News In The Breeze

Several updates on our apartment search.

1. Never ever ever ever use "Sahar Ziv" as your real estate broker in New York. Ever. Nevernevernevernevernever. He's a total liar and would cheat and steal to line his own pockets. It actually took me a month to even get to the point where I could type his name. That's how much I loathe him. Nuf said. EVEREVEREVER.

2. Because I don't have enough balls mid-air currently, 1 of our top choices of apartments is currently a shell of a place with no walls, no floors, no doors, and no kitchen. Because coordinating renovations was my second major, did you know that? (!)

3. A major factor in our desire to "win" #2 above is because while we were standing outside it haggling with the broker, a quite conspicuous neighbor happened to be walking her dog down the street... Are you ready for it? Catherine.Zeta.Jones. As in Catherine Zeta Jones-Douglas? As in Catherine Zeta Jones-T Mobile Spokeswoman of America? As in Catherine Zeta Jones of the Fabulously Beautiful Club? Yes, she walked her fluffy little dog right past Griffin and I as we oogled and giggled like school girls over her. And now you see why I have latched onto this apartment with every shred of my strength and will only let it go to the next bidder if they pry it from my cold dead grip. (But seriously, I'm serious).

4. The amount of patience I currently have with real estate brokers in general would not even fill up a thimble. And that's being generous. I often like to harass/fire them right off the bat, just to test the waters. (This has yet to prove useful, but still makes me feel good).

5. Saturday night after dining with Caitlin and Dave at Gus & Gabriel's Gastropub on 79th street, we walked right past another conspicuous gentleman in a trendy little bowler hat. If you thought I pulled out the big guns with Catherine, watch this: DETECTIVE ELLIOT STABLER. No, I am not pulling your leg. These are the kinds of neighbors one acquires when one leaves her home of perpetual exile in the Bronx and travels to the promised land of the Upper West Side. I seriously almost screamed when I saw him. Forget Catherine, this man is 40% of my entertainment television ladies and gentleman, something akin to a weekly prayer service.

Shoot, that's all for now. Eek, there's no time!

PS. Funny sidebar from this morning: I bought these black tights a few weeks back and my friend Erin said they'd be too big but I didn't believe her so I got them anyway. And then this morning I was hoofing it to work because every garage in the g-forsaken Washington Heights area was packed so I had to park 14 miles away. Long, coldbutt story short, by the time I made it to my office my tights were around my knees. Which makes me laugh.

Happy Friday!

Notes to Samantha Brown

(Excerpt from my drunken email to Samantha Brown last night.)

Congratulations on 10 years of amazing travels on the travel channel!...Letmegetstraighttothepoint,Iamnotoneforverbosityorbeatingaroundthebush.Iwouldlovetoanchoranewprojecthighlightingtravelaroundtheglobewithatoddler.MyhusbandandIarecurrentlyNewYorkers,originallyhighschoolsweetheartsfromColumbus,Ohio,onthebrinkofconcuringourgreatestambitions,withourmostimportantaudienceintow,our18montholdson,Griffin.Callmeanytime,IhaveincredibledreamsofhoppingthemetroinCairo,andhikingtheapalachiantrail.

And no, I am not kidding. You may notice a little something off from my regular literary prose, which may or may not be related to the fact that Griffin ripped off my space bar yesterday and in my haste to tell Samantha my ingenious and highly profitable idea, I had no time to fix it. Also? Why I chose riding the Metro in Egypt and hiking the misspelled "Apalachian" Trail as exciting travels to entice Samantha with, I cannot explain at this point in time. Only to say that those would in fact be badass, or children-services-call, things to do with an 18 month old.

Part of me thinks I should leave it as is before sending it to the Travel Channel. And if they aren't open-minded enough to think I am television-worthy, then I don't want to work for them anyway. I mean, if they hired that fat guy to eat the world's most disgusting food, I've got to at least have a shot, right?

If not, I'll just start my own show with Anthony Bourdain... Now there's a guy who would love my show. I'm positive it would make his Tivo.

