Is that you Buttercup?

Some people prefer to wear PJ's to the supermarket and some people prefer to wear them on airplanes. Then there are people like Miss Gaga, who prefer to wear studs and Lycra on airplanes.

and truthfully the only thing that distresses me about her decision, is the fact that airplanes are freezing cold. So, I am only nervous that her outfit might just solidify in the coldness and become unable to remove, except by a very large pair of pruning shears.  And while they are pruning her out of her outfit, they might just take her creativity (so she could reconsider sleeping with people, because creativity is taken from solidified garments, not vagina's, sorry for the mix up) and she will no longer be Lady Gaga. Which then leads to her turn as really bad second act on the Disneyland Main stage, directly following Lindsay Loahn's career.

OH, I think you know!

Christina Hendricks, for sure was the best dressed lady at last nights Emmy Awards. If I have said it once, I have said it a million times, Red heads look really good in purple, especially when they have watermelon sized boobs.

Man vs himself

For the most part I love the Travel channel's programming. My only complaint, is the show Man vs Food.

It distresses me that the grand old U.S.A, is so despicable when it comes to portion size. 

Is it not bad enough that these disgusting food mammoths exist, but must we make a show about it? Broadcasting to the entire planet how pig like we are.

And don't get me started on this poor man's bowel movements. I can not for the life of me, get my head around what they must be like. Honestly, it worries me so much, that every time I try to watch this show I myself must poop.Because to me, I don't see him eating a sandwich with french fries. I see diarrhea with a side of anal leakage.

My shoes are lined with my nickels and my tens

Lindsay gets to leave rehab and go home at night, which means all of our drugs...are no longer safe.

and in the vein of Antoine Dodson of the Bed Intruder fame

 we say this to Lindsay

She's climbin in your windows

She's snatchin your crack up

Tryna rape em so you need to 

Hide your drugs

Hide your Booze

Hide your drugs

Hide your Booze

and hide your Sister

cuz she be rapin errbody out here

She don't have to confess

Cuz

She is so dumb, she is really dumb, For Real!

for the sake of stiring shit up

Some people believe that the relationship and subsequent marriage of one Scarlett Johansson and one Ryan Reynolds is a total lie. I for one feel split in two on the subject. I find it really hard to believe that these two beautiful people can be really happy together. I mean... isn't there suppose to be one ugly person in every relationship? And every picture I see of these two, they seem, well apprised of the fact that they are both really good looking and therefore have nothing to talk about. Only do they have something to talk about when they are both standing in front of a mirror and throwing compliments at each other.

"Your eyebrows are so well sculpted"

" NO! your eyebrows are so well sculpted"

"Shut up, your abs are to die for"

"NO! your abs are to die for"

"Shut up and lets have really attractive sex"

"NO! you are really attractive sex"

Then again ....I think its just what we need to believe to help us sleep at night.

Taking all the fun outta the job

There is something to be said about the mysteries of life. The not knowing 100 percent about how things are going to turn out. It is sort of like a continual Christmas morning and those of us who choose to let life wash over us in a wave of beautiful uncertainty, are better for it. I am not talking about turning out, as in the afterlife part, because there are actually a whole lot of theories on that. I am simply talking about how your life, the one you are living, will unfold around you. Who will come into your life, at what time etc. etc. and I find comfort in the unplanned and the thrill of it all.

But what if there was a way, what if you could know 100 percent, no question. 

Would you want that opportunity?

 this movie Timer, totally dives into that possibility. Its smart and funny and really well cast!
Not only that, but I am a total sucker for movies where the wardrobe people are on point and they put the main character in perfectly fitting (not just in actual size but fitting for the character) clothing. I often spend most the time in movies, silently chastising the wardrobe department for choosing such non nonsensical outfits. I am trying to think of an example, nothing is really coming to the forefront of my mind, but lets just say overall, the wardrobe in most movies, is extremely disappointing, as a rule. 

This movie was simply and exception to that rule. They chose a style for her, that worked well and I really appreciated it.  I wish I could find better pictures to illustrate my point and because I can not, you will just have to trust me.  Also, I was totally  loving the main boy, not just because he was on Gossip Girl last season
and or in Stick It! or that his hair is dark and sort of curly and who am I kidding, those are the exact reasons I was loving him...I am shallow, what can I say. Stick a toe in and my depth is exhausted.

