I love MTV’s “My Life as Liz,” and here’s why. They make being uncool cool again. Now, I’m not into Star Wars and comic books like Liz and her nerd herd, but you won’t ever hear me saying I’m too cool for Twilight. Or Maroon 5.
I also like the show just because I like to see what t-shirt Liz is going to wear next. In the transition shots, she wears a red and black Fangtasia shirt. Nice. Her will-they-won’t-they boy “friend,” Bryson, sometimes wears a “Legalize Gay” shirt. Dig it.
There is, too, Liz’s hot-ass new love interest, Louis, that keeps me tuning in. He sings and plays the guitar, and you must know by now how I feel about that (wait, singing on MTV? What is this, the 80s?).
Liz has got some singing chops herself, which she FINALLY busted out again on this week’s episode (ironically, at an 80’s club). You can watch the full episode here (skip to minute 17:30 to get to her performance with Louis).
While I am eternally grateful that they made it to season 2, I wonder how much longer they can keep this going. As it is, after commercials, there’s only 20 minutes worth of show a week. And that’s the only reason I think this might be [kinda, sorta, maybe] based on Liz’s actual life. In 28 years and 363 days, I’m pretty sure I only have enough ‘interesting life occurrences’ for two episodes. Two and a half, if you count the time I almost died.
Forget texts, forget Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, IM…I have no expectations when it comes to your social media well wishes, but giving me a real card with nothingbut your name written inside? Why bother! Sure, the dog dressed as a rabbit on the front might scream “Julie!”, but you know what else it screams? L-A-Z-Y. Just because you spent time and money seeking out and purchasing that card doesn’t mean you can let it do all the work for you.
The ultimate example is holiday greetings with the family name STAMPED on the inside: “Happy Holidays. The Jones Family.” Are you serious, Jones Family? You killed a tree and I risked getting a paper cut for that? It’s the card that says, “You are an obligation. Merry Christmas!”
This obligation theory applies to any type of card, but especially thank you cards. Oh, you like the gift and thoughtful card I composed for you? Well your sloppily scrawled, “Thank you for the blankety blank and blank. I really like using my new blank blank blank. Love, Boring Betty” makes me wish I didn’t get you anything at all.
Remember when your parents used to say, “Don’t buy me a gift, make me something instead”? They had the right idea. You grumbled and groaned, but when Mother’s/Father’s Day rolled around, you learned that you were capable of making some pretty sweet friendship bracelets.
An exceptional thank you card, in just a few short sentences.
My point is, even craftng a crappy card is better than buying a card and writing nothing inside. And believe me when I say getting no card is better than receiving a cop-out card. Your empty (i.e., soulless) cards go right in the blue bin, but anything more I will treasure forever.
There are other perks to taking a minute or two when you open that Hallmark gem, pen at the ready. You will be the envy of friends and family alike if you take the time to think of something touching or cute to add. It doesn’t take much. A simple, “I’ll always be younger than you” does the trick in a birthday card pinch. Even if you’re not artistically inclined [like me], you luck out in greeting cards, because stick figures are almost always hilarious.
Still don’t know what to write? Try one of these:
Write anything in big block letters.
Draw a stick figure in a hat appropriate for the occasion.
Write “That’s What She Said” or “Preach” after whatever’s already inside the card.
Draw the one thing you were always good at doodling during 7th grade algebra (Mickey Mouse? Trees? Peace signs? Mrs. Jonathan Taylor Thomas inside a heart?).
One word [that speaks a thousand]: Stickers!
Tell them about the effort you went to to find that perfect card.
Give it a try and don’t over think it. I believe in you. And I’ll be sure to tell you in a future post how you’re doing.
Celebrity portraits have got to be the first cousin of fan fiction. I know a lot about celebrity portraits. Not because I know the name of anyone who does this for a living, but because I personally spent many hours drawing Kate Winslet and the various Dawson’s Creek cast members.
When it comes to sketching, people are a lot more interesting than plants, and celebrities are the
Rainbow Eyes!
ultimate muse. Drawing anybody borders on creepy, and if you’ve ever tried this yourself, you know what I mean. Even in an age of high-definition television, there’s really no reason you should know that your best friend has a freckle like a fried egg or that Kate Bosworth has two different colored eyes (okay, everyone should know that. That’s wild).
