Don't Let This Happen To You

This is what too much sun, smoking and drinking does to your face. There is a wee bit of photoshopping. The line drawn between her lips, her Howdy Doody lines and the lines on either side of her face. Also the right outline of her nose and both nostrils. Since this is a mug shot, I'm guessing the eyeliner was put in later by a very tentative hand. The dye job speaks for itself.

God I need a life.

How old is she? Look below her picture.
48. AND NO THAT ISN'T ME. Haters.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

Twitter is the new Husband.

140 characters. No Capcha. The end.

I was not the only one giving a cursory look-see to blog posts that were 25 pages long with no pictures. Get a camera, get a scanner! Download from the Internet, only throw a reader a picture bone.

I was not the only one tired of people with 50 Google followers posting 9 times a week. I know a lot of people pledge to post EVERY DAY. 365 posts. I read 200 blogs a day. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? Did I kill your cat or something?

Posting 365 days is not a goal. Hiding your kids' squeaky toys so they'll never find them again is a goal. Eating an entire bag of chips in under 7 minutes is a goal.

You will never read a tweet that says "Sorry I haven't tweeted in a while; I'm a bad twitterer."

No silly, I didn't even know you were missing. Were you in Afghanistan fighting the Taliban? No. You were at your Aunt Mary's baking a thousand cookies made from play dough and twigs. THANK GOD YOU CAME BACK FROM THAT HORROR.

I know what you're thinking, 3 days on Twitter and I'm a bitter hag. You're right; nothing has changed.

And also, no pictures today. That's how I'm punishing you.

End of chat.

I Hope I'm Not Going To Be THAT Girl

I miss rotary phones. Mainly because I didn't have to push 1 to speak in my own language. Nor did I have to hear the same message over and over while I waited. And I didn't have to push 37 buttons which invariably made me return to the menu before I finally just gave up and pushed 0. And I could cradle the receiver in the crook of my neck and still do dishes. I also didn't get other calls in the middle of a call I was already on. And I could call information for free. AND I REMEMBER TALKING TO A PERSON CALLED THE OPERATOR. See that little phone in the picture? That's a (dusty and dirty) kitchen timer. One day I was shopping and in a fit of nostalgia decided I couldn't live without it.

Even though I'm no luddite, I'm a foot dragger. I was the kid who studied for her exams the night before. And had the grades to prove it.

So I've finally joined Twitter.

There were 3 reasons I never did before:

1. I googled myself about a year ago and found a conversation between two people on Twitter and they were talking about me:

The woman was saying that Suzy Soro was too cool to Twitter and the guy wrote back that he was afraid of me. That's what you want in a man. To inspire fear.

2. My sister is addicted to texting. She walks around with that stupid phone and doesn't even turn it off in the movies. And after it rings 5 times, she turns if off while everyone glares at her. She doesn't even make the universal sign for "sorry" with her face. While my mother was here this summer, Lindy just flat out told us that she loved texting so much because she didn't have to talk to anyone. ANYONE. Mom lives in Paris and I don't text so there you have it. And if I do get her on the phone, she yells at me if I call on the wrong line.

3. I don't want to become my sister.

End of chat.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #46

This front door is on a house up the street from me. The top part is a mirror and you can see a tree trunk and some trees in its reflection.

Click on the label underneath this post to see all 46 pictures of my version of L.A., which is a lot different than the souvenir books.

Who Wants To Spanx Me?

This picture is from the new Spanx Catalogue Fall 2009. If you look carefully at the end of her right leg you can see an eraser.

Mz. Vodka is helping to spread the word about Dove's self esteem program for young women so let's all chip in and buy me a cookie, shall we?

While you're at her blog, sign up for her Vampire's Assistant Contest, with tons of cool prizes for the winner.

One more thing:

Shame on you, Spanx.

The Lord Of The Flies

I'm making progress and am now on the Summer issue.

In the last two days my house became fly infested. I would usher 7 out the front door only to come back in and find 4 more. This went on for two days. No excess garbage, no dirty dishes in the sink so I'm thinking the cricket isn't dead and is instead giving birth to flies.

Not bragging.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

You'd think I was trying to cover up my dirty and ugly circa 1986 kitchen floor with these magazines, wouldn't you?

But no, I dropped this stack on a 5 foot by 8 foot cricket on Monday and I'm not too keen on picking it up, even though the Fall Fashion issue is on top. I watched the Paris shows on The Rachel Zoe Project so that will have to do for now.

Do giant crickets disintegrate over time? I didn't think so either. Fuck.

Here's a medical tip: Never come home from the dentist and take a Vicodin and an antibiotic at the same time on an empty stomach. This will kill you and I'm not going to tell you how but suffice it to say that was ten days ago and I still don't feel so hot.

I've also been drinking green tea, which my sister has been telling me for years is healthier and will help you lose weight. I had it in the house for two years before I drank it. TWO YEARS. Imagine how long those magazines are going to stay on top of Mothra?

This morning I was leaving my apartment and instead of reaching for a hat I realized I felt one on my head so I went to the hall mirror to make sure it looked ok and imagine my surprise when I discovered I had pushed it up too far and I was actually wearing my eye mask.

The other day I popped a boob out in front of two tenants, one man, one woman. It was because I was too lazy to put on a bra and was wearing my skirt as a dress. Her dog jumped on me and pulled at the skirt and presto chango, we have boobage. She and I both laughed. The guy was mad he missed it.

She's the same tenant who saw me fall backwards when my skirt went over my head and I was wearing no undies so the pussoire was out for the gardeners to see. She has actually seen more of me naked than some men I've dated.

End of chat.