Remind Me To Tell You the One About "Cheese!"

Boy oh geez it's been a while. Insert several apologetic comments here... And on to the news!

Let's take stock, shall we?

3 weeks in Ohio for Christmas vacation - Check.

1 week stint in Park City having a marvelous time skiing - Check.

2 cases of near-death gastrointestinal virus, not marvelous - Yep, check.

1 Katherine Heigl siting - Check.

423 new toddler toys I don't have anywhere to put - Check.

7 days of delaying taking down Christmas decorations - Check.

200 new words in Griffin's vocabulary - Check, check, check, CHEESE!

22 days past rent due date - Whoops and check. (Well, actually there's no check, that's the problem. See, my checkbook was among the casualties in trying to pack up way-too-much-f'ing-crap in about 15 minutes to come back to New York after my near-death viral experience last weekend. RIP checkbook, sorry Landlord.)

And most importantly, at least 37 good stories I have to tell you, just as soon as I get around to it. (Read: So if you're lucky before next Christmas...)

Ciao!

And Now You Know Why My Cable Guy is on Speeddial

Big plans for the weekend, huge (compared to my normal plans verging on minute). Griffin's going to carve his first pumpkin. Well actually, I'm going to carve it and then after covering him head to toe with dropcloths, give him all of the pumpkin innards to play with. After which I will photograph him and show you later, because that's what parents do. They humiliate their offspring and publicize it for laughs. And in response, said offspring spend their entire lives trying to even the score. Now you never need to watch another Dr. Phil episode again. Didn't think you'd reap such an amazing benefit from reading my stuff, now did you? Consider yourself gifted with the majesty of avoiding Dr. Douchbag.

In related news, you know how most of my friends are tv personalities? Yeah, you too? Good, I love when we find things in common. We'd kill on eHarmony Olympics. Anyway, I've talked before about Op's and Ellen, but recently I have a major crush on the entire cast of 30 Rock. Like insane group crush. Not your usual Jim and Pam - 2 person crush, nope the whole shebang. It's not that I want to be on the show as a castmember, I just want their characters to be real life people that I work with. Then I for sure wouldn't be falling asleep at my desk every half hour... What? Did I say that? Ha.

What did people do before sitcoms? Horror.

That's Why Grif's Not Allowed to Watch Extreme Home Makeover

So today was my first official day back to work post-'flying placenta' and it was a success. I had mixed feelings going in and Grif definitely smelled a rat (and one pro of living in BFE Bronx is that I know there's not a rat dead in my apartment somewhere, sorry B to the rooklyn) so he would not leave my side all morning as I got ready and the nanny came to take over. But he adapted and was good and happy and alive when I returned, which far exceeded my expectations of him shooting up heroin while pimping hookers in a craigslist sex crime ring while simultaneously clubbing a baby dolphin, shotgunning BPA, and misspelling s-e-p-a-r-a-t-e. Horror.

Work is an absolute shit show right now and reminds me of the Guinness Book guy who has to spin 43 plates simultaneously off of different parts of his body, a guy whom I have never admired nor even fully appreciated because, hello? Why are you doing that? You aggravate me, Guy. Stop it before I flick your nuts and really piss you off. You'll thank me later. But all in all, I'm glad I'm busy and don't have to think about the heroin and the grammar catastrophes because I would surely give up on the whole "living in the black" idea and go back to where we're comfortable, flaming hot in the red.

Enough about my gay friend, let's talk gossip. I don't want to name drop, but I kind of do, and so I must tell you I'm a bridesmaid in a wedding this fall wherein the bride's bachelorette party is in South Hampton this summer, ergo I will be in South Hampton this summer in a fatty bo batty house with a pool and I'm kind of so excited about it my eyebrows hurt, so there's that. And in total transparency I also must tell you that a certain Housewife of NYC that may or may not be affiliated with a certain reality TV show and is also a caterer may be playing a part in the bachelorette festivities. I need to be honest with you, it's kind of a big deal. So there's also that.

