Dish Upon a Star Almost Disappeared

Ladies, I thought Dish was a goner. 20 years of content vanished. For days, I surrendered to the idea that nothing lasts forever. Walk out of the burning house knowing all is lost. I considered starting over from scratch. But then I realized...maybe I'm signing in using the wrong Google account. It's the latest chapter of my new book I'm an Idiot.

I'd wanted to emote about audacious nipples, raging anorexia, and "art" of the Met Gala, but who needs more negativity? That's code for I couldn't find this blog for a couple weeks.

Cutting to the chase, my entertainment recommendations in this order: Legends, The Audacity, Widow's Bay

Secret watching when spouse is asleep: Mean Girl Murders, Dawson's Creek, All the President's Men where I admire Dustin Hoffman's feathery locks. 

I miss a good feather do, i.e. Tom Cruise in MI: 2 and the incomparable Farrah Fawcett, who got us all using a curling iron.

Farah Fawcett Foundation

With everything being bad, I count on the stars for laughs. Like Martin Short's Life is Short (I finally get that the title matches his last name). Enjoyed it, got a little seasick from the shaky camera, went through all the reasons why he annoyed me as a youngster, but became hilarious as I moved into my 40s and 50s. If you've ODed on true crime, Martin Short's doc will replenish your serotonin. What a life. 

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You knew this was coming. Because I'm still obsessed and have no other outlet--family can't bear my Blondie reflections--I am on wedding watch for Taylor and Travis, have been amused by their NYC outings, imagining how they are a mere 5 miles downtown from me. It's okay for me to regress and believe I'm still in my 30s. Just a little while longer.

It's like we're living the same life.

Because I'm on HRT, semi-retired, and have endured emotional love tsunamis already, I can't with the Easter eggs anymore but I love the goo goo eyes between them and her outfits. It's way better than being at war, impoverishing a nation, celebrating incompetence, and watching people proudly showcasing bigotry. Ya know?

AI Is a Diphthong that Smoothes Away Visible Panty Lines but Not Cellulite

I'm now somewhere between Iraq and Park Place, sipping smoothies directly from the Strait of Vermouth. As I graze my hand off my floating swan raft and into the chlorinated water, I am telepathically downloading the latest intel on your favorite stars.

On Saturday, I was finally in the same room as Don Cheadle. We laughed and cried as he excelled in how he talked to us about math. Prime numbers, wow. Solving a proof over 40 pages, my God! So we didn't actually speak directly to each other, but I know he saw me in Row J, seat 18. My electric red hair is that glowy, as is my waving of hands and mouthing, "Hi, Don Cheadle! It's meeee!!!!" If you have the chance to see Proof on Broadway, do it now. Ayo Edebiri and Don rock it, also Jin Ha and Kara Young are excellent. 

Before the show started, I recognized Jason Blum a few rows ahead of us. We went to high school together, though were not besties. Oh the horror! (wink wink) I elbowed TG, who was ready to pounce, but I whispered, "Don't bother him. He's a star." 

When did I become so respectful? Maybe it's that celebrity has changed in 20 years. It comes with purity tests and other quirks. More of a revolving door of younger, thinner people, new faces. I wouldn't know what to say. How cringe is it that I'm revealing this? I'm still confident and daring at 36!!! 

I will sign off with a warning of the upcoming girl rapture. Reese Witherspoon and Mel Robbins are smiling-telling women not to be left behind by AI. Come on, girls. Time to shorten your hems, crop your tops, wear a bold lipstick, and hike up those heels. Let Him do some under-the-sweater action or else you'll never get a man, children, or any life.

Ps. I only use AI to apply my estrogen patch, which I totally don't need because I'm way too young.   

If Jake Paul and Mike Tyson Fight in the Woods, Does That Mean It Happened?

Dish is coming out of hiding after 6 years -- 6 years! -- to say how thoroughly boring and over-hyped the Tyson-Paul fight was on Saturday. Fully under the spell of boxing's PR machine, TG and I got ourselves ready with snax, booze, and long list of why we are losers from the town of Loser, population 2. Even though feeling a little vomit emoji, I hit the Watch Now button on Netflix and we waited. Four hours later, we realized we'd been had. Anything involving Jake Paul is a gimmick and you should never enter a room alone with Mike Tyson unless you are a dude in a Hangover movie. Why invest in this? Dish does not forget history. I remember that one's marriage, which ended in brutality, then the "sexual battery" case that resulted in so much suffering and backlash against women in general for having the nerve to tell their stories. Decades later he's celebrated, a riot, and a hysterical part of The Hangover series. 

