Okay, you’re about to learn something very unbecoming about my personality. I’m not proud of this, but whenever I’m out running, and somebody tries to flag me down to ask for directions or whatever, I pretend I don’t see them. I just keep running. I KNOW – it’s terrible! But I don’t want my heart rate to go down! You’d think human contact and social interaction would mean SO much more to me than my own ridiculous muscle tone. But nope. I’m actually pretty shallow that way. Annnnnnnyhoo…..
If a person’s asking directions in Wilkes Barre, I figure sometime soon they’ll happen upon a mom pushing a stroller, smoking a cigarette (we have a lot of those) and SHE will help them. In fact, it might force the smokey momma to put her cancer stick down and provide a brief moment of lung reprieve for the baby in the stroller. So in a way, I’m kinda doing a GOOD thing! See? See how I try to rationalize my rudeness?
Yeah, I’m a jerk.
But now I’ve been faced with a NEW conundrum! I went to the Turkey Hill gas station yesterday (the same one I run past every day – sometimes I wave to the employees if they’re outside, so I guess they kinda feel like they know me). The lady behind the counter goes, “Hey, EVERY DAY you run by here and wave, how come you never stop and talk to us?”……….umm……cuz I’m a jerk? Haaaa. I didn’t know I was supposed to…..
So here’s me, floundering for a response to that question….. I’m like “Yeah, I know! I should!” (Huh? I have no idea what that means).
Gah! All along I thought I was doing awesome by WAVING! Now I feel like I have to do something MORE, or else I’m a big rudey rudepants. Cuz now we’ve had this exchange. And I’m the big doofy idiot that said “Yeah I should!” ……I tell ya, I don’t know what the protocol is here. Contemplating changing my running route. It's driving me nuts. Look for me at Neurosis Street & OCD Lane at quarter to noon. I’ll be the one waving…..
Is one of the guys from Bel Biv Devoe writing for US Magazine now? Seriously, who in Bobby Brown’s camp is sleeping with the editor of that magazine? Bobby left his ex-wife’s funeral after fifteen minutes because they wouldn’t let his entire posse (nine people, mind you) sit in the front row, and now he’s trying to spin it like HE’S the victim?! And US MAGAZINE IS LETTING HIM?!
Here’s what they had to say about Bobby…..(MY inner monologue is in italics):
“Despite an emotional day, Bobby Brown managed to put on a smile for concertgoers when he took the stage with New Edition Saturday. (Aww, that little trooper – he "managed")
Brown, who prematurely left Whitney Houston's funeral services in Newark, NJ earlier that day, made sure to pay tribute to his ex-wife during her "home going" weekend. (Yes, he made sure. Briefly. And he also made sure to ruin the moment by reminding the crowd he’s a “bad ass”...…you’ll see…)
‘I want to give blessing to my ex-wife Whitney Houston. I love you,’ Brown, 43, said, pointing his finger in the air. "Thank you for all the love and if you didn't already know, I go by the name of Bad Ass Bobby Brown,’ he added.” .....(REALLY?! You’re REALLY gonna take this moment to CLARIFY that you’re a “bad ass”?! Just in case any of us forgot how you hit her, spit on her, and probably introduced her to drugs in the first place?)
Okay, that’s all I can stomach from Us Magazine.
I don’t mean to downplay Bobby’s feelings. I’m sure he’s very distraught. But this is a classic case of actions speaking louder than words. He’s got five other dudes in New Edition – they couldn’t handle those harmonies without ya, Bobby? You couldn’t miss one show? Come on.
And as far as being mad because your entourage was denied admittance to the funeral, you had ONE invitation (lucky to get that). ONE. Not nine. I’d like to point out also that Whitney’s family made sure to invite your four OTHER children – they didn’t have to do that. THAT should’ve been enough. You sit with your kids, you hug your daughter Bobbi Kristina, and then you stay after the service and help out if there’s a freaking potluck. Tool. You DON’T throw a little hissy fit and make the day all about you. And for the record, the ONLY response when you’re asked to switch seats at a funeral is “sure”. And then you fxxking switch seats and don’t bitch!