In summation, this is a good day and I'm on my second vodka and lemonade proceeded by two glasses of amazing red wine from my landlord/neighbor (I really have to tell you about him) and I am feeling Tony the Tiger: Grrreat. And I needed this like Ty Pennington needs Ritalin. You know it's bad. Holla.

Mistaken Identity #34,661

Yesterday, I was hoofing it from 54th and 5th to 56th and 10th for reasons to be disclosed later, when I realized the man walking in front of me who kept turning around to stare at the discombobulated crazy woman trying her best to run down the sidewalk in heels was Fred Savage.

Only it wasn't Fred Savage, it was a look alike from his days on Boy Meets World. Turns out he doesn't look the same as he did 10 years ago. Who knew?

I must disclose that this happens a lot to me, mistaking ordinary citizens for famous people. It's just how sick my mind is. Other mistakes include: Howard Stern, Tom Brady, and Gweneth Paltrow.

She's No Mariska Hargitay

One positive note about living in the Bronx, and come to think of it, it's actually not so positive after all, they always shoot Law and Order episodes on our block. Ironic 3 days after my car was broken into right? Anyway, I've been freaking out excited since last week when I saw the no parking signs littering 4 square blocks for set traffic the day of the shoot. After being rained out on Friday, they rescheduled for Tuesday and I was ready! I mentioned more than once to Grant who was trying to ignore me that once they took a look at the face of our beautiful child they would fall prostrate to him and immediately swear he had a face for crime novel tv show history.

My first trip (of many) to the set on Tuesday yielded much success as Katheryn Erbe walked right past me (across the street anyway) and would have totally noticed us but her attention was drawn to the coffee and bagel in her hands. I mean, the woman needs her strength, I totally understood. So I took a lap with Griffin in the stroller and what do my wandering eyes find but Vince D'Onofrio AND Katheryn in the middle of talking scene talk with some director-looking people. They would have totally noticed me and called us over but they were focusing so intently on their scene, completely understandable.

Trip #2 to the set a few hours later produced another clear shot of Katheryn, this time leaving the shoot for her trailer. It was pretty cold out (ask Griffin, I didn't have time to dress him very warmly considering I needed to maximize our time "on set") so she pretty much ignored everyone as she headed into the trailer, sadly we were part of the "everyone". But some nice looking directorish man smiled at us as we walked past, which may or may not have had something to do with our little gang's appearance. [Griffin in the Bjorn, me on the cell phone looking interesting, and Hunter dragging both of us down the street so he can pee on the 74th tree in 5 minutes.]

The third and final trip I felt comfortable in making, considering there were several police watching over the set and I'm pretty sure they were getting ready to arrest me, was uneventful. No Katheryn. No Vince. And no director-looking people. However, I'm pretty sure a lighting guy was trying to pick me, and my baby, up for the night. Awesome.

All in all, I am slightly disappointed that I was too embarrassed to snap a pic (though in my head it definitely turned into an all out photo shoot where Katheryn and Vince would hold Griffin between them and pose like a family at Disney for the first time - what? Like you wouldn't do that) and that we weren't approached to be extras. But at the end of the day, I decided that's no life for a little boy.

He should never settle for anything less than the lead.

Glass Houses Etc.

Let me just weigh in on the discussion of two newsreel items all up in my face and all of your faces if you're watching the national news right now. (This may or may not have anything to do with the fact that I have raging PMS hormones right now).

1. If you find yourself making negative internal or vocal judgements about Natalie Sulemon I would really, really love to meet you in person because you must be the most perfect mother in the world and I'd like to pick your brain about a few things like "How the hell do you master this crazy unmeasurable vocation that changes constantly and demands more of yourself than anything in the universe?"

2. There are way too many abandoned children in the f-ed up foster system for people to be raising Chimpanzees as humans. Belly up to the bar and make a difference in a child's life* rather than fulfill some kind of weird need to receive unconditional love from something other than a cat or dog.