I wasn't sure why I fell for this fight. The idea of these two beating each other up--appealing. Maybe I wanted the old guy to beat up the young guy. And yet, it was about as exciting as cat flatulence. The opening band--female boxers--was way better.

Better to walk away from these boondoggle events. Here's to focusing on those worthy of our attention.

Dia Dipasupil/WireImage

On a brighter side, I saw the glorious Valerie Bertinelli walking in Riverside Park. Maybe coming from a dog run? I felt bathed in heavenly goodness.

The Clouds Part and a Kardashian Emerges

Someone who used to resemble Khloe Kardashian (my fave of the clan) got contractions in Cleveland, aka the last place a girl should walk the streets, and gave birth to a girl. Surgeons found a way to give the baby butt implants and waist cinching in utero so thank Jebus she is perfect. Her name is Cumulus--and will love playing with her cousin Stormi.

Small potatoes to child-bearing, Babydaddy I guess was caught cheating, but Dish finds this insignificant since Someone Who Used to Resemble Khloe knows that athletes tend to run toward the "massage" van.

Star-spotted: Katie Finneran, Broadway Show Thief

3:12 pm: As I carried my groceries from Pamper Ur Pets, I passed Katie Finneran, aka great actress of stage, screen, and Netflix.

Katie and I go way back. We admired her first as the lesbian nanny who steals the wife from Dabney Coleman who is Tom Hanks's father in You've Got Mail. Nanny Maureen! The one who says All Men Lie, wisdom x infinity.

The Groom and I then went to see Sean Hayes and "Chenoweth" (as TG calls her) in Promises, Promises on Broadway. Katie stole the show even though we are drooling fans of SH and C. Katie just made a small scene huge.

Then came Bloodline, which Dish discovered during her Blue Period, plus I wanted to keep my bond with Friday Night Lights. Katie plays a long-suffering ex-wife.

Around this time, TG went to a funeral where he talked to this nice woman who seemed familiar. He said her name and I reminded him of our long history with her and how much we love her.

Isn't this, like, a novel? And it doesn't end there.

We went to see an Edward Albee play, in which she starred with Robert Sean Leonard (a godlike creature). I won't reveal the median age of the audience (83) or the Miss Havisham perfume wafting every which way. Long story long, despite being sophisticated and loving both actors, the play was just too depressing for us and we left at intermission. We figured that Katie and Sean unraveled their messed up marriage, went to places that seemed unfixable, but then made each other breakfast like always. Right?

And today I saw her again, looking like a well-put-together person and remarked on my own disheveled self. It's okay since we are best friends now and I'm a good enough person to let her be the glamorous one.

Moral of the story: Always go see her if she's in a play or movie. Worth it.

Crazy Dish Crush

I will only confess it here, because out loud, it sounds crazy. Dish is having transference issues! Remember Freud and how all his patients were in love with him because of his mastery over their sexual problems? It's not that Freud was sexy himself (he so was. I mean LOOK). Dish is having similar transference issues over...

SPECIAL COUNSEL ROBERT MUELLER!

It makes no sense. You'd think I'd be gaga over the politician we see every day. Who's in your face, speaking to the 5th grade educated masses, measuring his buttons (his is bigger), squeezing his hand-enhancers, smearing that Neutrogena tanner all over his delectable McDonald's body*.

No, I'm pining over the one behind closed doors, he with the long jaw and solemn look of my grandfather (also supergorgeous). Does he pose for the cameras as he walks from the car to the building? No, torturous no! Does he show us how to do better--by actually working hard? A thousand times yes!

Me miseram, RM! You keep your perfect nose to the grindstone, down your Metamucil (fiber is important when you get to a certain age), indict the bad guys, and tacitly make the Orange Slob inhale his Happy Meals and shart in his golf shorts. Who does that more effectively than the real Most Powerful Man on Earth? RM, I was never a Marine. I can barely do a lady push-up. But I salute you. Please save us, you shiver-inducing animus of love!

*threw up a little

Dish Is Psychic!!!

A sentence came into my head yesterday: Benedict Cumberbatch is about to have Baby #2. It's funny because I haven't paid much attention to our dear Sherlock. I scoured the webs and found out that indeed, he inseminated his wife for the 2nd time! So why didn't I catch on sooner and why would the universe give me this message telepathically 9 months after the initial announcement? Because maybe her water just broke*. Dish is psychically in tune with the stars.