If you get a chance in your life to watch this movie, I suggest you do! Not only for the great wardrobe or the pretty boy, but because it was a good movie.

You are so welcome

So I don't know that everyone out there wanted at one point to be Jenny Lewis.

 but I did really, really bad back in 2003.

I have this really obsessive personality and when I get into something, I get into it all the way. Almost to the point of creepy, I guess. But, my want to be her was more just wearing really interesting (or disgusting, depending on who you asked) vintage outfits and listening to Rilo Kiley until my ears were bleeding. I luckily stopped short of tracking her down,cutting her hair off and making a vest out of it.

Now I have discovered that while I am personally nowhere near as adorable or talented as her, I am alright and being Liz, will do just fine.

That and I don't know how impressed I have been lately with the music she is making. 

(Until August 31st you can listen to the entire Jenny and Johnny "I'm Having Fun Now" album)

Does, not loving her music, have anything to do with the fact that I am mildly jealous of Johnathan Rice and his relationship with her? ummm......maybe.

In Pale Force

Conan O'Brien and Jack White Team Up for New Spoken Word 7" Single

This excites me greatly because I just love me some Conan...how do you feel about it?

Monster

She went from Cyndi Lou Who, to a social climbing fashion designer 

to this:

and she is only....17 

really though, what else does she have to look forward to?

Nothing matters but the stache

Happy Freaking Tuesday!!

The Swell Season covers Neutral Milk Hotel

This is one of my favorite Neutral Milk Hotel songs, sung by the Swell Season, Yay!! this just turned my day around fo sho!! if you feel like seeing other amazing covers (ie Fruit Bats doing Hall and Oats, please bless) at A.V. Undercover, then click here, and I highly, highly recommend you do!

Like a Virgin

So everyone loves Madonna, she is fantastic and iconic and blah, blah, blah. I mean I love her music and I don't ever hate it, but rest assured I hate Madonna as a person. Which is crazy, because I will defend Elton John, to the death and I am pretty sure he is an even bigger diva, than Madonna, by leaps and bounds. But that is my right. I don't care that everyone thinks he is crappy person, but I totally care that I think Madonna is one.

That being said, I am so glad Guy Ritchie is no longer Mr. Madonna. I am happy to have him back making great movies (ie Sherlock Holmes) and not shit ones (ie Swept Away), and I am glad that his current lady friend is hot, like Madonna use to be, before she turned into a toned and taunt crypt keeper. I mean we all age, but girlfriend has never done it worse...

I am just saying.....

I am just going to reach my hand in there and pull it out

Apologies to anyone who might find this post as way too much information, to know about Liz, ever. 

Before my vacation to California two weeks ago (what? you didn't know that I went to California? well, now you do) I decided that for my beach time, I was going to get a Brazilian wax. For those who don't know what a Brazilian wax is...it is when you remove all of your pubic hair. Unlike a bikini wax, where in, you only remove the hair you would see wearing bikini bottoms. Justifiably, you might ask yourself, why? Why Brazilian? Well....I counter... why not? My thinking was, why not go for broke, if I am going to have someone down there, can't we just clean up shop and call it a day?

Back when I was in hair school, I took a Aesthetics course. And during this course I had everything waxed that has ever been waxed before: eyebrows, mustache, legs, armpits, bikini, etc. etc. We also watched a very graphic and very educational video on the Brazilian wax, but never did we actually do a Brazilian. I remembered, as I was thinking about getting a Brazilian, that my bikini wax, all those years ago, didn't hurt. So I was fully confident that a Brazilian wouldn't be all that different. Oh Boy! was I ever wrong.

It was the day before I left for California. I had put off getting the waxing done until the very last minute. Not on purpose but simply out of necessity to everything else I was trying to get done before I left. I was super busy at work and knew I wouldn't be able to leave early, so I had to schedule the appointment for my lunch hour. I wasn't sure, but had to believe that something like that should only last an hour. I mean do you really want someone ripping your hairs, out of anywhere, let alone your privates, for more than an hour? 

I was late getting there and flustered about it. Then they had me wait and wait and wait. I waited in that stupid room for almost thirty minutes. Generally, I am very patient, but I was on a time crunch and I admittedly shot them a few, are you serious, with this waiting, looks. Finally the girl came to get me and I inwardly sighed that she looked clean and normal.  If I am going to have anyone spend anytime with that part of my body, they better, for sure, look clean, I mean right. 

