Buns

Dish is on the go--like a do-it-all woman in a playtex commercial of the 1980s. She works, she takes care of the kids (cat), she's so "with it" that she wear a tampon. While the last one doesn't apply, I'm hopping on a train to D.C. in an hour for the rest of the week.

My big thought--I always have huge ones--is the possibility that Penelope Cruz's poochie stomach is a bun in the oven, as reported by Page Six. If that's true, Penelope is my enemy for defiling and ravaging my future husband Javier Bardem. It breaks my corazon.

Let Me Eat Cake

I figured the best way to celebrate my birthday was to post a topless picture of myself. That and receive my usual absurdly early phone call from Dishbrother where he yell/sings Happy Birthday into the phone. Sleep deprivation is so my thing.

I'll spend the day indulging in my favorite activities:

Drinking coffee
Watching Live with Regis and Kelly, The View, Judge Judy, possibly Dr. Phil
Sneak pre-cake at lunch
Exercise or make a good attempt
Hang with family and have real cake

Let's hope nothing too earth-shattering happens to overshadow my day. I was so pissed at JFK, jr. in 1999 when his plane crashed. What a dick!

"I'm gorgeous but...

...I might breathe sour beer on you right before we make out." Gerard Butler: impossibly handsome or does he have hygiene issues like Matthew McConaughey?*

*These suppositions come from random and uninformed Dish-perception and no fact.

Happy Birthday, France!

Dish bemoans the fact that France's birthday takes away her thunder. On the morrow je will turn 41. I'm dreaming only of cake. I didn't want to do anything to celebrate, just mellow out with some Beef Chow Fun and Tropic Thunder, but Dishmama reminded me that my birthday isn't about me. It's about her.

On this day, everyone's abuzz over Sotomayor. I couldn't watch but here's what I think happened in the confirmation hearings:

Republican Senator: Will your being a proud latina influence your judging?
Sotomayor: No.
RS: Will having your periods make you biased?
S: It won't.
RS: Are you racist?
S: No.
RS: What makes you want to be a supreme court judge?
S: I saw Legally Blonde. I heart Luke Wilson!

What else is she going to say in her hearing? Unless she has a public party in her pants and invite them all to join, she's confirmed. I loved her blue jacket from yesterday.

Big news: Saw a pic of Penelope Cruz today and she looked pudgy. I almost Ex-ed out her face only because of her proximity to Javier Bardem but the fatness warmed my heart and made me feel good about my ass. She looks good with meat on her attractive Spanish bones.

Gerard Butler keeps cranking out the romantic comedies and carousing with every possible leading lady. In Dish's book, he's close to Retread (been everywhere, done everyone and looks worn) status. Wondering if he's still boozing. Yes, I'm in love with him kind of.

My New Glasses Are Ginormous

I returned to the trenches only to find on my desk a pile of presents from a most benevolent source. We'll call her Fairy Godmother. Like Dishmama, FG gives great pep talk and toils day and night. My work for FG is a pleasure that requires no presents (but I LOVE THEM ANYWAY!). We know how much Dish adores DVDs, so FG pillaged my Amazon wishlist: Guarding Tess (Shirl!), Postcards from the Edge, Fleetwood Mac's The Dance (Stevie!), Sweet Charity, My Geisha, Defiance (Liev and Daniel, major slurpage!) and Hair. I'll be on the train to D.C. this Thursday, firing up my laptop to do some hard-core viewing. (Merci, FG!)

Dish got new glasses. I was tired of my usual thin, wiry frames and now have a large honking red cage over my eyes. It's kinda Nana-Mouskouri-serial-killer-executive. I enjoy them.

Not a Sham

At John Edward's MSG show today, I was wedged between two large members of The Real Housewives of New Jersey, except they were 100 pounds heavier, hacked swine flu on me and let their stinking feet hang over the seats in front of them. While I'd prepared myself mentally for a visit from the great beyond I knew JE wouldn't read for someone in the nosebleed seats. It's just as well since I haven't been too tormented by a loved one's death. Throughout the readings, I was shocked at how Edward kept giving particular details about Susie Smith's deceased father from Asshole Falls, over and over and over again for 2.5 hours. Either these people are excellent actors or he does see dead people. Someone would have come forward to declare him a charlatan. I enjoyed the message about appreciating your loved ones while they're still alive so that they wouldn't need to communicate through a medium--and that when you "cross over" you don't do it alone. He also mentioned looking at the year of coins you find on the street, which could be messages from loved ones (or, he said, people just dropping change). On my way to the show, I found a penny from 1984. What was Dish doing in 1984? Smoking Merits, flunking physics, managing (drooling over) the boys cross country team, failing to cultivate an eating disorder, and listening to Duran Duran. That is IT!

This show made me think of John Edwards the politician and how does John Edward the psychic feel about being linked with the narcissistic philanderer? A few years ago, when John Edwards was squeaky clean, he might've hated being linked to a psychic.

Random Sunday Thoughts

I'm tired of Perez Hilton describing Lady Gaga as "amazeballs." Balls are not amazing. They just hang there, are kicked or hurled through space.

Why does Gabriel Byrne keeps saying to Dianne Weist, "I'm tired of you and your pet theories, Gina" in just about every episode of In Treatment? Careless writing or is he just a dick?