*Disclosure statement: Yes, I realize not everyone's capable nor should they accept the huge responsibility of raising a child if they are not ready or willing to do so. However, there are other ways to help if you are able and God knows there is plenty of need, especially right now.

**Okay, I'll be nice now.

Kind of Obsessed

I think it's the fact that I can watch someone else struggling with parenthood more than myself or the fact that I can find comfort in the fact that I only have 1 child while Kate and Jon have 8, or because by watching someone more bitchy than me I feel vindicated in my own bitchiness, but whatever it is, I'm kind of obsessed with Jon and Kate Plus 8. By "kind of" I mean totally.

I realized the extent of my obsession when I willingly watched Ultimate Fighting last night because Grant said I had to watch it if I ever wanted him to watch Jon and Kate again. So I watched the hell out of those crazy sons of b*tches bleeding all over each other, yes sir. And tonight!

JON AND KATE MARATHON.

The gods have rewarded my fortitude.

Ah sweet victory.

FUUUUUUUUULL House

Issue 2 of my Whacked Out Dream sequence.
A few nights ago, I awoke in the middle of this scene of my dream:

I am in the office of one, John Stamos, and am finding myself quite embarrassed to have to "go #2" while he is working at his desk. No, not just have to "go #2", I'm "going #2", in a lavatory directly next to his desk. And to top out your weirdness factor, he's upset with me, not because I'm "going #2" next to his desk, but because I cannot "go #2" quickly enough for his liking.

WTF brain?

If this is a downward progression from Kate Hudson to this, I'm afraid to go to sleep tonight. And you should be too.

PS. If you see John, tell him he's a weird f$#%.

And for the Record, His Real Name is Marc Berkowitz

Have I told you about my whacked out dreams as of late? No? Well, have I got a doosie of a psychoanalysis puzzle for you, my friend! And we're off.

Several nights ago, it started with me waking in the middle of a dream wherein Alyssa was hosting/throwing a parade (of course) which was kind of Romper Room style and everyone ended up in a giant pit of large, multi-colored foam pieces which we were all jumping in (of course). But I was on cloud nine during the parade/Romper Room because at the beginning of the parade Alyssa announces via loudspeaker (of course) that Kate Hudson reads my blog (again, of course). So here I am, head as big as Nebraska because if Kate Hudson likes my blog then it must be good, right? And this realization was shored up throughout the dream by friends of Alyssa/old sorority sisters of hers kept coming up to me to worship my literary skills.

I awoke so happy only to quickly return to cold, dark reality and was sorely depressed that not only am I not 1 degree of separation from Kate Hudson but she also doesn't read my blog, nor would many many people be worshipping me anytime soon.

Marc Summers says "Double Damn".

Sidebar: Warning BRC on GMA

I was getting ready to write today's post but noticed Billy Ray Cyrus on GMA and was completely dumbstruck for several hours thereby wasting my time dedicated to writing and now the baby, yes, he screams. Yet ye be forewarned, if you see Billy Ray on TV, swiftly hit Mute or Off.h

Me, the Lesbian, and Oprah

One of my first S.A.H.M. (Stay At Home Mom or Saucy And Hot Minx) realizations was how quiet and eerie it is to be home alone all day while everyone else is at work. I am, by nature and upbringing, used to continual chaos (have I told you about my 6 siblings, 4 in-laws, and 12 nieces and nephews?). Solitude and I are occasional friends, especially during cold winter evenings when you may find me nestled in the bosom of a bottle of red wine and a chocolate bar, but I prefer Chaos' mind-numbing company the majority of the time. Plus, I rarely afford myself a glass of wine these days what with the whole lactation dog and pony show. Therefore, the stark contrast between the first two weeks of SAHM-ness when my parents were staying in the next room, my husband was home every day, and my phone rang off the hook with friends and family constantly calling to check in versus the following 11 weeks of virtual house arrest was quite unsettling in a "Red Rum" sort of way.