Afterward he released a statement saying that he left the funeral because he “refused to create a scene” (umkay) and he was gonna pay tribute to his ex-wife “the best way he knows how”….I guess that means by playing “Popcorn Love” and reminding the world he is a BAD ASS. Kevin Costner’s moving eulogy could never hold a candle to that. THIS JUST IN (pay attention, Us Magazine): Bobby Brown is a Chris Brown-level douchebag!
“Honey, ya got frosting or something on your bum!!!” My neighbor lady yelled this to me as I was walking into my house. How did I get frosting on my bum? Well, it started with me being born a moron. Then somebody gave me cake. Our friend Cheryl Willis from Fox TV brought us cake this morning with Simpsons characters on it, because they’re celebrating the 500th episode of the Simpsons (my favorite show). So I guess when you work in TV, you actually SHARE your cake with others instead of hoarding it like Gollum in a lonely darkened cave, which is what radio people do when they get dessert.
Well we couldn't have been happier to get this succulent sweet surprise! It got passed around the radio station like a tipsy cheerleader on prom night. DEMOLISHED by the time we got off the air! And then immediately after the show I had to run home for a minute. Thank GOD Mrs. Humberth saw me exiting the car. I would’ve spent the rest of my workday and an afternoon running errands with frosting on my derriere. Imagine how many random strangers would see me traipsing around town like this and think I’d lost my marbles. (I did that once with spinach in my teeth. By my calculations, I spent three hours with leafy greens clearly visible in my two fronties…..went to the bank….the post office…..nobody told me.)
So Mrs. Humberth, if you’re reading this, you did your good deed for the day. So did Cheryl by bringing us the cake in the first place. Now maybe if I’d slow down and not eat my food like Homer Simpson, I wouldn’t get frosting on my ass. HOW THE HELL DOES A PERSON GET FROSTING ON THEIR BUTT?! ….. I need a Duff.
If American Idol had a mascot for last night’s show, it’d be a barf bag with wobbly legs. His name would be Pukey McFainty. Holy jeeeeeez, there was a lot of puking and fainting last night!!!! Oh, and kids forgetting the lyrics. Lotta that too. I’m sitting on my couch eating elbow macaroni, trying not to refund, and reminding myself that this is supposed to be ENJOYABLE to watch….
It wasn’t. It was painful.
And not for the reason you think. I physically ache for these kids. It’s no wonder we have issues with 15-16 year olds getting sick and forgetting lyrics when we take them straight from their parents’ houses and put them on a stage in front of thousands of people (and three very intimidating celebrities) and have them sing songs they probably don’t know anyway, with fellow contestants they’ve never met. And ALL of them are on like four hours of sleep.
THIS is why I’m against them lowering the entry age for American Idol. And I’m against PARENTS who would let their kids enter at 15 or 16. It looks exciting and glamorous, so they enter. But they’re not ready to be in this world! Here’s our proof, parents. How many adorable TALENTED teenagers hafta puke and faint before we get it? And most of the judges’ comments during auditions were things like “you’re just too young, hun, come back next year” or “maybe let your voice develop, then come back”………. No sh!t.
I’ve always been anti-American Idol anyway because it takes away the natural progression of live music. No one ever has to pay their dues. And before you say I’m just a whiny singer-songwriter who’s mad because I AM paying my dues and not getting enough attention, lemme stop ya. No I’m not. I support ANYONE who makes music. Music is beautiful. But we’re doing these kids a tremendous disservice because road gigs teach you how to handle things that will inevitably come up in live situations: how to perform under pressure, how to improvise, how to work the equipment, how to work with other musicians, etc.
This is training you NEED! And you will only get it ON THE ROAD – aka “paying your dues”. I think early twenties are the PERFECT age to go on American Idol. Play clubs for a while after high school, get your sea legs music-wise, then get yourself out there. And if somebody gives you an opportunity to fast forward your career, TAKE IT. But the really young kids will continue to be VERY difficult for me to watch. This is not good TV. And not good parenting. Pukey McFainty would agree.
