Can we have ONE holiday where I'm not stuck alone in my house, on the verge of tears, eating my feelings? Apparently not. Halloween was very scary for me. Partially because I had to finally acknowledge that my neighborhood is completely unsafe for children, and partially because I was subjected to Nancy Graceâs cheese wedge bare thighs on Dancing With The Stars. Brrrrgggghhhhaaaâ¦. Nightmares.
I stayed home all evening and waited patiently (read: pathetically) for trick-or-treaters. Got my hopes up (mistake number one) and bought FIVE BAGS of candy (mistake number two). I really shouldâve suspected I wouldnât have many, what with all the drugs and hookers and stabbings and stuff in my neighborhood, but eh, dare to dream! So there I sat. Like an old person whose wheelchair had been positioned by a window for those few precious hours of mandatory sunlight.
I waited. And waited. Hopingâ¦â¦â¦.. for a knock at the door. (Felt like prom night the remix)
About two hours in, I finally got three little trick-or-treaters. Adorable! Two candy corns and a Mario Brother (or maybe two of Lindsay Lohanâs teeth and a Kardashian brother â couldnât really tell).
I gave them the mother load - about a bag of candy a piece. One of the kids ran back to the car and yelled to his mom âTHAT WAS THE BEST HOUSE!!â Haaaaâ¦..yeah buddy - datâs right. Tell your lil friends. You know where to come for the good stuff next year (I just realized thatâs probably the same catch phrase used by the meth dealer down the street. Uh-oh).
So I settled in to watch DWTS. Tried to eat, but lost my appetite when there on my TV screen was death in its rawest form; Nancy Graceâs upper thigh.  With all due respect to Jason, Freddy, and Chucky â you guys ainât got nuthinâ on those tree stumps. That visual haunts me. Even though Halloween is over, let us be vigilant in our fear. For Nancy Grace is like Freddy  â  sheâll get you in your sleep. With a judgmental viciousness, sheâll interrupt you til you pass out and she smothers you to death. Iâm not kidding.
Jiggle-a-jiggle-a-smother-a-smother-aâ¦..hold me. Next holiday, please.
Hey! Devils Night! F#%k you! Woke up this morning to find my car covered in green paint. Adorable little vandals. Ya mischievous scampsâ¦â¦ And it wasnât just my car - EVERY car on my street! Luckily it froze so I chipped it right off. Hope my neighbors can do the same. I donât mean to make assumptions, but sommmmmething tells me the perpetrators might be that group of infinitely bored spray can wielding sidewalk dwellers who live on the corner of my block. They flip off old people for no reason and set fire to their own hair. Theyâre nimrods.
So yeah, Iâm upset that this happened, but my BIGGEST annoyance is that someone could actually find this funny. Iâm a pretty open-minded person when it comes to humor (I submit as evidence my heroin addicted mouse encounter), but I donât get the punch line in covering another personâs car with paint.
Hereâs my theory in regards to people who genuinely take pleasure in the pain or suffering of another person: they're scum. Teasing and joking are one thing, but once you cross that line into truly hurtful, you've relinquished your rights to fair and humane treatment from the rest of us.
There was this kid in my elementary school who used to pick on a girl with special needs, til one day she almost cried. So in front of everybody on the bus I pointed out that he had crooked yellow teeth and that his dad was an unemployed alcoholic. He acted shocked and hurt. He was like âI canât believe you just said that!â Under normal circumstances, I wouldâve felt bad. But I didnât. I told him I could keep going (and I wanted to; his mom had three kids with three different guys â Iâd been stockpiling slutty mom jokes since the first day this bunghole started teasing that other girl) but I held back. Thankfully he never bothered her again. Still, to this day Iâm sure he hates my guts. Meh.
So if I find out who pulled this paint prank, I am SO going Count of Monte Cristo with my revenge!! I donât know what Iâll do (oh who am I kidding - probably nothing), but itâs fun to imagine. Even MORE fun to finally have an excuse to sit on my porch all afternoon with a paintball gun.Â
Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine Iâm on a tropical beach somewhere, sipping mai tais and using the word âfabulousâ to describe everything. In this fantasy, I have a gold-encrusted bikini and a killer tan. And Iâm surrounded by people who laugh hysterically at all my jokes. In real life, Iâm in Wilkes Barre PA, my co-workers seldom get my sarcastic humor, I wear SPF 50, and a gold-encrusted bikini would probably burn my hoo-ha. Guh....Itchy. But itâs fun to imagine, isnât it?
