cruel" you could just be like "no, I named my club in honor of the seals, it's not endorsing hitting them over the heads."

-Would you laugh out loud if you were driving and the car in front of you had all of these anti-choice bumper stickers and one of them said "some choices are WRONG" and it was obviously about abortion but it was next to a Bush/Cheney '04 bumper sticker and that is kind of hilarious? Because I did.

-I adore this goofy kid on "American Idol":

He's like 10 years old and is basically the Indian Michael Jackson (like Jackson 5 era Michael, not Creepy Time Michael). He kind of looks like a Muppet, and his sister totally tried to sabotage him last night by telling him to sing a horrifically boring Stevie Wonder song that no one knows/cares about. Fabulous.

And this is why I'm going to stay in my 20's FOREVER

So normally I'm really opposed to the Academy giving out what I like to call the Cumulative Oscar; every so often, an actor/director gets nominated and for whatever reason they have never gotten an Oscar even though they really should have by now, and so they win even though their performance/movie may not have been the best that year, but because they've been slighted in the past.

HOWEVER, the fact that Peter O'Toole has had like 80 billion nominations but has NEVER won an Oscar (even though his characters/movies/performances always make the top best lists) is INSANE. I saw Venus last week. He was ridiculously good in it, albeit a little too pervy for a 125 year old. He needs to win Best Actor, because a.) he deserves it and b.) I'm counting on him saying something inappropriate and making the show a tiny bit more bearable.

There's one thing that has been bothering me since I saw the movie, though. I realize that my peers may not realize how beautiful this man was, so please peruse these pictures:

So that's how he looked in his heyday. What does he look like now?

A cross between Maggie Smith and that dude from Hannibal who was missing his face. Just tragic. This is like when I was at a play in London and I realized that one of my other favorite British 1960's movie star crushes, Michael York, was sitting across the aisle from me. When the lights came on, I realized that he now looks like an old lady. Guys, if the above picture isn't a good enough reason not to become an alcoholic, I don't know what is.

Quote of the Week

My sister told me I could use this picture because, and I quote "people are going to be like 'oh, she's so hot, I want to get with that' and I'm gonna be like 'no, cause you can't'". No one can accuse her of not being eloquent.

"Caroline, you can't be 'gangster' because you aren't in a gang. That's just a fact."
-My 12 year old brother to my holy-hell-she'll-be-15-in-one-month sister. They need a television show, because you will never find two more opposite siblings in life. Josh's favorite TV shows are "The Colbert Report" and "Arrested Development." Caroline lives for "The Hills" and "Maui Fever." Josh's favorite band is The Who, and Caroline likes whatever effeminate eye-linered boy band that TRL tells her to like that week. In all fairness, it has to be said, she is like a freaking math genius and thinks Biology is like the easiest class ever, so really, we have no clue where she came from.



I need a break from the Britney Hair Fiasco '07. You want to see a bad haircut, check out my 5th grade school pictures. And that was paired with red plastic glasses, so, seriously, I win. I'm not going to post these pictures, as I hope to get married one day and I seriously doubt that any man who sees those pictures would want to risk offspring that might turn out like that when puberty hits.

Well, Sinead O' Rebellion...

Shock me, shock me, shock me with that deviant behavior!

On one hand, I feel sorry for her. Girlfriend's clearly lost it, and the paparazzi won't leave her crazy ass alone. On the OTHER hand, do you shave your head in public if you DON'T want the attention?? I think not. After she shaved her head, she went and got some new tattoos. Which is fine, except that her unfortunate choice of jewelery for this evening of HEAD SHAVING and TATTOOING ONE'S FLESH

is kind of making me angry.

There's no business like crazy business

We seem to be having some issues in Celebrityville. Allow me to elaborate with some pictures:


Ok, 1) Eva Mendes, I am morally opposed to that hairstyle. I'm just not ok with it. 2) Fonda, what in the hell are you doing in this God-forsaken movie, Ghost Rider or whatever it is? Did you think it was a sequel to Easy Rider? It isn't.