I enjoyed my viewing of Judgement at Nuremberg starring Spencer Tracy, Monty Cliff, Marlene Dietrich and Judy Garland. I've now seen Marlene in a movie and she's positively smashing. No wonder Spencer Tracy kept wanting more of her coffee even though he really wanted to break down her Berlin wall. My gbfs will revolt, but I don't get the Judy obsession. Love Liza more and don't tell me it's because Liza is closer to my generation. I've followed the yellow brick road and marched in the Easter Parade to where a Star was Born.

My cat didn't vengeance vomit upon my return which means Dishbrotherfriend spoiled him rotten.

Now, I shall retire to my parlor.

To Quote Annie Lennox: Why?

I'm not sure why Fool's Gold is on my hotel room television. It's the failed attempt at repeat success in pairing Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson. Everyone knows stories about buried treasure are instant bombs. Matthew spends so much of his life sans shirt, I don't care (suspect he smells bad). Kate is adorable but she can do better. What's that I see? Silver hair, that pointy nose, those devilish come-get-me eyes. It's the #1 hearthrob of my world: Donald Sutherland. I'll sit through endless lemonade commercials for the one who sired Jack Bauer with his magic joy juice.

My next posting will come from the Casa de Dish where I will no doubt be cleaning kitty vengeance vomit. The vacation was worth it!

Gale Harold and I are finally the same age...for the next five days!

Today is a blessed event as my imaginary common-law boyfriend turns 40. Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! 40 is the new 100 but on you it looks GOOOOOOOD!

White Lines

This is what happens when Dish Googles "Simon Le Bon, Speedo." I'm relishing this week's white lines of sugar straight to my veins: key lime pie, blueberry cobbler, strawberry shortcake, chocolate fudge cake. Then there's Duran Duran's cover of Grand Master Flash's song, which Craig Ferguson covered on last night's show:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYyy1VUFav0. I was a foot from Craig a few years ago when he did a signing for his book. My catatonic friend needed someone to escort her to his table. Usually, Dish is the one who requires a steady cane or Lorazepam to get near a star but I was cool as a cucumber (because I didn't care). Craig is super-charming, though, and higher on Dish's list for doing Duran. Thanks, IrishGirl!

Because it's noteworthy: Dishmama pimped out her daughter to a 70-year-old Santa-esque parking attendant sporting a beach ball under his shirt. Here's what she said to this random stranger, "My daughter's looking for single guys. Do you know any you can introduce her to?" And then she handed him five bucks. She doesn't realize I have the keys to the car and I could leave her stranded at a Lobster Shack. Then again, give her a pound of butter, a lobster roll, a glass of non-Chardonnay and she's happy as a clam.

Vacation Day #7

My family and I visited a yarn store in Bath, which to junkies would be a trek to Washington Square Park at 2am. As I admired Dishcousin's profile in the car, it hit me: pretty, smart, friendly, mature. And she kinda looks like Julia. How dare she look more like Julia than I do. I'm like spitting image but Dishcousin even more so. She uses big words, is a vegetarian and doesn't watch TV (Yeah, me too, ONLY MORE!). And Dishcousin knits. Just like Julia.

But does she have a blog on which she posts topless male celebrities?

I went to get another cappucino and do my now ritual evening flirting with a bartender. Much to my chagrin, Angry Middle-Aged Phil was tending bar, not Underage Warren. AMAP took ten minutes to get me a menu while making drinks (and consulting his How to Bartend book carefully hidden to all eyes except Dish's). Had I applied lipstick, contacts, heels, displayed bosom and straightened my hair (it's raining hard so all attempts at beauty failed!), AMAP would have melted but he was a f*cktard. Last night, Warren rubbed two coffee beans together to get me a cappucino; AMAP asserted the machine was broken, so I stole his pen.

One Snap Away from Rocking Your World or You're Welcome, Volume 2

Troping Trollops

Maine has many lobster shacks. Today, I watched lobsters swimming, playing out their version of West Side Story. As my brood ordered their artery-clogging meals, replete with beer and wine, I wandered over to see the tribute to Michael Jackson. Imagine my horror watching Mariah Carey singing five hundred scales for one note, her hands flying everywhere. Can't singers sing ONE freaking note instead of twenty? Too many young "artists" fall back on troping, not realizing the power of singing without all the detours. MJ certainly didn't trope us to death. Stop it, Mariah. Also, she could build papier mache pinatas with all her hand activity.

I stirred up an attempt at romantical excitement by flirting with a barely legal bartender "Warren" from Jamaica. So classy of me. I gave him a nice tip for finding me a crappacino and then I let him pick my dessert. It was so How Stella Got Her Groove Back except I'm white as a ghost and my fatness levels are far higher than Angela Bassett's.

Dishing Under the Influence

Still in Maine--lights cascading off water, flowers everywhere, sun beating down, smell of lobsters about to die. An interruption of Eden: I read about my darling Joyce DeWitt getting arrested for DUI. How can that be? The little spitfire I saw around my building seemed a perfect, fun-loving girl. Then again, a DUI does wonders for your profile. If you're not working, the best thing to do is drink your face off and flag down a cop while speeding down the freeway. Next, Joyce should get her butt on Dr. Drew's reality show. You can totally pretend you're an alkie and Joyce would be hilarious. She could trip over couches like Jack Tripper.

You're Welcome

Federer topless.
What a lardass!