I also like to imagine the original lineup of Guns nâ Roses getting back together. Another fantasy that will never come true. Guns nâ Roses is my all-time FAVORITE band. I got a rose tattoo on my stomach the day I turned eighteenâ¦.. Itâs an âAxl Roseâ. I know. Stupidâ¦.played. But hey, I was eighteen. Couldâve been a locomotive. Couldâve been a November raindrop. Couldâve been a rocket queen. My point: couldâve been sooooooo much dumber. So leave me alone.
I got my GnR tickets for the big show at Mohegan Sun Arena November 20 and I am officially PSYCHED! Iâve been getting a little flak from other diehard Guns fans because I honestly donât give a crap that Axlâs the only ORIGINAL member on this tour. Big whoop. He was the main songwriter â we all know this. And yes, it sucks ass that they canât reconcile, but much like we are never again gonna see Meg Ryanâs original face, we must come to terms with these new developments and move on.
Sure, itâs not the same. But itâs still AWESOME.
Iâve been in a rock band myself, and I know first hand how things can go south between band members. Of course, this is different in my case because we made little to no money and had little to no success. The only way we were getting booked at the state fair is if we joined 4-H. But I digress. IÂ just mean to say I have equal sympathy for BOTH sides.
I would LOVE to see Slash, Duff, Izzy, and Steven onstage with Axl again, but letâs be real. GnR is gonna kick ass no matter what! Because those songs are timeless. And Axlâs bigger than life (which is also why heâs a complete f%#king whackadoo). But I love him. I put Kanye in the same category: youâre crazy, but youâre a genius and I love you. Crazy/talented/genius. Iâm lucky if I get weird/slow-witted/follower.
So I hope to see you at Mohegan Sun Arena November 20! Iâll bring my 4-H pig. Nameâs âWigglyâ. You can pet him. And if you see me down front, Iâll be the girl spazzing out to every song, trying to use my radio station laminates to get backstage (and by âradio station laminatesâ, of course I mean boobs).
Three things I love about fall: leaves changing, spiced cider, and going to pick pumpkins with my privates exposed. Itâs like Grandma used to say: âIf the families at the pumpkin patch didnât wanna see your vulva, they shouldâve thought of that before they left the house.â â¦â¦.wait â what?
Check out that photo. WHO THE HELL WEARS THIS TO A PUBLIC PUMPKIN-PICKING PATCH? (I like alliteration â can you tell?) Perhaps this girl thought it was the âpubicâ pumpkin patch. Either way, when we can see your patchâ¦..your shorts are too short. Tip of the iceberg as far as this photoâs concerned.
In case youâre wondering â this is Courtney Stodden and Doug Hutchison (the 51 year-old creepenstein actor who married the 17 year-old fruitcake degenerate wannabe country singer). They showed up at a Hollywood Hills pumpkin patch over the weekend, and proceeded to passionately make out and strike various poses. Shockingly enough, PEOPLE COMPLAINED! I know â prudes, right?! I mean, folks should realize that when they bring their children to a public family place, thereâs a good chance they might see a horny couple fornicating.
After several angry parents lodged complaints with the owners, Courtney and Doug were told to leave. Booooo! Poor things. Now they are horny AND pumpkinless. I am troubled by this. They were OBVIOUSLY profiled, because no one else got asked to leave that day - all THEYÂ did was show love. And isnât that what the holidays are all about? Love? Gross, inappropriate, disrespectful to your surroundings love?
Courtneyâs parents say people are out to get her because theyâre just jealous of how beautiful she is. Theyâre right. I know IâM jealous. I wish I had such a vast expanse of mental vacancy that I could show up at a family-themed business, dressed like a porn fluffer, and dry hump my wrinkly perv husband while children watched and see absolutely no problem with this. That would be suuuuuper. Cuz thinking is SUCH a drag.
Lemme know how I can make that happen. Til that day, Iâll sit here stewing in my hateful jealousy. Drowning in common sense. Writhing in respect for my fellow humans. Poor Lissa.
I got this phone call from my big brother Jason a year ago today:
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Bro: Hey Sis! Whatâre you up to?
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Me: Eatinâ pizza. Watchinâ Joe Dirtâ¦..You?
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Bro: Well, I just happen to be holding your brand new BABY NEPHEW!!
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Me: AAAA! (tears commence, like the violent bursting of a water balloon)â¦.And? Is he healthy? Is he okay? Is Sara okay?