As a means to holding tight to what sanity I have left, I decided early on that I would make it seem as if I had friends visiting the apartment every day... Via my television.


My first bestie arrived at 3pm Eastern time on NBC - hello Ellen. I literally laughed out loud during the entire first episode I watched and several times had to stop myself from answering her when she asked a rhetorical question to the audience. That was the most normal 50 minutes I'd had on a weekday in 3 weeks. After swiftly adding her show to my TiVo, I figured why stop there? There is a whole world of television entertainers out there just begging to be let into my inner circle, who am I to deny them?

The next addition to my cable friend list was the big O. I haven't ever had the chance or inclination to watch her show on a regular basis, but recently I've been very intrigued by her show topics. Mainly because I heart one of her co-producers (Mega) who is a good and dear friend of mine from college. Also, I sort of want to be Meghan, so I live vicariously through her exciting professional life and sort of pretend her work stories are my work stories. Feel free to let me know how weird that is. Now I know there are 3, possibly 4.5, loyal readers of this website who will be shocked to learn I may never make it as big as Oprah, but don't get your thongs in a bunch over it. I'm still prepared for the call from NBC, CBS, hell even TWC to begin talks of my own talkshow. I just refuse to sit by my phone waiting for those windbags to see real talent when it writes itself a blog. For now, I'll learn from the master, O-Town herself.

[Irritating events have occurred, in the form of my internet connection breaking yesterday and losing the entire rest of my post as well as my editing of the above material. I feel this has happened for a reason and therefore I will use it as a learning experience and not throw this piece o-shit laptop through the window to smash on the street 3 stories below my apartment right now.]

(Deep breath).

Anyway, Grant has vetoed me bombarding him with stories of my "friends" as soon as he comes through the door at the end of the day now. I know he's just jealous that I have famous friends and he does not, so I will humor him and refrain from rubbing it in his face. For now, I'll keep my Lesbian and my Oprah and occasionally my Martha and My Giada to myself, but it's gettin' kind of crowded in here, so if you want a seat you better call ahead.

Oogles and Oogles of Googles

Alright, hand to the Bible, I admit it. I google myself.

Not like a hundred times a week or anything. No, more like once or twice a month, tops. I'd also like to state for the record, that I do not believe there is anything wrong with this hobby of mine. I'm simply tracking my exposure to the masses. That is, if there was exposure. Because so far? Non-exposed = me. Not only am I not exposed to the masses, neither is my maiden named self, my nicknamed self, nor my initialed self. I guess I'm cooler than I thought, because I'm underground. Get it? Only the coolest bars and restaurants are super secret and underground. So, now I'm really excited to be amongst such great company as La Esquina and the Private Dinner Club of Brooklyn. I'm hot, ya'll.

I would also like someone to invent a google-yourself-counter that will then be published by name and everyone can see how desparate people are to be famous by how many times you google yourself in any given day. This would be hilarious. Then they should also publish the person's email so we can all email them and try to help them figure out what is missing in their lives, ie social interaction. So Internet, get on my idea. Thank you very much. And I'll take royalties for it too. Because I'm UNDERGROUND and underground people take royalties on all kind of shit. It's a fact.

Martha Will You Adopt Me?

I have completely neglected to tell you about the Single Greatest Live Studio Audience Experience of My Life, or SGLSAEML. On Wednesday morning, January 23rd, I arrived at the Chelsea studios of Martha where my friend Ursula was waiting in line for us. We stood in the freezing cold, risking our lives, our poor circulation systems pumping their hearts out, for about 30 min to go into the waiting area. After ticket check and security screening we were given two handouts and told to fill them out and sit down in the waiting room. One of the sheets was some sort of disclaimer form and the other a question and answer form where we were to write down any questions we had for Dr. Weil. Oh, if only I had the power to google this dude's name while we were sitting there to figure out who in the heck he was, I would have felt much more prepared to design an inquiry for him. No such luck.