LET THEM BE KIDS!!!!!! .................(imagine if my parents woulda forced THAT little girl to grow up before her time....I might be wearing those same Wonder Woman undies, clinging to a pole....)
Ahh, V-Day. Everyone’s telling you what you should be doing, what you should be feeling, etc... but I firmly believe that some of these institutions set out to “help” us on this holiday are truly intended to harm. Or at least keep us from getting laid.
Take, for instance, Cosmo magazine. Every month they have some hot and steamy sex advice GUARANTEED to make your man go bonkers! And it’s always something weird you’ve never heard of before. Something SO insane, you wonder if it’s a typo. But it’s not. They promise your man will explode like Vesuvius if you try their expert tidbits. So you float the idea. You read the “expert” tidbits to your boyfriend. Here’s how the conversation goes:
You: Honey, Cosmo says I should pour ice cubes down your pants and let a ring-tailed lemur gnaw on your nipples. You turned on by that?
Him: If by “turned on” you mean “officially searching for a new girlfriend”, then yes….. I am sooooo turned on….. You been standing too close to the microwave?
Another source from which you should NEVER take love advice: the funeral home. Don’t laugh - there IS a funeral home (I’m not gonna say which) selling HIS & HERS BURIAL PLOTS for Valentines Day!!!! Is there a more depressing gift in our solar system? I wanna see your spouse’s face when you get handed a bouquet of beautiful long stemmed roses and you reciprocate with…….corpse holders. Hey! Babe! If we did a murder/suicide thing we could use this TODAY! What’s that? You were already contemplating murder/suicide thing when I handed you this present? Weeeeird!! Well golly gee, true soul mates are we!
Instead, take MY advice this Valentines Day (cuz Lissa loves you and would never try to sell you anything): cook dinner for your love. Follow with some hardcore canoodling and falling asleep in front of the TV. Real love doesn’t need casket holes. Or lemurs. Bowmp-chicka-wow-wow…. LOVE!
Oy vey. What a weekend. I don’t even know where to begin with all the Whitney Houston stuff, so I’ll just say: she is the absolute greatest voice of all time. Period. Jennifer Hudson’s tribute was immaculate. Whenever somebody passes away before their time (and we assume it’s from drugs and alcohol) I always think: was there anything ANYONE could’ve done to help her? If Whitney heard all the beautiful things people were saying about her last night, would it have made a difference? If her album sales and downloads would’ve catapulted like they did this morning, would that have made her rethink her actions?
Sad thing is, I don’t think so. People who are hell bent on self destruction will NOT change. Unless they want to. We can’t even comprehend the kind of life she had. It just goes to show how even the mightiest personalities can succumb to substance abuse.
If anything, use this experience to convey to your kids (especially if they’re budding musicians, like I was) that drugs and alcohol are classic ruiners of talent. They can take down anybody. I still remember being a wee little kid, idolizing Elton John, Stevie Nicks, and Jim Morrison (yeah, I know - corroded nasal passage trio anyone?) and being keenly aware that drugs killed Jim. They ALMOST killed Elton and Stevie. That scared the crap outta me. That was enough for me to be on the road for years and years with my band and never wanna touch the stuff. I even instated a rule: NO ONE in the band was allowed to do drugs. If they did, fired immediately! It sounds harsh but it was the only way to operate and be productive, in my mind.
So, young musicians, if you listen to me ever – listen to me now. When it comes to drugs (and smoking cigarettes) don’t even START doing it! Cuz then you’ll never know if you like it, you’ll never know if you hate it. But you’ll always know that you’re in control. Musicians and artists tend to have addictive personalities so when you try something and like it, you tend to want it all the time. If it can take down powerhouses like Whitney, Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, Janis, etc. – it can take you down too. Don’t let it! Music is drug enough. Trust me on that one ;) ..........By the way, what the hell was Paris Hilton doing at the GRAMMYS?! Did she get lost on her way to the Adult Video Awards?
Wrote this song about an hour ago. We found out today that a friend of mine (Hi Nicole! Love you!) is completely tumor free after battling a very serious illness for quite some time. Needless to say, this news is a GLORIOUS gift from heaven and it inspired me to write a song. This is to tell her I'll always be there for her through good & bad and I'm so so so so HAPPY she's healthy!
