Bad Advice

"I'm Sorry You Feel That Way."

Did you watch Rhianna on 20/20 the other night? I did and was totally impressed. She seemed poised, but earnest. Sad, but strong. I was irritated that seconds after Rhianna told Diane Sawyer that seeing the photo of her bruised and bloody face makes her relive that night, Diane was all like, "which picture—this picture?" as she held up a copy. Was that really necessary? Anyway, Rhianna handled it more gracefully than I could've imagined, yet still came across as a very real young lady. 

Then yesterday, I watched Chris Brown talk to the curiously named "Sway" on MTV. Sigh. Obviously I'm biased against lady-beaters. That's a given. But if you're going to apologize—at least be sincere about it. And if you can't manage heartfelt and feel a need to say something—anything—so you don't lose your endorsements and fan base, pay someone competent to script a plea that's at least sincere-sounding.

Also . . .

. . . can you f**king believe I saw Christmas stuff up in a store today? Aren't we supposed to wait until after Thanksgiving for garland and all that crap? The Kings Pharmacy still had witch hats and slutty nurse uniforms, ferchrissakes! I love me some Christmas, but there's a time and a place and this is not it.

Why, hello there. . . .

Before you read anything I have to say, you need to go watch this video on Four Four. Warning: It goes on autoplay, so if you aren't prepared to watch and hear the madness immediately, don't click the link. But please, as soon as you can, click it. That's some cracky madness for you! (Not the top thing—scroll down!)

I spent much of last week in a vicodin-induced haze. I had a big ugly dental surgery on Monday that involved ferrying myself back and forth between dentist and periodontist a couple times. Once with a bloody mouth and a bunch of missing front teeth. Pretty, right? I was being sawed and yanked and stitched and fitted for four hours. To the tune of $5500. And that's the cheap part of this whole debacle.

I'm not exactly vain, but this thing threw me. I basically holed up inside my house until Saturday night. For the first few nights, I wouldn't even sleep in the same bed as my boyfriend because I just felt so gross. Though my friends say the results of the surgery aren't noticeable, I'm still very self-conscious about it. I also have a brand new lisp, though I'm working on getting rid of that.

So I don't really have much of interest to share. I don't know about you, but when I'm on painkillers, I just kind of become a human "duh." I knew it was bad when I watched Dr. Phil two days in a row.

Oh, I don't know if I told you this, but I started a new blog called Judy Likey. It's just a bunch of things, people, colors, whatever, that I like(y). I thought it would lift my dismal mood a little and it has.

I thought the market was in the toilet?

So how was some usurper able to scrape up $2.7 large to scoop up my dream home ahead of me? I was counting on future Lotto winnings to help me afford Hunt Slonem's fab mansion, but I guess my luck is just running a little slow and low these days.Take a look at the listing and I think you'll agree that this baby would look awesome on me.

Final Vacation Destination!

My blog went koo-koo this morning and posted this without my permission. I guess trying to blog from your iPhone is a bad idea because this suddenly showed up a month after I tried to post it.

The weird baby is from Edward Gorey's house.

I'm in Provincetown, MA, stuffing myself full of lobster rolls and hanging out with my old pal Jules and my new pal, Gomez (he's her new dog). It's not easy to blog on an iPhone, so I'll keep this short. In case you were wondering, the new Pet Shop Boys CD is the soundtrack to P-town.

Flipped Out

I generally love Flipping Out's Jeff Lewis, which I suppose is evidence of my unnaturally high tolerance for assholes, but the other night he even pissed me off. He listed the three things he was violently afraid of. They are:

1. Clowns (Yawn. Who isn't?)
2. Drag Queens
3. Homeless People

I had to roll my eyes at the first two—the man obviously wears makeup and gets collagen injected into his lips and he's afraid of a dude in a skirt? I find that highly unlikely.

But my little PC-heart was truly annoyed by his stance on homeless people. That was just cruel—especially when the homeless person on the job site died.

Like most reality shows, Flipping Out has gotten worse as the seasons wear on and the cast can see how they're portrayed on-air. For one thing—everyone gets skinnier. Jenny and Ryan both look skeletal this season. But they're not the only ones—remember how chunky Kathy Griffin's brunette assistant was last year? She's dropped at least three sizes coming into this season. Real Housewife Bethanny Frankel moved whatever fat she might've been packing in the back and moved it up to her bra. That scene of her in the pool showing visible front rib with giant saline bags popping out on top is burned in my brain.

I'm not sure where I'm going with all this. Just trying to get back into writing in my blog. I have my big horrible gum surgery next Monday and it's difficult to think of anything else. Bad TV keeps my mind off my mouth. Speaking of which, I wonder what'll happen on Gossip Girl tonight?

What are YOU sorry for?

Today is Yom Kippur, a day of atonement in the Jewish calendar. I'm not Jewish, but I think everyone could do with a little atoning. Saying "sorry" isn't something I'm very good at (just ask my boyfriend!), and I tend to hold onto a grudge like it's got a handle. So this year I plan on letting more stuff go and eking out an apology every now and again.

Old age and dental problems sure have a way of humbling even the brattiest of us.

(Also, I vow to find a place to find an appropriate occasion to wear this bitchin' mask.)

Happy Birthday, Boss Man!

Big birthday week over here. Can you believe Bruce Springsteen is 60!? I know men half his age who can't rock a pair of Levis as delightfully as he does. To celebrate Bruce's birthday, I'm going to see Elvis Costello at the Apollo. I'm hoping there'll be cake. (And no, not the Sloane Crosley book.)

Happy Birthday, Nick Cave!

You are the wind beneath my wings. The cream in my coffee. The pep in my step. The light o' my life.

I'm giving you the finger, Duane Reade!

Today I went for a stroll around the neighborhood. Just a little errand running, whatnot. I had a new Rx for happy pills, so I stopped by Northside Pharmacy to get it filled. Well, wasn't I surprised to see a woman in a bright yellow Duane Reade t-shirt, standing in front of the store, handing out flyers for the Duane Reade grand opening at Northside Piers!

After I was done scowling at her, I went inside and told the pharmacist that I thought it was pretty ballsy, not to mention, tacky, of Duane Reade to be soliciting their customers. Apparently the pharmacist thought so too, because she shot out of the store and told the woman to move it. Grudgingly, and only after also being yelled by a street vendor, she crossed the road. WTF?! Northside has been in Williamsburg since 1907!* The pharmacists are three nice blonde ladies who will always go the extra mile for their customers, whereas it seems to be Duane Reade policy to hire only the most surly and incompetent clerks to staff their stores.

Maybe it's because I used to work at a small, neighborhood drug store after school when I was a teenager, but I find it comforting to have a pharmacist who knows my name without looking it up. I've seen these ladies be so patient with confused elderly people, and they must know about five languages between them. I will be extremely pissed if they're put out of business by yet another soul-less chain store. Oh, and apparently I'm not the only one who dislikes the Duane Reade.

*To put that in Williamsburg perspective, that's a 46 years after Levi Strauss crafted the first skinny jeans prototype, but 93 years before the Yeah Yeah Yeahs got together.