So based on what I know of Dr. Weil, A.) that he is some sort of physcian, and B.) there is no B, I decide to write a pregnancy question. This I must have learned from my mother somehow, though I'm not sure when, but I felt strongly deep down in my 15 minutes of fame heart that a pregnancy question would land me smack dab on camera. I scribble down my question and move on to the muffins Ursula had just brought me. Yeah, Martha has muffins and water bottles for us while we're waiting. I mean do you hate this lady or what?

Then the nice Martha Stewart Studio Audience Assistant comes around to everyone to collect our question sheets and honest to God, I am not fabricating this story at all, she reads mine and goes, "Hmm. This is a great question! I'm going to write down what you are wearing..." [Gasp, dribble tiny amount of urine, commence palm sweat.]

Cut to: I'm sitting there freakishly trying to call everyone I know on my cell phone to tell them to stop whatever they are doing and turn to Marthavision. Finally, they start to heard us cattle-style into the studio and as I go by the nice assistant lady she marks my ticket with a star. Oh you glorious little red star, I love you. And tells me to show the audience seater people my star. Audience seater people? I was showing every living thing I came in contact with, waving that little ticket like Charlie on his way to the Chocolate Factory, God bless him. Better believe it. So we get upstairs and are seated, and then moved, and seated again until everyone is happy with the arrangement.

Holy cow, Marthaland. It's so much more than you think it is from the privacy of your own home. It's like Lollipop Land or Gingerbread Town or I don't know, Tequilaville. And the nice assistant is giving me instructions on reading my question and standing up and microphones and I'm freaking out again. The show starts and I forget completely about my ensuing daytime TV debut when Martha starts making some effing avocado and egg whites salad and all I can think about is shoving those neat little lettuce cups in my face four at a time. [inhale] Okay, then two segments go by and the third and all important question and answer segment comes up next. I've already reapplied my lip gloss 14 times, fixed my hair a thousand, and rearranged my question to now be a full-on autobiography.

Question #1 goes something about water purifying yaya-shut up. Question #2 follows, blah calcium supplements, blah whatever. Question #3 next, I can't sleep wah-wah, so sad, wah-wah wah. Dr. Andrew Weil, well-known expert on organics and healthy living, begins his answer and goes on. And on. And then on. And on some more. I'm ripping out my hair, spitting fire, waving my arms, anything to get the man to shut up so we can get to the most important Question #4, and what happens? A COMMERCIAL BREAK IS WHAT HAPPENS. I'm sorry what? Did you say your childhood dreams and aspirations are ruined? Really? WELL, WE'D RATHER HEAR ABOUT SERTA SLEEPERS AND DIRT DEVIL COMBO VACS RIGHT NOW.

[Inhale, tear.] It's okay. Really. I'm completely over it. I've come to terms with the fact that my Daytime Television Debut was coldy wrenched from my warm, caring fingers. That the world will never know the answer to my pregnancy question that was CLEARLY extremely important nationally and internationally syndicated is nothing short of catastrophic. But serenity now. Oh dear*.




*My feelings were somewhat assuaged by the take home gifts we received, namely an Ultreo ultrasonic toothbrush, Meridian Health Vitality Glowcaps, Isaac Daniels GPS Sneakers, and an HP Pavillion dv6700t notebook**.


** Kind of seems silly to be upset about the question thing now, huh?

Bumbling Jehosaphats, Batman!

You're never going to believe this. Hold on to your toenails. In just a few weeks, I'm.going.to.meet.Martha! You don't believe me? Well, then I bet you'd like to see the super duper secret email I have waiting for me in my inbox right now, chronicling the directions for meeting Martha, wouldn't you? Well, sorry to burst your bazoongas, you're not going to see it. Because then you might dress up as a really hot, sexy brunette and pretend to be me and steal my spot to see her, and YOU CANNOT DO THAT. I have my date with destiny, and you cannot perpetrate it. (?) Wow.