Tragedy + Time = Kathy Griffin

<--Costco price. (Sorry Kath. Love you, mean it)

Kathy doesn't need my help in pushing her New York Times best seller. It's up there because it's funny and does what most celebrity tell-alls don't do, gives you the inside dish. That's why you bought them and you know it. And if you bought Brooke Shield's And Down Came the Rain, boy are you on the wrong blog.

When Kathy was a comic and then transitioned to taking down the hoi polloi of Hollywood, I was scared for her. It's brave to do that in a town full of self-important bitches. But I rooted for her because she proved what a lot of us already knew, Hollywood has no sense of humor.

Steven Spielberg had her fired from the E! channel through his massive connections because she joked that Dakota Fanning was going into rehab. Right before his movie War of the Worlds came out starring...Dakota Fanning. Who in their right mind would think a comedian was telling the truth about a child going into rehab? It's not like Diane Sawyer was announcing it on GMA. Spielberg now has Donald Trump hair so he needs to shut up because we can see the hairspray from Des Moines.

And could we all just GET OVER this P.C. bullshit? This is still America, last time I checked, and we can say anything we want except "Fire!" in a crowded room. You have to yell "Fire" on the streets of NY because if you yell "Help" people will point and laugh as you bleed to death.

If you don't "get her" just remember that comedy is predicated on negative issues. Pretty sure Mother Theresa didn't get up to do a tight 5 on her rounds.

Kathy talks about being banned from TV shows, her loving and supportive parents, her pedophile brother and how her ex-husband ripped off her money.

Did I just hear your front door slam and your car engine turn over?

Thought so.

End of chat.

Why Pregnant People Annoy Me

First of all, when did "I'm pregnant" become "We're pregnant." Something that takes a man 3 minutes in the bedroom and a half an hour in the bathroom with a Penthouse Magazine does not qualify him to be pregnant. Maybe if the numbers were reversed.

MAYBE.

Then there's that whole baby gender thing.

"Do you know what you're having?"
"Yes, but we're not telling anyone."

Why not? Because it might be a baby elephant and you want to corner that reality show market all to yourselves? There are only 2 choices, people. And thanks for making gift giving impossible for your friends who now are at a Big and Tall store in New Jersey looking for a size 56 onesie on the off chance it is a large mammal.

And the naming secret? YOU'RE NOT ELECTING A POPE. Give us a chance to talk you out of the hideous 1878 name you have chosen to anchor around your little girl's neck. Or save the couple I know whose last name rhymes with Banker. They kept their little boy's name under wraps until he was born and then it was revealed his name was Conrad. So he will go through school as Connie the Wanker. Brilliant.

And women, for the love of God, I do NOT want to see your over-extended stretch-marked stomach in a bikini on any beach in the world. What are you afraid of, that we won't figure out you're pregnant and will instead think you've put on 60 pounds of belly-button fat? If you're not going to cover it all up, then at least have the decency to walk backwards.

And when you're holding your hand underneath your stomach why don't you just use the Semaphore Flag Signalling System? BECAUSE WE CAN'T FIGURE OUT YOU'RE PREGNANT WITHOUT THEM. Again, we know you're not fat. Well, some of you might be but you know me, I hate to judge. Stop with the hand to stomach algorithm because it's not going to fall to your ankles in your 5th month. Unless it's a baby elephant after all and then you'll have bigger problems than finding that size 56 onesie.

And that whole "You're so sexy when you're pregnant?" Are your girlfriends telling you that? Is the butcher giving you bigger cuts of meat for free? Is the mailman making a pass? NO.

The only person who says that is your husband and that's because you cancelled his Penthouse subscription and he's too cheap to pay for a hooker.

End of chat.

I Can't Take Them Anymore

I got this picture off Google Images. It's titled "Jon Gosselin smoking pot."

It's easy to see why he shut down production of their skank tv show. POT IS NOT FREE. He needs to be back on the show with his name on it so he can get more sex and less yelling from whomever he's smoking pot with.

Jon is currently unemployed and made a paid appearance at Millions of Milkshakes in West Hollywood on Saturday according to Bitten & Bound.

So the guy has a pot belly, is a pothead, is not attractive and the worst part of it all?

There's a place that only sells milkshakes and I don't know about it?

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

I'd like to talk about my favorite subject, me, but the news is just too dishy to pass up.

I love what Letterman did last night. I'd been hearing for years about his philandering and he once tried to pick up a flight attendant friend of mine on his way out to LA. I don't think he was with his girlfriend Merrill, the one who created Stupid Pet Tricks, but he might have already been with his future wife Regina. There is something very attractive about a man who fucks up and then, albeit under the threat of 2 million bucks, comes clean about it.

For one million dollars I'll confess to sleeping with MacKenzie Phillips.
Roman Polanski? I think a rape by any other name is still a crime. Those days were so wild and drug infused. Lindy and I had dinner with him once in Paris, at his house, and he gave me a Quaalude which I might have cheeked. I can't remember. He is one of the brightest men I've ever met, interesting, charming and polite but no I didn't have sex with him. How do I remember he was all those things if I had just taken a lude? Ahhhhh, you've obviously never had a lude. I did try to bring up the rape charge but he changed the subject thinking I worked for a newspaper. Remember them?
The Olympics, in Chicago? Yeah, let's stick the gangs on those poor tourists. And Oprah, take it down a notch will you? You can sell a book but WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Michael Jackson is still dead. And with help from Dr. Feel Good, yes, but homicide? No. You've heard of Suicide By Cop? I think this was Suicide By Doctor.

End of chat.

Martha Jane Sent Me This To Make Me Laugh Since I'm Sick (in the head)