The Celebrities Have Lost Their Damn Minds: A Pictorial Expose

Is it weird that I am most bothered by her sleeveless turtleneck sweater?

I'm going to pretend that they're not actually shooting right now, and instead stand by my theory that the cast of Grey's Anatomy truly believes themselves to be actual medical practitioners. Also, you know that those two on the left just hate Pompeo.

KATHERINE HOLMES, why the hell would would you run a marathon without a bra??!!? I wouldn't take the trash out without one! This is absurd! I'm having sympathy pains just imagining how uncomfortable that would be. I truly believe that gravity is going to strike back with a vengeance just because she's clearly mocking it.

Ok, so I'm all for fairness and getting what's rightfully yours and blah blah blah. But these pictures of the strike crack me the eff up. Because, people? IT'S NOT THAT SERIOUS. It's not Vietnam. YOU DON'T NEED JESSE JACKSON (note: I was going to make a reference to Jackson maybe not realizing who runs Hollywood-google Jackson and anti-Semitic if you don't know about the good reverends slightly racist leanings-but I opted not to, because in this time of strife and conflict and Internet royalties, we need to band together as a nation).

Oh, Mickey Rourke. For a dude who's walking out of the police station after being charged with a DUI, you certainly are chipper, aren't you. And why wouldn't you be. You have a face that looks like a caricature version of your former self. You're wearing cowboy boots and what might possibly be a snakeskin shirt in a charmingly unapologetic manner. And you take the time to shave your chest, yet you leave that Captain Hook-looking facial hair. You are truly a delightful, alcoholic enigma.

Sigh. When I grow up, I hope I can find a husband who will take me to fancy events and present me like he's Vanna White and I'm a sparkly, drugged-out vowel. And he let her wear heels! Nicole is going to be so pissed!

Hey, it's the creepy pharmacist from Desperate Housewives! I wonder what it's like to have no friends, mirrors, or knowledge of the existence of pomade.

This doesn't really relate to the rest of this post, but seriously, I don't know which to love more-the fact that Bowie looks like he's doing a damn Vogue shoot, or the fact that he has been in upstate New York (because really, I live there now, and I can't see it).

1.)Why are you still here?
2.)Are you aware that the picture on the right looks like you're wearing eye-shadow?
3.)Is that cord REALLY going to wrap itself around your neck and drag you off what might be the worst album cover I've ever seen, or are you just a tease?

Presenting the "Tyra/Oprah/Dr. Phil Axis Of Daytime Evil Quote Of The Day"!!!!

"You'd think you'd be like 'oh my god. Oh. My god. I have a miniature human here and I'm only 16. Oh my god.' But then you got pregnant AGAIN. Are you a slow learner?"-Dr. Phil


I've absolutely developed an unhealthy obsession with Dr. Phil. Like to the point that I have a running list of possible Dr. Phil-related thesis topics. Just because he resists the temptation to touch his guests' breasts or basically tell them they're going to hell because they're not Christian or talk about how to burp in your boyfriend's car without him noticing does NOT mean that he's any less crazy than Miss Tyra. He clearly is. He also thinks women are inferior. I base this sweeping judgment on one fact:

1.) His wife attends the taping of every single show-AND JUST SITS IN THE AUDIENCE SILENTLY DOING NOTHING BUT WATCHING HER HUSBAND WORK. He'll actually acknowledge her prescence about one in every 10 episodes. Homegirl just sits there. Every single day. For the hours and hours that it takes to tape these shows. Why!?!?! Isn't she allowed to work? Or if she doesn't want to work, doesn't she have something better to do than sit for a thousand hours on end?

Ok, PLUS he completely coddles his female guests, letting them get away with all kinds of crap that he won't take from men because he expects less from women. I'm also not having any more of his "aw, shucks, I'm just a down-home southern gentleman spreading my quaint brand of common sense to the masses." Gross. And according to his wikipedia page (and we all know that if it's on wikipedia, it is 100% fact), his dissertation was entitled "Rheumatoid Arthritis: A Psychological Intervention." I'm not sure why that makes me dislike him even more, but it really really does. It might have something to do with the fact that I'm fairly certain it's about pain being all in your head. Seriously, can you NOT see him yelling at a pack of grandmothers to toughen up!?

