Summer: Baby Making Season for your Favorite Things

The ladies and I have decided that summer 2010 would be the best summer of our lives... better known as BSOOL (we obvs totes heart abbrevs and acrons). So to kick it off right, I decided to step up my tan game and GTL before venturing off to the Jersey Shore (I mean... it's only appropriate). In the days following, my tan game was reflective of my sobriety: non existent. Upon checking the UV index (an 8), I thought that an SPF 4 would serve as a sufficient skin barrier. Now, sitting at my desk like a raw steak barbecued, I can say with confidence that I was wrong.

So what does this mean for me? Well apparently I've learned that when you get too much sun you start to have crazy dreams. Me? I dreamed that all of my favorite things were procreating... yes, doing the diggity and making babies. There were cream cheese meatballs and puppy marching bands. Yellow giraffes and sunshine margaritas. Yet, my subconscious could not re-create the coming together of my true favorite things. A feat so outstanding only FOX could pull it off. You know what I'm talking about... Glee gone GaGa. Oh sweet bad romance.

When Kurt pioneered the kick-ass rendition of BR in his Alexander McQueens I nearly wet my saran wrap (That's probably not as weird as you think; I busted out my makeshift Bubble-GaGa costume for the occasion). I actually did, however, wet my saran wrap with this line: "you look terrible. I look awesome." Ohhh Brittany, you ravishing comedic genius, you.

Speaking of Brittany, I've really begun to evaluate... scratch that... harshly critique the individual Gleek levels of dance proficiency. Brittany, by default, and other Asian guy, are clearly the shining dance floor afficianados of the group. Who is slacking on the groove train? Well friends, it gives me a little bit of happiness to say that Lea Michelle is as good at dancing as Danielle from the Real Housewives of New Jersey is at life. For all of those unfamiliar with the Bravo phenomenon, Danielle is a former stripper, drug addict, and kidnapper. Also, it pains me to say that my fellow former NYCHSAA member, Jenna Ushkowitz, is about as enjoyable to watch dancing as I would imagine Manuel Uribe is (if you don't know who this is, please don't Google if you are eating anything).

Well we'll be sure to further evaluate the moves in tonight's episode where Glee apparently goes "Funky." If someone doesn't get it on I'm gonna be pissed.

The Hardest Thing I Ever Had to Write...

...Is this blog post. Why? Because it means I've finally gathered my thoughts, gotten over the initial shock, dried my eyes, and accepted the fact that LOST is over. My professors will be happy to know that my thesis papers and short stories were walks in the park compared to the emotional vulnerability I have explored to get here.

However, I have to admit that I was a little skeptical about the finale before it aired. In fact, I had a post in my draft box urging America not to get their hopes up because ultimately we'd all be left saying: "eh?" I mean, the island is just a place that holds beautiful light and Jacob is nothing more than a glorified lighthouse keeper? Fuck. That. If that's the case, then I know someone who could do that job ten-fold... Lloyd Christmas. He's got enough gas to blue-dart that fiery hole till the polar bears come home.

Alright, enough with the negativity. In truth, the finale to me was more perfect than Taylor Lautner's washboard abs. So what do we know? Well most notable... the island is real life, sideways world is purgatory, and Ben is not going to heaven. It's perfect--absolutely perfect. This whole time everyone is asking "what is the island? what is the island?" when in fact, they should really be asking "what is this sideways world?" Of course the island is real life... this was the writers final "F-U" moment. How dare we ever doubt them; Shame. On. Us.

Alas in true LOST fashion, I'm still left with questions. Please feel free to comment with your thoughts, though I will most likely disregard them:

-Question #1: What the hell is up with Eloise Hawkins? She's about... hmm... 38-million-years old and hasn't made it to the afterlife? Is she just waiting around to kick it with Faraday while he commissions more has-been bands to accompany his mediocre piano playing? Perhaps she's waiting around till Charles pays his dues (Lord knows that guy doesn't have a first class ticket on the streets paved with gold).

-Question #2: Why am I the only person that thinks that showing the plane destruction after the credits meant something? There was not one person in sight yet all the wreckage was there. If memory serves me correctly, the passengers used all the materials to build rafts and shelters. Were they just trying to screw with our minds?! Probably...

-Question #3: Just because Walt went through puberty shouldn't mean he is now deprived of going to heaven with everyone. Sure, I bet he yanked the snake a little too often after leaving the island, but comeon'. Poor guy.

-Question #4: Do you think the amount of lines shared between Boone and Shannon at the end was directly proportionate to how much they were liked on set? After meeting Ian Somerholder I can say with confidence that he is as douchey as they come. Just something to think about...