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Bro: Everybodyâs great. Heâs beautiful. His nameâs Benjamin Nathaniel.
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Me: Oh, I LOVE IT! Oh, thank you God! Thank you God, thank you God, thank you Godâ¦(picture me doing this for about another hour and a half, crying, spouting sentence fragments, generally blubbering like an idiot â Iâm pretty sure my brother was able to set down the phone, go make a sandwich, and come back without me even noticing).
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And now, as we celebrate Benjaminâs ONE YEAR BIRTHDAY, I am at a loss for words as to how to describe the immeasurable joy heâs brought to our family. Heâs perfection. I love him more than I ever thought I could love ANYBODY. So I ask that you bear with me, because here come a diaper load of photos from the weekend. Iâm SO happy my entire family could be together for this: my folks drove out from Michigan , we all met up at the broâs house in New York , and misterâ¦â¦ we partied like Playskool.
After I rid myself of the mouse problem, I decided it was time to tackle my NEXT big infestation: the shoe closet. I donât know how many of you ladies have this issue, but apparently I black out when I shoe shop. I purchase footwear I donât need and then collapse in a pile of slingbacks and espadrilles, only to awaken drooly and woozy, remorseful for what Iâve done.
My closet has no less than EIGHT pairs of spiky platform stiletto heels â all over six inches tall! Not kidding. Iâve worn exactly two pairs. One for a photo shoot, and one for a costume party. So basically, I only care about being sexy if I'm getting photographed or pretending to be someone else. How telling. After each experience I wanted to kill myself and be buried in a fleece-lined moccasin. So why do I keep buying these things? Am I stocking up for the inevitable day my DJ career goes in the pooper and I hafta turn tricks to pay bills? Hopefully not. Am I afraid thereâll be another Northeast Pennsylvania flood and Iâm VERY concerned about my heels being much much dryer than my toes? Do I think Iâll be accosted by Playboy photographers, begging to take my impromptu picture, but ONLY if I can prove Iâm centerfold material by brandishing slut shoes and boycotting the usage of three syllable words? Or am I just crazy?
I think we all know the answer.
No chick needs this many stilettos. Correction: no chick WHO IS ALREADY 5â7â AND ISNâT A HOOKER needs this many stillettos! So I gave away five pair. I tried not to offend my girlfriend when I offered them to her â cuz how do you say to somebody âHey! I think youâre trampy enough to wear these on a regular basis! Could you give âem the mileage they deserve?â Â
But actually, she was thrilled. Sheâs only 5â2â. And doesnât have any extra money for hoochie shoes â so there ya go.
A good deed was done. A closet was purged. And my ten little piggies breathed a humungous sigh of relief. But I reserve the right to whip out at least ONE remaining pair for Halloween (aka Slutty Girl Christmas). Cuz itâs supposed to be a scary holiday. And if you can think of anything scarier than trying to walk whilst under the influence of alcohol and wearing six inch hooker heels, fire away. Unless youâre Stephen King, you ainât got sh!t.
Itâs bad enough that in the last week Iâve seen a hypodermic needle, a broken gin bottle, and a used condom all on my sidewalk.  NOWâ¦.. I caught a MOUSE in my house! Ewwww!!! What if the mouse is responsible for all that crap on my sidewalk? What if I just caught myself a giant heroin addicted, drunken, slut mouse? If so - sweet. Problem solved.
I swear to God sometimes my neighborhood is a testing grounds for sociological experimentation. Itâs like âhow many ghetto stereotypes can we cram into a five block radius?â Whatâs a normal neighborhood? Ten or fifteen? If so, I think we can crack thirty! Yeah! We're number one!!
But now in addition to my enchanting human potpourri, Iâve got VERMIN! Yay!
I freaked out when I first saw this mouse Friday afternoon. I was supposed to be napping, but I couldnât sleep knowing he was near me. I set four mouse traps and proceeded to lie there awake (with the covers carefully piled on top of me so they didnât dangle off the bed) til I heard a *SNAP*!!
I ran over to check it. Sure enough, dead mouse. Happy Lissa. Kay. But thenâ¦â¦ohhhhh thenâ¦..umâ¦.whoâs gonna dispose of this thing? I texted my dad â âDaddy!!! I just killed a mouse in a snappy trap! When will you be over to collect him?â  Of course I was being foolish cuz my parents live in Michigan, and theyâre obviously not driving to PA just so their nutjob daughter doesnât hafta touch a mouse trap. But he texted right back âHa â on my wayâ. Oooo. Smartass.