In which I link to everything on the internet

So did you watch the premiere of "Chuck" tonight? Well, if you did, then you now know what would happen if Zach Braff and John Krasinski had a baby, and NBC gave that baby a show. After the baby grew up, of course. Everyone knows that baby-centered television never works. Also, do you think that characters named Chuck will be having the best week ever?

In unrelated news, Ms. Bradshaw? You've been out of the game for awhile now, so I guess it's understandable. You weren't aware that it's now considered a major fashion faux pas to wear flowers bigger than your head with dominatrix shoes after Labor Day.

"I mean...I AM a graduate student in media studies...."

New favorite pick-up line, by the way. You'd be surprised how many men are into content analysis. That wasn't meant to be dirty. Not that it really sounds dirty. Now I feel like maybe I'm the dirty one here. ANYWAY-let's analyze some media!

So today I have been singing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn", by my personal favorite 80's hair band, Poison. Now, I'm not entirely sure why this particular song has worked it's way into my brain, but it has, and it refuses to un-clench it's vice-like grip over me. It might have something to do with the 76 episodes of Rock of Love that VH1 has been looping over and over and over. Who's to say. But back to my point-have you ever actually stopped to think about the rhyme scheme in that song?

"Every rose has its thorn

Just like every night has its dawn

Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song

Every rose has its thorn"

He rhymes "thorn" with "dawn" and "song". That totally blew my mind. I can't ever think of it the same way again. Because seriously, there are A BILLION AND TWENTY word that rhyme with thorn. Here's what I would have done:

"Every rose has its thorn

Just like every can has its corn

Just like every baby is eventually born

Every rose has its thorn"

OR

"Every rose has its thorn

Just like every guy looks at porn

Just like every Swede man is named Bjorn

Every rose has its thorn"

While we're on the topic of lyrics that bother me, allow me to share my personal favorite. DISCLAIMER: Stop reading now if your favorite song is (somehow) "In The Summertime", by Mungo Jerry. I have ruined this song for many, many people by pointing out what I'm about to.

Ok, if you're still with me, let me just say that I do love this song. It's just the words that kill me:

"In the summertime when the weather's high,

you can stretch right up and touch the sky,

when the weather's fine,

you got women, you got women on your mind.

Have a drink, have a drive,go out and see what you can find.

If her daddy's rich, take her out for a meal.

If her daddy's poor, just do as you feel.

Speed along the lane,

Do a ton, or a ton and twenty-five.

When the sun goes down, you can make it,make it good in a lay-by."

This song encourages:

1. Drinking and driving

2. Reckless driving

3. Using rich women

4. Possibly date-raping the poor ones.

Lovely!

I guess if you're this pretty, you don't need to bother with iambic pentameter

Takin' time to make time...

And suddenly it's 2001 once again and I am scared of my mail. Not that this was found in the mail, but I hear "anthrax" and I just go there. But ew, I'm really glad it's not 2001 again; I was blonde for the better part of that year, and it was a terrible life choice.

And on a lighter note....

Unfortunate Situation: Plugging your i-Pod into your car while you're in a parking lot surrounded by people and having an embarrassing song play extremely loudly.

Unfortunate Situation That Could ONLY Happen To Jenn: Having the parking lot be attached to a Jewish Community Center, and having the song be "Son of a Preacher Man."

True story, by the way. Happened last month. This embarrassing situation was after the one where I cried on the phone with the CVS pharmacist, but before the one when I slipped on spilled coffee at National Airport and fell on my bad knee-AGAIN. Essentially, if I leave the house I'm either going to a.)embarrass myself, or b.) get lost going somewhere I've already been 45 times, therefore embarrassing myself.

Just some things I have to say

1. I'm in graduate school. It's a little scary, and I am under constant stress wondering when they will discover that I am not very smart and that they made a horrible mistake. Also, I feel like I'm cheating on my college (both big basketball schools, renowned journalism/comm. programs, you know).
2. The "no cell phones while driving in New York" law is RUINING MY LIFE. Don't they know that the car is where I do my best phone calling?
3. I've survived a week without air conditioning. It's like Survivor up in this piece, for real.

Where Can I Buy Desperation Barbie?

ABC really knows what women want. We like our men vacant, manicured/groomed within an inch of their lives, and made of wax. So they're giving us Brad:

Bradley is the newest victim of "The Bachelor", ABC's hit reality program where women give up their careers, dignity, and self-respect in order to prostitute themselves for a plastic rose from an equally plastic man who is also DATING/MAKING OUT WITH ALL 15 OF THEIR ROOMMATES. God bless America.