Dear Katherine McPhee,

I am ashamed that I even know who you are. Also, my mom thought your actual last name was "McPheever", but that's neither here nor there. What I need to tell you is this: If there's ever a time to act cutesy and aloof, it's not when you are holding blades near a dude's neck. Just because they don't have enough self respect to turn down a job that requires them to cavort in public sans shirts doesn't mean it's ok for you to slice their jugulars.

Love,

Jenn

Considering that his female counterparts at this event were dyed, waxed, plucked, shaved, and starved all before even putting on their far more elaborate articles of clothing, the fact that he couldn't be bothered to tie that damn thing just makes me angry.

So apparently even cute young Jewish rappers will eventually turn into old Jewish men. Oh, Beastie Boys, this saddens me greatly. I think I might have even lost the will to fight. For my right. To party.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you feel the need to walk around with your hand down your pants, maybe try to not look like a serial killer while you're doing it.

Hey, must be the money

Do you know what's the biggest problem with our paper one-dollar bills? They're just too damn light and portable. I've always said "if I'm going to be carrying it around in my pocket, I want it to be big, preferably visible to passers-by. It's gotta really weigh me down; I want to feel how rich I am by how difficult it is to climb a flight of stairs".

That's why I applaud the decision to re-introduce the one dollar coin into circulation. Sure, it's failed miserably three times in the past. But is it not the American way to continue to do something that's clearly not working, and to do more of it?

I guess the plan is to introduce four dollar coins per year with the faces of presidents on them. Except, oh, hey, we already have those, and they're called pennies, quarters, dimes and nickels. Whatever, Department of Treasury.

This will never work. If for no other reason than the fact that a stripper with a g-string filled with coins is just not sexy.

Either God hates my left knee, or I'm just clumsy. Who's to say.

Remember this riveting and completely not self-indulgent post about when I dislocated my knee at 14? I'm pretty much destined to re-injure this sucker. My proof:

-6 months ago: I'm wearing flip-flops during a torrential summer down-pour and I slip in my garage on rain and motor-oil and bash my left knee, the bad one, into the concrete

-1 month ago: I am pretty much being a jackass and running around my kitchen like normal adults do, when I slip on water next to the Gigantic Puppy Beast's bowl, bashing my left knee onto the linoleum. The result was a really, really impressive bruise that was literally the size of a baseball. I even took pictures of it with the intention of posting them here but decided against it when I realized said pictures displayed way more of my leg than I comfortable with plastering all over the Internet, and that it might be weird and/or creepy to dedicate a blog entry to a giant bruise.

-2.5 weeks ago: I decide to go to synagogue for the first time in 8 billion years. While walking across the parking lot that's covered in ice, the sole of my very practical for winter black platform pump with the 4 inch stacked heels slips on said precipitation, causing my left leg to bend under me as I fall on top of it. My left knee is once again bashed, but this time on frozen pavement. I stand up and realize that the black opaque tights I was wearing are ripped at my knee, which is spurting blood and has pieces of the aforementioned parking lot lodged into it. If you're looking for a hilarious image, just imagine Jenn in the Eckard's bathroom clutching a new pair of black tights in her teeth as she changes out of the old ones and disinfects the cut and , all while perching on one still high-heeled foot flamingo style so as not to touch her bare foot (which is attached to a person with severe OCD) to the disgusting floor. Aces. I still have a giant gash in my leg that is only now starting to heal, and I've been limping for like 3 weeks now.

-Today: While playing in the "snow" with my dog, I realize too late that it's really ice. As I'm running across the lawn with a 90 pound animal hurtling after me, I slip AGAIN and LAND ON THE CURSED KNEE FOR THE 67TH TIME.

I don't know why God, nature, and/or gravity want to take the functionality of my left knee from me, but it's making me angry. And sore.

As for you, Troy Donahue...

Because there is a God and he is apparently a merciful one, The Greatest Television Show In The Galaxy returned this week (triumphantly, mind you). Before I get into a recap, I need to introduce you to The Sandys (a great name for a band, although I'm fairly certain that The Donnas would kick their asses all over the land)

Name: Kathleen
NBC Calls Her: "Spiritual Sandy"
I Call Her: "Wearin' Those Spandex Pants And Slutty Shoes For The Lord Sandy" or "I Can Sport This Kerchief All I Want But Everyone Can Still See My Man-Neck Sandy". She's like a preacher or something. I can't wait to see how she justifies competing to star in a musical about teens having sex, drinking, smoking, driving too fast, and using copious amounts of hair product. The best part is that her character is corrupted in the end.