Even J.T.T. gave good brow.
I always start with the left eyebrow and eye, then the nose, the mouth, the right eyebrow and eye and finally the outline of the face and hair. I’m not sure if my interest in eyebrows created this pattern, or if it came about because of this process. Justin Timberlake has great eyebrows. In fact,
They're amazing.
all of the actors I like do: Leonardo DiCaprio, Robert Pattinson, Darren Criss and of course, Peter
Gallagher. No one rivals Peter Gallagher’s eyebrows. It must be a measure of testosterone levels or something. All I know for sure is you’d better have some bushy brows and nice teeth before you’re getting on my sketch pad.
Ryan Phillippe - it looks just like him!
You might be wondering how someone could be as blessed as me; unparalleled writing and artistic gifts? I understand your frustration. If it makes you feel any better, I’m also a really good cook.
Well, you knew this post was coming, but what you might not know is that I’m a little behind on the times. See the above picture? That little plastic case I’m holding contains something called a Compact Disc, or “CD,” and that’s how I listen to music. I thought I’d be missing out on adorable pictures of [and secret love messages to me from] Darren Criss in the insert if I took the virtual route when purchasing the latest Glee soundtrack – an entire album of songs sung by the Dalton Academy Warblers. I’ve learned my lesson, and will try to pull myself out of the 20th century and buy my next album the normal way, from iTunes. Hopefully, this is the method you chose.
In case you haven’t memorized all of my posts (like I encourage you to do), this is now the third time I’ve mentioned Darren Criss (click here or here if you haven’t committed these to heart yet). There’s a reason for that. He’s the p.b. to my jam, the hair of the dog to my hangover, the fake stomach ache to my hooky day. Wait, what? …You know what I mean.
Unlike my love for Darren Criss, my love of a cappella goes far back in time, to my first favorite band, Boyz II Men. I’ve been to dozens of a cappella shows since listening to “Yesterday” on repeat, and my musician husband would say the reason none of them are as good as the Warblers comes down to this: Auto Tune. Well, he might be right, but tell me you can listen to any of the tracks and NOT bob your head and smile. (I recommend “Animal” or “Raise Your Glass” for this exercise.) Even my hubster can’t deny the sound mixing quality of Glee soundtracks.
So, what do you think of the album? I hope I’ve biased you [in my direction]. Did I mention I really, really, really enjoy these 13 tasty tracks?
Darren, you sing it sister! I mean, solid tunes, man.
It’s that time again, you little guilty pleasure fiends, you.
Guilty Flavor of the Week!
Coming to you RIGHT NOW!
It’s like the time you graduated kindergarten, only better!!
It’s marginally cooler than when you rescued that turtle by the park right before it fell in the sewer!!!
And I dare say it is drastically keener than when you got that glass plaque at work for something you did two years earlier!!!!
This week’s prestigious Guilty Flavor of the Week honor goes to…
LUNCHABLES! They’re not just for depressing Monday lunches in your car anymore!
How else can you get two day's worth of sodium in one sitting?
…just kidding (not in the slightest. C’mon! Capri Sun?)…
Okay, the REAL guilty flavor of the week is THE FOLLOWING POST! Wow, you guys got a two-fer this week! It’s time to buy a lotto ticket!
9021-Oh My God
Yesterday morning I walked into the kitchen saying to my husband,
“You know what I just realized? The Walshes named their kids Brenda and Brandon.”
“But they’re twins,” my husband explained patiently.
“So?!” I retorted. “That’s terrible.”
Conversations like this are anything but rare in my house, because I’ve been watching 90210 since long before I knew what a merkin was (which is what happens when your only sister is 5 and a half years older than you and your mother is sick of your pre-pubescent whining).
But…
…I’m finally starting to feel old.