It's hard not to focus 24/7 on my obsession: Gwen Stefani (and Blake too). Here is In Style's photo of her attending her sons' communion. I love this look (though not completely into the flyaway hairs). It's bright and lovely. Since she started dating Blake, we've been on baby watch. I'm not sure. To me, she is either too thin or perfect. We are roughly the same age so I bow down to a woman who can pull off white from the waist down!

Today I'm going to try to tune into my new ESP psychosis. So far, all I'm getting is that Beyonce might be pregnant with twins...

*Maybe but Dish has no source aside from own imagination.

Resting Melt Face

I shouldn't objectify Republicans in Congress but look at these melting faces. One of the reasons for Dish's absence from blogging is far too much time watching news. See here what happens when you sit in a conference room and go, "blaaahhhhhh" all day long. Politicians should not be celebrities unless they have stylists. It's like the end of Indiana Jones every day, especially today with the whole nuclear option (which some will pronounce nucular because they are idiots).

Speaking of...

I'm going into the other room for this. I don't want anyone to hear me. And don't tell Alec Baldwin about this post. I didn't intend to read his memoir but Dishfriend has an extra copy. I knew it was a matter of time before the bear got poked again and what better time than when his book drops? Those Mel-esque anger issues don't just go away. Even while watching Match Game, one can see the rage simmering over reading crappy jokes off a teleprompter. It's a reallllly bad game show, we were desperate. It's kind of hilarious* how these gifted guys get accepted back into our good graces again (did you see Mel at the Oscars? Hugh Grant anyone? Bill?) but there you go. Dishwisdom always pulls me through the fog of do I keep tuning it or protest? Kids, the world witnessed his twitter-war with producer Dana Brunetti. A wall got punched, a keyboard got pounded. And yet...

People, we are all Alec and Dana. We are all Housewives. Thanks, twitter.

 As my hairstylist says, it sucks when a-holes are so talented. It's easy to run away, as I did when I saw Alec in Barnes & Noble once. You don't want to be in those cross-hairs. But I can't turn away from his SNL impersonation of the big orange slob.

*as in gross.

Sweating with Stars!

I have to confess...I know where and when Sandra Bernhard works out. And you know what? She's one healthy bitch. What I love about her besides her talent is that she really works out, puts her guts into it. Then she goes to a tiny cubbie and gets her crap, which is minimal, and leaves. Once I saw her wince at the big TV when that big orange slob was talking nonsensically. Seeing Sandra always puts a boost in my workout.

Big Little Lies. I sort of loved it, but sort of didn't. I figured out the ending early on. No spoilers here, except why...why...is there always a puke scene? I was expecting Adam Scott to be the big puker, with his sensitive ways and that hideous beard. But no, it was the one I would never, ever want to see toss her cookies.

It wasn't Nicole.

I saw 7 episodes of Nicole boffing Alex Skars...(finish the spelling for me). If you take away the violence, I could have watched them all day. But that's not the point of the story, is it? The point = people have secrets and men are lame. Nicole was electrifying, even in the floral dresses. Laura Dern is always excellent--especially playing the self-righteous Type-A cow. Love her in Enlightened, well, in everything.

Last thing--I need TV/movie suggestions for TG. We love indulging in TV binge-fests, but I'm afraid his taste is more sophisticated than mine. Here are his favorites: The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Little Britain. He refuses to watch anything Aaron Sorkin, super-girly shows like Sex & the City and Girls, though Rizzoli & Isles okay. We are show-less so we've been having meaningful conversations. Sigh...

Leave the Precious A-hole Alone!

It's time to call your senators to protest the very sad, very disastrous fact that Bill O'Reilly has tolerated so much abuse by women--over years. Thank God he has been able to maintain his star status, all while dealing with such flagrant womansplaining. Why can't we accept his virility, his need for a little more failed attempts at nookie? Because he penned such masterful prose, and certainly would never use a TEAM or GHOSTWRITER, he is even more desirable than the average celebrity. It's just expected that Bill is #1 target of these money-hungry, ladder-climbing females. Good for his network for supporting an outstanding public figure, for encouraging the adorable stolen grope, which we ladies are aching for when we're not toiling over the sputum left for us to sort out. Let's give Billy O a break. He's what the world needs now--another a-hole.

One a-hole is fantastic, but two...It warms my heart when two a-holes find each other. J-Lo and A-Rod are steaming up the 6 with their bodice-ripping passion. You can see their new leases on life, just from this picture. I wasn't buying her cozy Instagrams with Drake. But A-Rod, he's just stale enough. Two wrongs can make a bigger wrong and that is so right.

It's all about the sell, people. Don't believe anything anymore. The mail, TV, or even the innocent gesture. In childhood, Dish was accused by a relative of always having an agenda. Perhaps Dish was just ahead of her time.