The great creative writers of this century are unequivocally the chicks who describe accessories in Self Magazine. They see fifty of the same thing every week and find masterful new ways of saying something poetic about it. I used to think that job would be incredibly easy – even thought about APPLYING for it! Hell, I’m a good writer! I could do that! Or could I?
I decided to play a little game last night as I was curled up with this month's issue: read the description of every item on an “accessories page", and see if I would say something of equal or greater creativity about said item. Here on page 48 we have an assortment of handbags. Aaaaaand GO!
About Purse #1 - here’s what THEY said: “Gold leather with braided chain breathes new life into a timeless shape.”
Here’s what I said: “This one has a strap.”
Purse #2 - THEY said: “Stash date night musts in a bag so swoonworthy, your date will go great.”
I said: “Sorry honey - your date’s gay. He just swooned over a purse.”
Purse #3 - THEY said: “There’s no missing you with this eye catching Charles Jourdan duffel!”
I said: “People find you very uninteresting so it would really behoove you to buy this bag. It’s probably the only thing that’ll make a stranger wanna talk to you.”
…………..See, this I why you should never assume you could do someone else’s job. I can see the good folks at Self magazine giving me a chance as a contributor cuz they think I’m refreshingly quirky, but then when subscription sales tank and complaints start to roll in, they’d be like “Yeah, we wanted Zooey Deschanel quirky. Not farm-girl-won-a-trip-to-a-fashion-show quirky.” Good thing I have my blog. You guys get me. You don’t mind that I’ve been carrying the same bag for ten years. You know it’s the only thing keeping me from going on more dates with gay guys.
Wow. Something I realized as I read the E Online story about Demi Moore this morning: people have NO sympathy for the rich and famous! Demi finally checked herself into rehab. Good for her, right? Check out a couple “E! Viewer Comments”:
“Her life as a rich and famous person must be so difficult. It is hard to imagine how she could cope with all the hardship that goes along with being rich and famous. I pray that she finds the strength to recover and get back to being rich and famous. I thank God everyday that I am not cursed with the tough life of the rich and famous.”
“She’s so old. It’s pathetic.”
“She really has so little that matters inside. I’m sure Ashton was fed up. She looks like a hag now.”
“This stupid woman needs to nix the spiritual counseling, quit obsessing about her weight and looks, quit trying to find happiness through relationships with men, and QUIT THINKING ABOUT HERSELF!”
Oh…..my…..gawww…..wow.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Do people actually THINK this stuff?! Or are they trying to be funny or witty or something? I don’t get it. There were a couple decent people doing the compassionate HUMAN thing of sticking up for her, but still….the majority of the comments were cruel. This may sound silly coming from a person who jokes about every celebrity imaginable (cuz I do), but there is a line. And this is it. This woman needs help - we don’t know her circumstances! Like the Charlie Sheen thing last year, once it was evident that he was in real danger of hurting himself, it ceased to be funny.
A couple months ago when K-Fed collapsed on the set of Australian Celebrity Fit Club, the jokes would’ve been soooooooooo easy. But then I thought to myself: Wait….he’s a dad….he’s got four or five little Benjamins (I think of every kid like my nephew Benajmin now) who would be devastated if something happened to him….umm, never mind. Not funny.
I know it’s tempting to wanna rag on people because they’re wealthy, cuz it seems like they have it way better than we do, but they don’t. Maybe they don’t hafta worry about driving a piece of crap Neon or being too poor to afford name brand soda (HI LISSA) but they struggle in many different ways. And to not have sympathy for somebody just cuz they have money – that’s chilling. By the way, I would loooooooove to get a gander at all these chicks calling Demi Moore a “hag”. My guess is they bear a striking resemblance to Bruce Willis.
Wrote this song in the middle of the night last night (that's why I look like holy hell). More to come! Excited to be doing a concert soon!!!!! Details about THAT coming soon too!