Name: Laura
NBC Calls Her: "Small Town Sandy"
I Call Her: "Uncomfortably Wholesome Sandy". Hey, maybe she and "Wholesome Danny" (ha) can get together and form some kind of delightful Osmond revival. It must also be said that she wore what I like to call a "stigmata dress" while singing "Jesus Christ, Superstar" last night (basically it was a long dress with a slit up the middle of the front, and the bottom corners attached to her hands-when she raised them it looked like she was on a cross. Delightful!)

Name: Allie
NBC Calls Her: "Baby Sandy". WHAT THE MOTHER HELL.
I Call Her: "Transvestite Sandy". You can not convince me that this "chick" isn't post-op, sorry. If it walks like a dude, looks like a dude, and wears spandex capri pants like a dude, IT'S A DUDE.

Name: Ashley S.
NBC Calls Her: "Ballerina Sandy". This is following with the trend of having the nickname only describe the contestant's occupation and nothing else, kind of in the vein of "Bellhop Danny."
I Call Her: "Stuck-up Meg Ryan Sandy". She looks like Meg Ryan. She also looks stuck up. You wish you had this kind of clever.

Name: Ashley A.
NBC Calls Her: "Emotional Sandy"
I Call Her: "Mentally Unstable Sandy". She's basically crazy and can't sing. Why NOT put her on a nationally televised SINGING competition for her to be judged and put under tremendous stress?




Name: Juliana
NBC Calls Her: "Rock Chick Sandy"
I Call Her: "The Most Annoying Person On My TV Sandy" or "Hopelessly Devoted To Herself Sandy" or "Unnervingly Lacking Introspect Sandy". When she talks she sounds like a Disney character. The highlight of last night was when she said "I am very, very......talented."




Name: Kate
NBC Calls Her: "Serious Sandy"
I Call Her: "This Sandy Goes Up To 11 Sandy", because girlfriend IS SO LOUD AND WILL NOT STOP SHOUTING/SINGING AND IT'S MAKING ME CRAZY. I feel like I need to make her a cup of tea after every song she "sings", and the fact that I watch her right before Trump comes on and starts yelling at me is a little unsettling.

I can't really sum up the show, but highlights included:

-VELOUR DANNY wearing, and I swear I am not making this up,a sleeveless flannel shirt. I still think it's deliciously ironic that NBC calls him "Wholesome Danny", because watching him you get the distinct feeling that he is trying to impregnate you through the television.

-Billy Bush describing the show as a "double sing-off special", and I still don't know what the hell that means.

-Andrew Lloyd Weber guest-judging, and me discovering that my mother has this hilarious, irrational hatred for him. Some quotes from her about Mr. Weber include: "He looks like a woman", "they can describe him as legendary, but that just means that he's old", "he's like petrified wood, "why doesn't he just shut up and go get a 'spot of tea'", and "eww, he should not be allowed to lick his lips."

If you're not watching this show by now, there is something very, very wrong with you.

HELL TO THE YES

Everyone knew about this announcement, but I still got excited when I saw the official story on CNN. I am a big Obama fan. Big, big, big. I don't necessarily dislike Hilary (in fact, I don't really understand why she inspires such hate), but she's just like every other Democratic presidential hopeful since Clinton; boring, uninspired, and just the lesser of two evils. But I love Obama.

A year ago I was saying that the Democratic nominee in 2008 had to be someone really, really moderate and safe, preferably Southern-basically Mark Warner. Because it really felt like the Democrats had to win at all cost in '08 just to save us from the pit of burning hell-fire that this troop of idiots has led us into. But after the mid-term elections, I feel better about giving the nomination to someone who could be more of a long-shot, but might actually be great, instead of just the guy who sucks the least in the room.

Plus, he's hot.

Dear Teri Hatcher,

It really wasn't necessary for you to give me another reason to dislike you.

Kisses,
Jenn

PS:Actually, Bush 2 Makes Bush 1 look like Mother Theresa. I think he's actually getting the short end of the stick here. Here's a former President of the United States for the love of God, and he's hanging out with someone associated with Eva Longoria, and that's just not right.