Ugh! Now what? Every Tuesday I will have a hole in my heart until I too get to walk into the bright, white light. Jack, take me with you!

I guess I'll just have to start from the beginning, reliving the love, the loss, and all things smoky. I'll miss you, LOST!!

Just Another Day in the Neighborhood

You might remember that a few months ago I posted a spoiler alert about Gossip Girl. You don't remember, you say? Well then shut it and start reading... you clearly have a lot of posts to catch up on.

Anywho... last night, the episode of GG I watched being filmed finally aired. Because of this, I learned a number of things: 1. I need glasses because I was spit-slingin' sure that rugby boy coming to take Blaire on a date was Dan 2. I really need a hearing aid because I did not hear myself playing the "penis game" in the background and 3. I need to move because Gossip Girl has become a whole lot less glamorous now knowing that they film it in my neighborhood.

It's true... knowing that Serena Van der Woodsen resides just across the street from the humble rub-and-tug I call home, really brings down the wow factor for me. Hm, does that mean Rufus might have stumbled in to "Graceful Services" for a sweet rub down? Or Chuck for that matter?! I'll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I walk past the glass 2nd floor door and catch captain underpants readying himself for a massage. Do you think there's a lucrative opportunity here for tours? I'm down.

Last night I also learned that there is only one person on this earth more annoying than Serena: Jenny. Did she go through puberty overnight? Her boobs are all over the place and her PMSing is becoming too much to take. I mean, sorry you're not exactly bubbling over with happiness that your new life isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Perhaps it's because you've intentionally sabotaged the relationships you had with every member of your step-fam. But for future reference, you don't need to escape to Nate's to take solace. Next time, just open a window, let down your Mormon-status long hair and Rapunzel your ass down your own rat's nest (there's no doubt that your ponytail is at least 7 stories long).

And while we're on the subject of fairy tales, can we just take a moment to "ahh" over Chuck's Affair to Remember reference? (For those of you less cultured, this bold act of love can also be referred to as the Sleepless in Seattle reference). In celebration of this lady-tickler, let's curl up with an old classic and dream of what next week will look like...

Am I Living on the Island?

A lot of weird shit happens to me. It's probably because of my paralyzing fear of birds. They know all my secrets and use their powers of flight to create oddly ironic instances in my daily life. I'd like to think of a better reason as to why I witness 89% of all the crazy in the world... but I just can't. Any help would be well appreciated.

Here's an example: This weekend it was about 98045209580 degrees in Manhattan (not an exaggeration) and my 90283042980293802 year-old building (okay, a little bit of an exaggeration) heats up like an easy-bake-oven. So when I had this brilliant idea to move into the city on a pauper's salary, I never factored in that an air conditioning unit would bring my monthly spending from "barely" affordable to "stop-eating-you-penniless-ingrate" affordable. So as I sat in a pool of sweat in front of the industrial fan, I turned on the TV for some Seinfeld. You're probably asking yourself where the irony is here? The episode was about Jerry's parents refusing to use the air conditioner. I really didn't think much of it...

...That is until How I Met Your Mother came on. In the episode, Robyn's new manfriend asks her to move in with him. What a coincidence! My manfriend did too. Now, Robyn made the big-girl decision to ditch her friends and move in with the universe's biggest vagina. I'm sorry did I say big-girl? I mean big stumbling idiot. Granted my only friends aren't all ex-boyfriends of mine so the plot line differs quite a bit... but STILL! Is the universe trying to tell me something? Should I find NPH and make him my GBFF or something? I really didn't think much of it...

...That is until I found a bomb on my submarine! I mean WHAT ARE THE CHANCES!

Okay. In truth, the only reason why I posted this blog was because I've been listening to Alanis all day and needed an excuse to include this throw-back-vid somehow. Enjoy!

What the Flocke?!

The following post is lovingly dedicated to Kerry Miller Kearney... My great former boss who really loves her LOST.

When I was in the 1st grade, our school participated in one of those dumb-ass wrapping paper sales. You remember them; you'd go around to all of your neighbors showing them swatches of snowmen and the star of David but your parents would end up buying a decade's supply of paper just so you could get your prize of a pencil case and matching stationery? Well, this particular year I was on FIRE; selling wrapping paper like that shit was going to fuel the modern economy. Needless to say I had a great prize selection that year: a clear plastic phone and one of those magic doodle pens that made you write all scribbly (further research would show that these pens are in fact called "scribble spiral pens." I'm no longer impressed).

My teacher, Mrs. Foley, told me to follow my heart and choose the phone because it was what I really wanted. I, however, doubted her and believed my parents would never have the phone cord wired into my bedroom (don't ask me how I knew this at age 6). So I made my decision despite my teacher's advisement, handed in my envelope, and said goodbye to my life with an awesome, see through, light-up, big girl phone. Later that day I went home and found a phone cord popping out from the corner of my bedroom. OH THOU CANNOT DOUBT THOSE WHOM THEY ARE MEANT TO TRUST!!!