My mom texted a couple âFred Bearâ references (wouldnât Nugent be proud?) and told me to just throw away the whole trap, mouse and all. So thatâs what I did. I put on rubber gloves, used plastic tongs to pick the damn thing up, and threw it in the trash. Then I threw out the tongs AND the gloves and placed my trash immediately on the curb. Iâm still having trouble sleeping in my house. Varmints gimme the heebie jeebies! I canât shake the feeling that theyâre setting up little villages in my walls. A whole colony of heroin addicted drunken slut mice. Ah well, at least theyâre quieter than the human ones.
One of the best movie quotes ever: âI once thought I had mono for an entire year. Turns out I was just really bored." âWayne Campbell (aka Mike Myers) in Wayneâs World.
Iâm stuck between a rock and a kidney stone here. I have friend whoâs convinced sheâs got some sort of life threatening disease. Sheâs one of these âlook up my symptoms on the internet and diagnose myselfâ people. Problem is, she does this in lieu of ever going to a REAL doctor. And she tends to believe everything she reads. So far, sheâs typed her symptoms into the computer and this is what came back: she MAY have irritable bowel syndrome, ulcer, pregnancy, cancer, stomach flu, constipation, food poisoning, appendicitis, involuntary bowel spasm (WTF?), urinary tract infection, or gastroenteritisâ¦...um, ew.
WHAT IF SHE HAS ALL OF THEM??? AAAA!! Her poor unborn baby (cuz sheâs âpregnantâ, remember?) is swimming in a sea of infected stomach acid and wondering why mommy hasnât pooped in a fortnight! Oh my stars!
I firmly believe sheâs got a normal, run-of-the-mill, upset stomach. Caused mainly by stress. And the fact that she eats fast food 4-5 times a week, doesnât exercise, sleeps maaaaybe four hours a night, and has a husband who seems adamantly opposed to finding gainful employment and/or bathing. But what do I know? And how do I tell her this?
I donât want to insult her. Sheâs not stupid, I swear. But I think sheâs overlooking the obvious. If she made a few lifestyle tweaks, I think her upset tum-tum would be fine. If not, THIS IS WHEN YOU CALL A REAL DOCTOR! Not a web guy. Web guys are largely virgins who are mad at the rest of us for getting laid. This is why they lie on Wikipedia - so weâll quote that crap at dinner parties and get laughed at.
Iâm willing to issue an apology if she ends up going to a normal physician and finding out that she DOES in fact have each of the ailments listed above. But, sadly, I will also plan her funeral that day. Cuz she is one sick puppy! Seriously, donât let your computer replace common sense. Why would you give yourself involuntary bowel spasm (ergh) when it might just be a virus? HA! Get it?! VIRUS! Computer?! Virus?! Ummmmâ¦..yeah. Sorry. These jokes are much funnier if you donât have a stomach gremlin.
Oktoberfest at Genettiâs tonight! Weâre all gonna be there partying by 5pm. Iâm in desperate search for a German Beermaid outfit - I love to go all out! Know anyone who has one of these? Iâd just need it for one night, then I'll give it right back! If you know where I could get one, email me - THANKS! See you there!
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And now....my second question of the day: do YOU think Beyonce is faking her pregnancy, and instead using a surrogate? This footage surfaced on TMZ from Sunday night. Notice near the end, her baby bump appears to fold in half. Um, I don't think they're supposed to do that. I can't decide whether it's the cut of the dress or a giant Fox Mulder babyonce conspiracy. You tell me....
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Okay, Christina Aguileraâ¦.I love you, but two words: long pants. I cannot believe how much her look has deteriorated in the last few years. And Iâm not talking about the extra weight â thereâs a way to dress a curvy body type. But THISâ¦..is not it. She performed at the Michael Jackson Tribute concert, where apparently they had no mirrors. (Iâm sorry to hit you with this on a Monday, but I felt it was an urgent matter we had to addressâ¦..or, um, RE-dressâ¦)
Now, on to happier things! We raised over $3,600 for The American Cancer Society with our annual âBras Across The Bridgeâ event on Saturday â thank you EVERYONE who came out! And thanks to my girl Cami Kyttle for sharing her photos. You take great pics, babe!
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We also had a blast at Fork & The Cork at Mohegan Sun Casino â THANK YOU, IGourmet, for a fabulous night!