On Monday night, FOX aired a new episode of their reincarnation of the 1991 classic, and -I can’t believe I’m about to say this- I think they might have gone too far. They ‘somehow’ managed to corral the entire cast onto a private jet (no matter what leap of faith this required, like accepting that Adrianna and Silver would EVER share the same air space) so they could fly down to Mexico for Spring Break. Now, I’ve seen season one of Laguna Beach three times, watched every episode of The O.C., and can often be found ogling the Kardashian family, but nothing can suspend my disbelief long enough to swallow that:
Teddy Montgomery, High Schooler
1.)Annie and Dixon, the Brenda and Brandon of the 21st century, could afford this trip (even if they did get to fly on Teddy’s dad’s private jet for free). They’re supposed to be struggling for money, and I know this because I’ve had to sit through many boring scenes about their mother (the only parent you regularly see on this show, the ageless Lori Loughlin) trying to find a job.
2.) Every couple had their own room (with no mention of trying to hide it from their parents), where they all had blatant relations. Aren’t these kids JUNIORS IN HIGH SCHOOL? Someone please say it’s not just me.
3.)Teddy is in high school – this is so far from reality that it almost comes full circle, back into the realm of possibility.
4.) Teddy and ‘the first straight man he ever had feelings for‘ suddenly would a) show up in Mexico at the same resort, b) turn out to be a gay, and c) somehow look even older than Teddy! As if!
Teddy's Meaty Gordita, Fellow High Schooler
5.)Silver would be dumb enough to drink from an unsealed bottle of water in Mexico (after Adrianna swapped it with tap water so Silver would get sick, that sadistic
Adrianna, Wicked Witch of the West Bev
b*tch).
6.)Adrianna would be evil enough to THEN swap out Silver’s meds so she’ll go bipolar on the next episode (I can’t WAIT to see that…).
7.) Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! So then there was a whole scene with Ivy having a marijuana tweak-out on the beach at 7am (I’m making up the time, by the way) and Dixon is calmly talking her down!? Okay, I know times are a-changing, but to have it represented on 8pm network TV targeted at tweens and creepy guilty pleasure bloggers like it’s just ‘whatever’!? Amazeballs!
You’re probably wondering why I even bother with this show anymore. Well, here’s why:
Meet Liam (I dont know his real name and I dont care).
"Just keep smiling, Crumpet, or the Queen will poison you."
There ain’t no guilty pleasure party like a guilty pleasure party ensconced in quail eggs and corsets. But is marrying a prince really all it’s cracked up to be? If only I could get Kate Middleton in a room for five minutes.
"I am so very glad we're not the real royals. You should have seen the bong rip I just took in my trailer."
Kate, is the recently-aired Lifetime movie “William & Kate” remotely accurate, especially the part where you jump out of the row boat and swim up to meet William, who has finally come to beg your forgiveness for being such a whorish d-bag?
Is it true the Windsors take the phrase ‘stiff upper lip’ so seriously that you were not permitted to move your top lip while speaking to ITV News about your engagement, or did you suffer a minor stress stroke that day?
Why did you invite the convenience store owners from your home town of Bucklebury to your wedding? Don’t you already get free Cadburys and crisps just by being the future queen of England? And won’t you get crumbs on the throne?
Could you please settle a debate and confirm for my husband that the monarchy still carries great influence, and though it might not seem like it, you will be the direct link to the passing of the law that allows same-sex marriage?
My ivory tower.
How many royal jewels and/or hats are you permitted to wear at any given time, and can I have the ones you’re not using?
Is realizing you’re going to live in Buckingham Palace like realizing you’re going to live in a bi-level with a spiral staircase? If so, then I can totally relate.
100% Pure Inspiration.
What was your initial reaction to seeing this coin? Would you be impressed if I told you I have not one, but two draft blogs inspired by it? How many of these things would it take to hire a hitman to kill the guy who designed it?
…Because of the nature of [and likely answers to] these questions, along with many other reasons (e.g., curtseying, caviar, polo and having to find a tactful way to tell the queen piss off), I’ve come to conclude that I feel very sorry for Kate Middleton. She’s gone from Waity Katie to just plain screwed.
Change management, much like project management, is big these days. With companies going under or being bought by other companies, a lot of people feel like they’re up a creek without a paddle. Or, they’re not sure if they’re even in a creek, but they have a paddle and they’re using it to hit themselves over the head.
To see if you work in a place of constant churn, ask yourself if you’ve heard any of these thingsin the last week (also I encourage you to play B.S. Bingo at your next meeting):
“It’s like the blind leading the blind.”