I like to consider myself a reasonably intelligent person (somewhere between genius and monkey). But sometimes even the smartest people are incapable of grasping the most basic concepts. Example: my parents read my blogs. Sometimes my dear mother will mention to me (very sweetly) that it weirds her out how much I make dirty jokes and talk about poo. My immediate reaction is to start explaining to her why sex and poo are so very very funny, when really she’s just thinking “how about fewer references to boobs and feces, you classless brainchild?” …….Hm. Never crossed my mind. That’s an option?
I say this because I pulled another boner last night (see, I make dirty jokes even when I don’t mean to) when I was on the phone with a friend of mine. He’s an athlete. He’s in CRAZY shape, constantly doing triathlons and stuff, probably should be on a Wheaties box, you get the type……And since we’re both runners we were talking about me doing the marathon this year, and how we’ve had such nice weather the last few days we’ve gotten to run outside. Sounds like an innocent conversation, right? Until….
Him: How many miles did you do today?
Me: Eight.
Him: Nice. You still doing Zumba too?
Me: Oh yeah! I love it. Except my lower back’s been killing me lately so I might hafta dial it back a little.
Him: Really? You wearing proper footwear?
Me: I actually wear the same shoes for Zumba AND running. I have these really comfortable running shoes my cousin gave me like three years ago, so I just wear them all the time.
(long pause)
Him: You wear three year old hand-me-down running shoes?
Me: Yep.
Him: And you run like thirty miles a week?
Me: Yep.
Him: And you wanna run the New York City Marathon in these things?
Me: Umm….
Him: AND you wonder why your back hurts?
Me: (laughing) I feel really stupid right now…
Him: Awww, why are the cute ones always so dumb?
...........HA! So that’s on my “To Do” list the minute I get a little extra money: BUY NEW RUNNING SHOES! I think we just found the source of my back pain (and, coincidentally, the source of my brain pain). If anyone can suggest a good foot fitter/shoe place in Scranton, I’d be much obliged. I need all the help I can get. The cute ones really ARE so dumb ;)
“How did I get so fat?”…….The question o’ the day. Oh, I’m not the one saying that. I was recently asked this by a female acquaintance in the Ladies' Room. One minute we’re making small talk, the next minute she’s looking in the mirror (obviously not liking what she sees), fiddling with her outfit and she drops this conversational word bomb on me:
“How did I get so fat?”
AAA! What the….? Verbal life preserver, where ARE you?! I started stammering, but she interrupted me (thank GOD) with: “I mean, I used to be skinny like you. But then it’s like ‘who’s looking at me anyways’ so I just quit paying attention, ya know? And then all the sudden I’m fat. I can’t believe how fat I am!” .........Hoooooooooly awkward. Please Lord, strike me with lightning. Make the sprinklers come on. Make me poop myself. Make elephants run into this bathroom - ANYTHING to break the tension!!!
I get VERY uncomfortable when people insult themselves. Especially when the insults are kinda true. She IS a little overweight. But what am I supposed to say? “It’s probably a combination of your bad lifestyle choices and a gradual malaise in regards to personal appearance that inevitably culminates in your extreme self loathing”? No. You can’t say that. So here’s what I went with: “Oh, sweetie, please don’t say that stuff about yourself! Nobody likes how they look ALL the time! Not even supermodels.” ……….wowwww……clap, clap, clap……very insightful, Lissa. You’re a modern day Confucius. Brilliant. And she could tell it was a BS answer too. She looked at me as if I’d said “Fox News really IS fair and balanced reporting!"
So then for the rest of the day I avoided her. I was just in desperate fear that the same situation would somehow present itself and I’d puke out some OTHER idiotic Stuart Smalley response. Am I the only one who’s put off by people insulting themselves? I hope not. Cuz I feel bad. I dodge this woman like the plague now. It’s not that I don’t like her – I just wish SHE liked her! I seriously need index cards for life. Cuz if this scenario happens again, I NEED a better answer. But it can’t be the truth. How about I just SAY “I pooped myself”? Nobody needs to know it’s not true. It’s not like they’ll check.... see, this is why I need index cards. And someone to fill them out. Takers?