This analogy isn't really working, is it? Yeah I didn't think so...

Well after I picked up all the pieces of myself off the floor, cried a thousand tears for Sayid, Jin, Sun, and Lapidus (okay... maybe not so much Lapidus) and stipped naked to sleep comfortably in my 800-degree apartment (that last part probably didn't need to be shared), I started thinking about where this show is going. And while I can't fully answer that question in confidence yet... I think I'm starting to get somewhere.

Unless you're one of those people that believes the island is a hologram sent from the planet Xenon to sabotage mankind, you've realized the basics: the story of LOST is a story of contradictions, between good and evil, fate and happenstance, and God and nothingness. I'm crossing my fingers that good wins out in the ultimate battle here, but it's pretty clear that we're looking good in terms of fate and God. How do I know this? From Jack's enlightened change of heart.

And Flocke? Well that sonofabitch is undoubtedly the sneaky serpent, Lucifer. For a hot second there he had me charmed... but it all goes to show how deceiving evil can really be. It does make my heart extra happy, however, that Sayid never was fully "taken" by the flockeness monster. And of course by extra happy I mean victorious because I knew all along he couldn't be tricked. How... HOW is this show going to go on without him?!

Speaking of which, how is the show going to go on without Jin and Sun either?! I mean... kill me slowly, JJ, they BOTH had to die!? They have a baby! Sure, sure it was romantic and Titanic-esque that they couldn't live without each other. But here's the thing, Jin, Sun lived just fine without you.

Oh well, who am I to judge in the name of rational thought? I just spent the latter part of the hour seeing how many individual grains of rice I can fit on a fork spoke. That's not a lie. Speaking of which... I have a lunch to eat. Later, Others.

Sha-Bang, Sha-Boom, Sha-Bye

No need to refill your supply of antimicrobial foam earplugs for tonight's episode of American Idol... the velvet curtain has closed on the scream queen.

That's right, folks, Siobhan Magnus was booted last week despite votefortheworst.com's failed attempts of keeping her around. Take THAT, you despicable abuse of internet pestilence. Now the ingrates have dubbed Big Mike as their next "worst." While I do despise the site with every cell in my body, they always do have a way of getting it right. Bastards.

Well, if we've learned anything from Siobhan's stint on the show, we've learned of the potent, distracting powers of face sparkles and stupid-ass outfits. You know it too--if Siobhan hadn't had paraded around stage looking like Cindy Lauper on crack, we would have realized her voice blew a long time ago. We've also learned that we viewers are hypnotized by the sing-scream, a spellbinding exercise of voice perfected by the great Adam Lambert. In truth, when Siobhan wasn't screaming, I wanted to. Her low, monotone, sing-song voice made me think I was watching the audition rounds rather than the top 6.

The fact that people are surprised that Siobhan siobhounced last week really boggles my mind. My dad actually said the words "if Shabang leaves I'm not watching the show." I should have prefaced that with the fact that we're trying to convince my dad to get his ears checked. And by the looks of the below, David Letterman could use a visit as well. Let's remind their ears (and eyes) of what they're actually missing:

My Country 'Tis of Thee

Caught: I don't watch TV to "learn," my first reaction when I hear the words "educational programming" is to gag, and the extent of my historical knowledge is derived from the few episodes I caught of "The Tudors."

Luckily for me, however, the sneaky folks over at HISTORY (the channel... not just the noun) are giving me my life's dose of American history in the form of crazy CGI technology, sexy men, and jaw-dropping plot lines (and by plot lines, yes, I mean the factual account of how our nation was created). It's almost like they fed my prescription education pill stuffed in the middle of a delicious scoop of ice cream. Yep... just like Momma used to do it.

America The Story of Us premiered on April 25th to a record breaking audience for the network. It's no surprise really... especially when you take into account the Avatar-esque effects and delicious man candy selected to portray all of the colonial superstars (i.e. John Rolfe, Paul Revere, and Daniel Morgan just to name a few). It's truly amazing... before the show's premiere you could have told me that the colonists arrived to the new world on a ship called "The Black Rock," met these people called the "others," and broke bread with polar bears and dead people.

Yes, I'm exaggerating...

...well, sort of.

Anyway, if you have not been watching the show, you should; if not to be thoroughly entertained, at least watch it for some grade-A cocktail hour conversation tidbits. You can watch it Sunday nights at 9/8c on HISTORY. Do it for George Washington, do it for me, but most importantly do it for yourself... you great American, you!