“Well I can tell you how we USED to do things.”
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m your new boss.”
“Hold off on that until we know more.”
That’s what I thought. Well, I’m here to help you. I’m here to share what I learned recently in change management training (by the way, there’s good money to be made in this field, if you don’t mind tears, hysteria and people being escorted from buildings by security).
Some People Reject Change Passively, Others Let You Know How They Feel About It.
Some People Simply Cannot Accept Change.
If you’re dealing with the last issue, there seems to be only one solution. And that solution is something I learned a long time ago from despair.com, so we might have all just wasted our time here. I’m sorry. I’ll let us both get back to Googling “how to find Darren Criss‘s cell phone number” now.
I never meant to shun you, studly man muffins. Look, I even wrote a post about farts just for you. Here’s one where I talk about the crazy stuff people have said to me. I know you’ll like that one.
I can be brunette, too. Baby, I can be anything you want me to be.
Don’t make me think about how I always lose the “who’s funnier, men or women?” argument with my husband (I see no reason why this has to happen, just because he is, in fact, funnier than me), or that you will only ever like male singers, male comedians, and male talk show hosts.
You should know that my favorite authors are predominantly male (Bill Bryson), if not straight (David Sedaris, Augusten Burroughs), and I think that you look very cute in your mismatched socks and 5 o’clock shadow.
Remind yourself that so many guilty pleasures are universal, as is exceptional writing.
I am open to your suggestions, Beefcakes, so please let me know what you’d like to see on this blog. I normally wouldn’t put any restrictions on this invitation, but just remember that I’m trying to get Freshly Pressed (i.e., on the home page of wordpress.com), and for some strange reason they don’t seem to support nudity, nor does my husband.
The Good Greatsby‘s post about children’s birthday parties inspired me to write this latest post about my favorite possession, my monogrammed flask. I’m sure you can understand the thought progression [from ‘crying, screaming, cake-smeared child’ to ‘clandestine alcohol consumption’], so I won’t bore you with the obvious.
Kept in its original box when not in use.
As you can see, it’s a first-rate flask, its single flaw being that it is much too small. It was given to me by perhaps the only person in this world who really gets me, the lovely woman who for three years I was fortunate enough to call my Work Wife (sadly, she has moved on to greener pastures, and I find I need the flask just that much more). I dedicate this post to her, and all the things we share in common (including, but not limited to, a deep understanding and appreciation of Michael Bublé lyrics and someecards.com).
I’d like to say that that leads nicely into the #1 reason I need a flask: Work. But, I should be clear in that I’ve yet to find the nerve to bring a flask to work, and somehow just barely manage to make it through the front door each week day before letting my Grey Goose loose.
No, remarkably, it’s not work.
The #1 Reason I Own a Monogrammed Flask is:
Your Showers (Baby or Bridal and dear god don’t tell me there’s any other kind).
I don’t even know where to start, but I do know the rest of this post is going to write itself.
If I have to play Bridal Bingo or see an infant clothesline one more time, I’m going Into the Wild. Women Lose. Their. Minds. at these things. The little prizes from the dollar store might as well be Robert Pattinson‘s used napkin. It’s like being in Oprah‘s audience, except the most any of us are going home with is a hydrangea-scented memo pad (and, in my case, a migraine).
Don’t even get me started on those women who write recite a touching poem that no one can hear over the continuous cries of alleged Bingo, or the ones who are utterly convinced that they’re the first person in the world to think of melting chocolate in a diaper. And if you’re one of the women who encourages these other types (“Oh, Betsy, you are SO creative!”), you’re on my Poop List, too.
The worst is when I’m put at a table full of strangers whose fanatical expressions remind me that there is absolutely no chance of finding a like-minded soul at this shindig, and also that I must be evil (and may in fact not even have a soul, despite my willingness to wear pastel and a convincing grin), because look at how much fun everyone else is genuinely having. My only saving grace is that I’m sitting close enough to the restroom to make a quick getaway (or seven). Bottoms up, you delusional tulle junkies.
Games and poetry of any kind were banned from my bridal shower, but I still lose sleep at night thinking about how I put those nearest and dearest to me through this cursed ordeal.