Homeboy looks like a Ken doll. I'm not entirely sure what bothers me the most about him-is it the dead eyes? Or the fact that it looks like the hair in his beard/sleaze-stache was placed onto his wax skin one by one by a pair of tweezers?

He's also a total natural. Nothing awkward or forced about this gem!

Dear Internet: Am freaking out. Please send cookies.

In the midst of all this sadness, I developed a Mystery Cut on my arm that has since morphed into a Mystery Scar. Also, seriously, I kind of have a wonky-looking face, but I doubt copious amounts of vitamin-E oil will solve that problem. Not that it's doing much for Mystery Scar either.

I'm moving in 12 days. To go to graduate school. I have not discussed the matter in this forum as of yet. But now I have to. Because I am losing it a tiny bit. And this involves me crying over running out of hair gel, hyperventilating in the parking lot of REI, giving myself shin splints from spending 45 hours a day at the gym working out my anxieties, and typing in weird, short, pseudo-sentences at the beginning of all blog entries.

I have about 8 billion things to do and I can't seem to accomplish anything. Like yesterday I went to paint pottery. My procrastination is hard. Core. I don't just play solitaire on the computer, friends. I go out and do crafts.

Basically, I'm probably going to be posting a little less frequently for a while. But don't worry, kids. I will not abandon you completely. Because where else can I go when I feel the need to tell literally TENS of people things like "yeah, so I have to get a mouth-guard to wear at night." This is true, p.s. I went to the dentist today and he told me two things. The first was about the mouth-guard, the second was when I was being fitted for said guard and involved something about my mouth having unusually powerful suction. I don't know. Basically I need to wear this thing to bed every night because a.) you never know when a hockey puck's going to be flying at your face and b.) I have developed a delightful little crossbite, which is essentially an underbite that can't quite commit. So yeah, I'm a little sad about being 24 and having to wear a glorified retainer.

The moral of the story: maybe take your orthodonture seriously the first time, instead of I don't know, using those little rubber bands that were meant to go on your braces for when you make a million tiny braids all over your head, Bo Derek style, because really you look like an ass and now your bite is still messed up. NEVER HAPPENED....

But I'm Still Sad About "Sassy"

I'm not sure of the exact moment when Jane magazine jumped the shark. I do know that it plummeted into an irreparable state of suck once the new editor-in-chief started last year, but it must have started prior to that. I guess when even Jane wants out of Jane, things can't be going well.



The point is, it's been steadily declining for a while now, but I've stuck by it. Because when Jane was good, it was GOOD. It was what made me want to major in magazine journalism, what helped me navigate the dismal abyss of teenage-dom when all Cosmo and Glamour wanted to do was tell me "50 Sizzling Sex Secrets That Your Man Wants You To Know NOW!" and explain why coral lipstick was going to change my life this season. I loved everything about it-the bitchy responses to reader mail, the distinct feel of the pages, the painfully honest editorials, the lack of diet tips, the sometimes less than polite language. But it eventually succumbed to the pressure brought on by the InTouch, USWeekly wave and little by little Jane began to change, and not for the better.



So when I heard that Jane finally folded last week, I was sad for about two seconds. And then I cracked open the latest issue and realized that this was not an untimely death, but rather a mercy-killing. Because what I found on page 84, "The Slacker's Guide To Looking Swanky", was just too sad and pathetic for my life. Please note: these "beauty" tips suck and are dangerous, not only to the entire women's rights movement, but to your actual health-they might literally kill you:



"Lip gloss brushed on your teeth will keep your smile luminous and help lips stay moisturized."
Why not just squirt it on your tongue and eat it. Nothing like a chapped and dull esophagus to turn a man off.

"Try a nontoxic red Sharpie for a long lasting lip stain. Dot along your lips and blend with a natural balm."
Because if it's nontoxic, then by all means, color your face with it. This is basically the grown-up equivalent of eating glue. Also, I don't really know any women who have NO extra tubes of lipstick/gloss lying around, but a surplus of red markers. And if you're doing this at work, then I hope they fire your ass for being creepy and weird.