And while we're on the subject of desperation, how much do we think Marcia Cross is ready to be done with this pregnancy?

How painful does that look? You can practically feel the skin stretching, people. If I were her I would carry that picture around with me always and when one of her twins acts up she can whip it out and say "Oh, REALLY? You're not going to do what I tell you, huh? YOU ALMOST RIPPED MY ABDOMEN OPEN ALIEN-STYLE! Now eat your green beans."

And while we're posting pictures of "celebrities"...

Mena Suvari, those are not bangs. It's like blonde Astroturf. You have a gigantic forehead. Big deal. Tyra Banks manages just fine. You don't need to put a big neon sign on your head that screams "OH HAY LOOK AT MY GIANT FOREHEAD", which is exactly what those bangs do.

Why "Top Design" is the most awkward, ridiculous show on television

1. When a designer is kicked off, the head judge says, and I swear this is true, "see you later decorator". This is terrible because a.) no adult should have to say something so stupid to another adult, ever and b.) I have to believe that it's pissing off all the alligators.


2. None of the decorators are good. Like, NONE of them. One guy is okay, but he lost me when he introduced himself as "Goil, you know, like gargoyle." That's like saying "hi, I'm Nancy, like cancer, but a little different" or "what's up, I'm Ted, rhymes with dead." No one wants to be associated with gargoyles, kid.


3. Host Todd Oldham's voice sounds EXACTLY like "The Bear in the Big Blue House." If you have kids or work with them, you know the voice. Listen to Oldham next time, it will sound like that giant bear is talking about futons and duvet covers. A little distracting.


4. They keep saying that the winning designer gets a spread in the magazine Elle Decor, as if it's one that everyone in the world knows and buys and reads on a regular basis. No. If you are in the business, or really into interior designing, it's basically your Vogue. But to someone like me who is writing this blog post by the light of a broken Target lamp and spent the last five years living out of those plastic dorm-y Tupperware drawers, it just sounds like they are talking about some Mexican superhero (I keep hearing "El Decor" and getting confused).


5. The judges say the most RIDICULOUS things. My favorite from tonight's episode:

-about a bed in a kid's room: "You can't get out of that bed without hurting yourself, and I just think that's wrong." Wow, way to go out on a limb and make a strong statement about your feelings regarding the controversial issue of children's safety.

-about using a tiny bit of black in an otherwise totally pink kid's room: "It looks funereal." You know, I've been trying to make my hair darker. Next time I'm telling my colorist to give me a more "funereal" look.

-"I felt that the room was pleasing. Like you walk in and it wasn't...ugly."

-"He was like the mayor of Excuses Village." This was an interesting choice. I would have probably opted for Excuseville if anything (we don't really live in villages anymore, do we?), but that's just me.

-"There's a mournful quality to that blue."

Whatever, you know I'll still watch it. I have to find something to fill the void between episodes of the War and Peace of television programs.

Gold medal in crazy

So I'm a liiiiiiiitle concerned. Everyone knows that once the D-listers catch on to a trend, the next stop is a shelf in K-Mart and then you have old ladies in Duluth wearing knock-off Uggs and it's just a disaster (I don't know why Duluth-I think a better question would be why NOT Duluth?). So imagine my dismay when I discovered that OLYMPIAN Oksana Baiul had opted to copy Sienna Miller's trouser-less control garment style:

Wasn't she the one who ended up winning the gold the year of the Tonya Harding/Nancy Kerrigan fiasco? Yeah, I think she wore hot-pink feathers that year. We should have taken it as a sign of things to come. Do you think that Tonya later befriended her in an effort to maybe steal her medal? Because, seriously, that bleach job is straight up Harding style.

She looks like Bridget Jones' slutty Ukrainian sister. My brain can't even pick one thing to be disgusted at. Between the tummy-flattening undergarment, the sparkly black training bra, and the hideous puke-pink heels with ankle-straps, I just can't-OH MY SWEET GOD, IS SHE WEARING POLKA-DOTTED WHITE SPANDEX BIKE SHORTS? I'm definitely going with the polka-dotted white spandex bike shorts.