Because of the time situation, I didn't think about how uncomfortable it was to disrobe and lay on a table, completely naked from the waist down, except a small white wash cloth. My waxer knocked on the door gingerly and for the life me I can't remember her name. Rest assured it was completely forgettable, which is a pity, because she was awfully sweet.

She came in and asked "So, is this your first Brazilian?" 

"Yes..but I have had a bikini wax before." I gulped and hesitated before asking my question, because I feared the answer. "Is this your first Brazilian?" I asked as conversationally as I could manage.

"No, I average at least one a day." 

And I audibly sighed in relief. 

"Ok, are you ready she asks?" as she rubs the strip she has placed on my bikini line area. I nod and feel absolutely confident in my readiness.

She pulls the flesh taunt and rips.

"Sweet, Fancy...*(&*&!, *&*%^%!!!" 

"Just a little sting." she says with a smile that I want to knock off her face. Just a little sting, is an understatement. Each time she pulls the skin and says something reassuring and I brace myself for the coming pain, I can't help thinking...why? why? Some strips are more painful than others and I have constant plea of stop, for the love of...STOP!. Yet in the back of my mind I tell myself, no one has died from getting a Brazilian, you can do this. Though, that toughness does me no good as the next teeth chattering strip is ripped from my tender flesh and I let out a loud curse.

I try to make small talk to distract myself from crying or peeing, because for some reason, those two sensations come to forefront. But eventually I just lie there and soak up the overwhelming pain in all of its glory. Because I have no one to blame but myself and Tyra Banks.

"Do you bruise easily?" My waxer asks while applying the soothing after lotion, that also helps remove residual wax.

"Yeah" I say looking down at my legs that are speckled with random bruises from running into stationary things, "I bruise easily."

"Hmmm..yeah, it looks like you do."

And I manage a peek and see a nice purple bruise forming right on my bikini line. Great! not only does it feel like I was punched in the crotch, now it literally looks like I have been. 

"Ok, I will step out while you get dressed and then I will take you to pay."

She leaves and I gingerly reapply my clothes, making sure not to disrupt the tenderness. I also can't help wondering why anyone would want to pay for this. I feel like society should have a running tab, for all Brazilian wax jobs for me an the entire female population, for here until the world cease's. I mean it is the least they could do for us.

As I get in my car and realize that it hurts a bit to sit down, I can't help but think.....all in all, I would give it another go. And that people is the most painful part of it all.

on the way back home

Nothing can be done about the absolutely crippling fear that grips me every year when the Back to School commercials start in. Each time I see one, my palms begin to sweat and my heart skips to a triple beat and I am frozen to my chair with wide eyes. Pure fright and Panic.

It also starts a steady string of dreams in which I am not graduating high school, because I failing gym. I think in reality this is my subconscious telling me to go back to school, that I have some unfinished business, school and I. But I really wish my inner crazy, communicated this to me in a less: crying and shaking in the corner, over backpacks: sort of way.

utter perfection

I spend some to most of my lunch hour shopping. I understand and I fully accept that I have a problem, although, I would just like to let it be known, that I don't always purchase things.  As a person who really enjoys the act of shopping, I have spent maybe the exact amount of time inside a dressing room, as I have at stop lights. Which begs the question, If I spend quarter of my life sleeping and a quarter of my life at stop lights and a quarter of my life in dressing room: do I have enough time to get everything else in my life done in that last quarter?
Every time I enter a dressing room I can't help and wonder why? Why oh Why, for the love of  miniature figurine collectors, is the lighting always a florescent glow of dismal dismay?
Why? when I am at my most vulnerable (naked and staring into a mirror) must the lighting exacerbate the situation to the point of tears? Can't we work out some nice mood lighting, something soft and all together more complementary to my physique? Maybe something in a soft pink that caress my things in a loving way, instead of a burning white that makes me look like a dead hooker with cellulite and beard hair? I mean really, is that too much to ask?

Lee...I am very fond of you as well

The Secretary has to be one of the most romantic movies ever... which I know is a bold statement, but seriously..there is nothing more to life, than finding someone who totally loves you for exactly what you are!

So, here is to having someone in your life you just totally gets you!