And my personal favorite:
"Apply a lip plumper to your nipples if you're going sans bra for an attention getting pop."
This is just...wrong. And sounds painful. And dangerous. And inappropriate. And RIDICULOUS. And since when is this something that we want? (Straight) men are most likely going to be looking at your breasts anyway. That just happens. Is this necessary?


R.I.P, Jane. Make sure to smear motor-oil on your eyelids and exfoliate your nose with a Brillo pad before your head up to that editorial meeting in the sky.

Really, really proud to be a Virginian right now

Max and I are less than amused with this bullshit

I know, I'm not usually prone to making snap judgements or flying off the handle or being overly dramatic EVER AT ALL. However, if this is true? Throw away the effing key, man.

Some highlights:


"Some dogs were killed after being "rolled," a process by which dogs are tested to determine if they are ferocious fighters. However, in one case, a female pit bull was injured in a fight that cost Vick and his co-defendants $13,000, according to the indictment.

After Vick was consulted about the canine's condition, one of his co-defendants "executed the losing dog by wetting the dog down with water and electrocuting the animal," the indictment states.

Various other methods were used to kill dogs that fought or tested poorly, including hanging, drowning, shooting, and in at least one case, slamming the dog to the ground, the indictment says.

The indictment alleges that the Falcons phenom and his cohorts engaged in other disturbing practices and that a raid on a home in Virginia uncovered items like "breaking sticks" -- used for prying fighting dogs' jaws apart -- and a "rape stand" used to tie down aggressive female dogs for breeding."




To make up for the violence being perpetrated towards his brethren and appease the guilt that I feel for a.)living in the same state as these bastards and b.) belonging to the same species as said bastards, I have given Max a new bone, dog ice-cream, and about 80 thousand treats in the past few hours. I'm going to make a wonderful Jewish mother someday.

Racism. Gangsta Rap. Intrigue on the High Seas.

PROVIDENCE, Rhode Island (AP) -- The longtime chairman of the Roger Williams University board admitted Monday to using the N-word during a board meeting, saying it "kind of slipped out."
"I apologized for that," Ralph Papitto said in an interview on WPRO-AM. "What else can I do? Kill myself?"

1.)Who is this Roger Williams, and how did he get his own university? Because I really, really want one too.

2.) I don't exactly understand how this could just "slip out". I don't think I've ever actually said that word out loud, for real. Granted, this guy is like 754 years old (or 80, whatev) so I SUPPOSE he could say that he used that word like 60 years ago when it wasn't as socially reprehensible and he hasn't used it since and it just slipped, as words are wont to do after not being used at all for 60 years in the land of the magical Roger Williams University (seriously, who is this guy??*). Except....

'"The first time I heard it was on television or rap music or something," he told WPRO."

DAMN IT RALPH, I'm trying to help you out here. I find it hard to believe that a chairman of a college who was like 40 years old during the Civil Rights Movement NEVER HEARD THE N-WORD until Dr. Dre came around and effed up his universe.


3.)Yes, Ralph. You should just kill yourself. Because if people are still disappointed at disgusting bigotry coming from a leader at a university even after said leader gave his all-healing apology, they must want you to kill yourself. Did you first hear that from an episode of Gilmore Girls or something?


*ALLEGEDLY he was some kind of early English settler and theologian . I really wanted him to be a pirate. Disappointed.

10 Things To Tell My 16-Year-Old Self

1. Don't be afraid to wear high-heels. And for God's sake, get over the fact that those boys teased you in 6th grade for being taller than the teacher.

2. Everyone is lying to you-you will never ever ever EVER use Algebra, Geometry, or Trig. Never ever. In fact, in 8 years you'll take the GRE's and rely on formulas that you straight up invented in your head to score above average on the math section.


3. Don't freak out about the car (or lack thereof) situation. In a few months, your dad will cave and give you the red Explorer to drive when he realizes that he needs someone to pick up your youngest siblings from private school on Mondays.


4. Don't take yourself so damn seriously. Your parents are the grown-ups, you don't have to worry about everything and try to fix everyone's problems.


5. Pay attention and LEARN PAGEMAKER NOW. Because it's going to be really embarrassing in two years when you're managing editor of your school paper and you still don't know how to work the computers but have to pretend like you know everything, and you're forced to publicly berate and abuse freshmen to deflect attention from your incompetency.