I hope this doesn't get me really excited and super happy like the Regis and Kelly show and then turn out to be a total dud and ruin my chi. Because my chi's about to kick someone's ass. And I hope to God it doesn't have to be Martha's. My main driving force for the excitement is that I might receive in return for my esteemed presence in the studio two things: A. Food and B. Free Stuff. These being the only real reasons anyone goes to live studio shows anymore, I do not feel guilty for not caring if Cuba Gooding Jr. or Mary Tyler Moore are the guests. Hell, it could be Martha's roommate in prison and I wouldn't care, just give me some cheese blintzes and I'll shut up.

Stay tuned, loyal worshippers-er-friends, and I will give you all the dirt you'll ever wish you had on behind the scenes with M to the izzo. Peace out for now though, it's time to go home.

We All Need A Little More Trudi

Hey, what did you do today Internet? Really? No! Want to know what I did? Yes? Okay, I'll tell you. I went to a live taping of Regis and Kelly at ABC studios this morning. Sweet, right? Well, grab your hot cocoa and gingersnaps and let me tell you all about it.

Marisa Tomei, David Ortiz, and Jennifer Esposito were the guests and they were all pretty nice, somewhat humorous. I just want to squeeze David Ortiz, he looks like he needs it. Also Jennifer talks way too much with her hands - like hey! look at my hands! they're flying around! If I were in a table tennis match where we couldn't use paddles, I would totally want her on my team. Kelly Ripa is T.I.N.Y. I can't stress this enough, people. I think I could sneeze her to Nova Scotia. During one intermission, someone asked her where she got her shirt and she is so cute, she said, "Actually I got it for free!". Usually, I'm really irritated when people don't listen well enough to questions to answer them correctly, but that was more interesting to me than where she got it because I'm continually amazed at how rich and famous people get stuff for free all the time, when they're really the only people who have the money to buy expensive stuff. ? Riddle me that, oh master of the interverse*.

Best part of the show: Baby Bash (I know, don't ask me) raps their new song at the end of the show, and the cutest grandma you've ever seen gets her groove on in the front row like she's been waiting decades for this song to be created thereby enabling her to express herself through dance. And the hosts notice her and call her out onto the stage to dance with them and Baby Bash (I know, see above), upon which time the grandma - Trudi - totally works the entire stage with her dance moves. I was peeing my pants off - not kidding. They played another song just so she would keep dancing. It totally made my weekend. And even though I Tivo'd the episode in case I got on camera and wanted to see how much weight the camera actually put on me, I'm totally going to replay the episode to bring Trudi to life again instead.

PS. I did get on camera for 0.7 seconds during the sign-off portion of the credits. ;) Promise, ask my dad, he Tivo'd it too.

*'Member? I'm allowed to make up words.

Sighting

I had another sighting last Monday and totally forgot to tell you about it! I'm sorry, I will never lie to you again. Don't be mad, I'll bring you flowers tomorrow.

I saw Ty Pennington on my way to the gym! Bonus: I was sporting the "sexy" work outfit that I rarely wear but hope that on a day when I do I randomly get asked to act in a movie starring myself. That one. And though no casting directors came my way that Monday, Ty Pennington sure as hell did. P.S. I don't really think he's homosexual, as does the rest of the population, but I definitely do think he's sizzlin'. Rowr.

He noticed me, but probably saw the gigantic rock on my finger and thought to himself, "Ty, maybe you better work a little bit harder and make a ton more money and save Darfur before you even think about getting a girl like that." Yep, that's how it totally went down. That's why he didn't stop me to ask if my legs were tired... From running through his mind all day.

Now I work out at that gym every damn day. Better believe it.

Why Rent when you could Buy?

OMG.
Internet, guess who I sat next to at Whole Foods while I was eating lunch today?
Well, it wasn't exactly next to, but across the table with his back facing me... Close enough.
Give up?!

Christopher J. Hanke that's who.
As in 'MARK' of the most famously fabulous 'RENT', you might have heard of it? As in my favoritest favorite musical of all time. As in this guy.

Well. I love this city.