"I only wanted 2 see u bathing in the purple rain"

Say what you will, I totally dug Prince's Super Bowl halftime performance (and his commitment to utilizing superfluous dancing women dressed in 80's clothes in his act). Technically, he is a GREAT guitarist. He was just unfortunate to have his heyday come at a time when Total Cheeseball was the mode du jour. I also love that he wears heels all the time; if I was a tiny man, I'd do the same thing.

I think my favorite part of the entire game was when the announcer said something like "when the weather gets like this, you see all sorts of creative ways that people come up with to stay dry" as the camera panned the crowd of like 8 billion people all wearing the same clear rain ponchos. Are they not designed just for that purpose?

Why is this bowl more super than all others?

Everyone's assuming that I want the Colts to win just because I lived in Indiana for five years. But this week I changed my mind. Tonight I'm rooting for the Knicks.

Now, I know what you're thinking. I KNOW that they're not technically in the Superbowl, nor do they play football. But that would make the win that much more impressive. Can you imagine such an upset? It's the thing that great sports stories are made of!

Kidding...GO COLTS!

I'm the freaking dog whisperer up in this piece

Today I did two things that are COMPLETELY out of character for me.
1. Rescued a dog during my lunch break. So the night before, I had noticed this dog walking outside of my house (not "noticed" so much as "happened to see when my own giant dog nearly pulled my arm out of it's socket when he attempted to chase it will still on his leash, which was wrapped around my hand, which was attached to said arm"), but I thought it maybe belonged to my crazy neighbors down the street. But today on my break, I pulled into the driveway and the dog was still hanging outside of my house. When I got out of the car, it tried to follow me to the door (the thing was LIMPING for Christ's sake). Now, I went through a very serious Annie phase as a child. Three year old Jenn knew the movie by heart and would constantly wear a curly red wig over her straight black hair, resulting in an impressive marriage of mullet and geri curl and ensuring that her parents existed in a state of perpetual embarrassment (this reached it's pinnacle when I went into my preschool class and announced that "I don't have a Daddy, I'm an orphan like Annie" after my dad had been living part-time in Texas for a few months while working on a big case-see, my hyperbolic nature is nothing new). So I was raised to believe that when a stray dog follows you home, you have to care for it and also sing it Broadway tunes.
Anyway, I didn't know what to do. Then my own aforementioned giant dog came bounding out of the house, scaring the crap out of the little, scared, shivering dog again, who hobbled across the street. So what do I do? I went over to it and...picked it up. As in touched the stray, dirty dog with my own hands, carrying it in my arms into my garage where I gave him water and dog food. I know what you're thinking, but seriously, I weighed my options and decided that I'd rather risk rabies than live with the guilt that I'd have if I left the scared, injured animal outside during the alleged snow storm that the meteorologists totally lied about. The best part was that because my dog is the only animal I've ever liked in 23 years and he is 90 pounds, I've never actually carried a dog around before. I held it like a baby. A dirty, shivering baby with clumps of fur falling off of it from stress.
So I drove around the neighborhood, discovered a missing dog flier with this animal's picture on it, thanked God a couple of times for letting this be someone's pet and not some crazy wild animal that I picked up outside and carried into my home, called the number and returned the dog. Is this not the most ridiculous lunch break of my life? I am a hero! I have some serious good karma coming my way.

2. YELLED at a telemarketer. I have never even been rude to one before, seriously. Yes, they are annoying, but I find it hilarious that it's someone's job to do this, so I play along. But after receiving 15 calls in two days from the same number (I missed half of them, the other times no one answered when I picked up) between the hours at NINE am and NINE at night, enough was en-effing-NOUGH. SO on the 16th call, the conversation went like this.
Me: Hello? HELLO?!?!?
Telemarketer: Hello, may I-
Me: NO, NO YOU MAY NOT. I HAVE GOTTEN THREE THOUSAND CALLS FROM THIS NUMBER IN 48 HOURS. I WANT MY NUMBER REMOVED FROM YOUR LIST.
Telemarketer: Ok...
Me: NO, I MEAN NOW. THIS VERY INSTANT.

Yes, I said "this very instant", because I am a 65 year old schoolteacher.