6. One of the best things about you is that you don't cave into peer pressure. In 8 years you won't regret not getting high with that sketchy 20-something waiter in the parking lot of the Silver Diner.


7. You don't look good as a blonde now, you're not going to look good as a blonde when you do this again in 6 years.


8. Don't quit physical therapy for your dislocated knee just because Hot Physical Therapist moved to Las Vegas. Because being able to predict the weather based solely on how badly your cartilage is cracking won't help you pick up as many men as you think when you're 24.


9. Just say no to dumbing yourself down to appease the fragile teenage male ego. And white eye-liner. Avoid both at all costs.



10. Things will get better. They're going to get a hell of a lot worse first, but they will get better.

Stop and smell the...disposable razors?

I use these razors:

No, it's not Hair Removal Sunday. And I'm not being paid to endorse them by BIC (but should BIC want to pay me, I will whore it out for them so fast their little pivoting razor heads will spin). The purpose of me sharing this with you is to preface a little story. So today I go to pick up some of these razors at Target. Now, I notice that right next to the usual kind of "Soleil" razors is what looks to be a package of the same razors, just in a different purple-y color. So I buy them. I'm adventurous. I like purple. What's the harm, right? WRONG.

I was just about to take a shower, so I grabbed the package of razors and that's when I noticed it. These were not my usual razors in a different color scheme. No, these were far more sinister.

These were razors with scented handles.

Let's list why this is ridiculous, shall we?

1. These razors are used by women. Not little girls. Women can handle products that come in colors other than pink and aren't scented all girly-like and crap. I have a pretty good idea where the notion that we needed scented plastic items. I call this the "Strawberry Shortcake Doll Syndrome".

2. The website explains that they "chose lavender based on our research, which showed the relaxing scent is popular today in a variety of health and beauty care products". Read that again. Their "research" basically included going to CVS and looking at the shelves. They didn't actually do any research about the scent at all.

3. How are you supposed to smell this anyway? Unless these are designed for women WITH MOUSTACHES THAT THEY SHAVE WITH RAZORS, then I don't understand how you get the razors close enough to your nose to enjoy the soothing, relaxing scent.

4. Lastly, soothed and relaxed are not two things that I want to be while holding a blade.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go set women back a few decades by using this crap.

Don't test me, Vicki

You guys are TOO MUCH. I realized there was a great public outcry when I took an unscheduled leave from my blogging duties. I knew there were tears and waves of depression and much melancholy sweeping through the nation. But I didn't realize it went this far. I couldn't have fathomed that it would surpass this world and reached all the way to.....Spice World.

I don't know how you managed it, but bravo. Somehow word of my departure reached Victoria Beckham, who decided to take measures so drastic that I would be unable to resist commenting on a cyber forum. Homegirl threw down the gauntlet. And it's a real shame she did, because clearly Ms. Beckham could have used that gauntlet (or, I don't know, A SHIRT) to cover herself when she went out in public today:

Seriously. This woman is a MOTHER. And here she is looking like some kind of PATRIOTIC DOMINATRIX. I mean, am I way off-base here? I don't understand dressing like Catwoman to go about your daily activities. And just look at her here; everyone else is smiling and, I don't know, human-like and she's on some kind of Parisian runway in her mind. She's just "that girl". The kind who tells her friends that she's just wearing jeans and a T-shirt to the bar tonight and convinces them to do the same, then shows up in a g-string and pasties.

I'm going to go ahead and blame this fashion faux-whatthemotherlovingcrap on "I Wear A Union Jack As A Minidress Spice"*. Obviously Posh took this move to mean that any old thing lying around the house is appropriate for covering (or not) one's assets, or else she wouldn't be half-wearing a coaster.

*I know her real name, but I won't ever use it in this blog. Why, you ask? She named her kid Bluebell Madonna. Someone has to stand up for the wronged children of the world.

"AccuQuote: we're in the life insurance business, not the 'asking ourselves if this is appropriate given the date' business!"

I really can't fault AccuQuote for this ad that popped up on the right side of CNN.com a mere minute ago. Clearly market research has shown that nothing says "Happy Father's Day weekend!" like taking a moment to acknowledge the very real possibility that your old man could go at any time:

Oh, I don't know WHAT would happen, little Susie...except that you and Mommy would be ROLLING IN IT thanks to that sweet-ass life-insurance plan you bought Daddy for Father's Day!