Today's star sighting in Tribeca...Bethenney's toxic ex-husband screaming into the phone, "Honey, I hope you have a great day in school!!! I love you, sweetheart!" Maybe the traffic was so loud he had to be loud. Or perhaps social services was hot on his heels. Whatever the case, Dish is not a fan of the Tribeca--or insincere-fests on the phone.

But seriously, if you need an un-sad example of a gorgeousness, temperance, and sainthood, I give you TG, who cooks for and tolerates Dish--7.5 years now.

The End of Brangelina/Laomi/All Decency in TV Reporting

I hear you, Universe. You thought that killing off so many celebrities would lure me back to Dish.  Prince, Gene Wilder, and Chyna couldn't do it. Not even Hillary's pneumonia and the coverage of her every sniffle (screw you, by the way, media). But when you tear asunder the union that created the Uber Papparazzi movement, I have to say Nay. I will not lie calmly and take this abuse.

Actually, I don't care about Bland and Angina so much. My shock waned by daybreak. The little bits about his fondling Russian hookers and mixing substances, well, if I had so many responsibilities I would definitely...okay, no, I wouldn't be so insane. My worst is the Ambien shopping (where did this Reese Witherspoon DVD come from???). But I get it. The signs have been received. It's a big deal for us star-gazers and I'm here to say, I'm back. For now.

Just when I got comfortable, the news came that Liev and Naomi broke up. I checked my crystal ball predictions from a few years ago and found a log of insights into their love: doomed. Not out of knowledge but pure girl gut reaction when I heard him speak at the Rubin museum. He was asked what made him happy. His answer was that only his children keep him going/make him happy. I thought, What about Naomi? My basic feeling is that, yes, children matter a whole lot, but so does one's partner. Stay away from my husband, batches!

One last thing, Universe. Don't you dare break up Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton. Their love is keeping my sanity intact.

And now, to find a channel that is covering the presidential debate.

I Thought They Would Last Forever!!!

Especially since she's way younger than he is, I thought she was a lesbian, and their legend gap is too hard to overcome. That said, her hotness trajectory squashes his into a tiny tattooed ponytail sporting, hygienically challenged, guitar-playing ant. The truth remains that legend  defeats hotness every time.

For Dish, this is a little personal since I do have some real Depp insight and feel that I want to defend a gifted actor/rogue whose accent has changed with the ages. And yet, I tend to believe women who say they've had the crap beaten out of them.

And yet again, I wasn't there and it's none of my business. I hope the divorce is quick and he gives her $50 million just to go away, then another $50 million to women's shelters and animal rescue (since he loves animals).

In other Dishnews, I've broken up with several shows this season, which means I am reading more (yawn!).

Scandal: I hate to admit that I've always hated Olivia. Love her work ethic but just don't think she's fun. Mellie was fun until she started bellowing too much. The constant monologuing drives me nuts. The president looks as if he's always stoned. Why can't I be? Done.

The Shahs of Sunset: With MJ's sperm testing her BF on Date #2, GG's new tatas and boom boom, Reza pre-commitment vomiting, and Mike's flagrant inability to be a husband, I can't take it anymore. These Shahs are too effed up for me. Asa is the only one who seems sane, but her kaftan company is not as intriguing as her diamond infused water business.

The Real Housewives of Dallas: Too much poop and fart talk and I just can't relate.

The Voice. If you don't hire Gwen, Dish won't watch. Adam and Blake are great, but Gwen is Zen.

Nashville: For those who loved this slow season, I'll solve the cliffhanger for you. Of course, Juliet goes down with the plane. She's had a rough year and probably wants out of this show. Plus, how else can you make Avery a crying p*ssy? He never wins.

My new show to watch? Penny Dreadful. That Eva Green can make herself look so ugly, which I admire in a good actress. Beautifully written and acted, it's a well kept secret. We're obsessed.

Now on to my favorite topic: Gwen and Blake and how their relationship is progressing. No doubt you've seen their duet on The Voice and the Billboard Music Awards. I only supply a link to the former because her weird makeup for the BMA is hard to look at (even though I have many, many times). There's talk about their rumored babies, engagement, marriage, etc... All you really need is to follow her on Snapchat. It's better than most things.

And now, back to ironing TG's shirts and watching nothing.

Star-Sighting--Bobby Flay Strolling on the Highline

Foodies everywhere rejoice! In celebration of the Vernal Equinox, Dish took a nature-focused stroll on that overrated amazing walkway called the Highline. The only thing that would truly amaze me about this site is if you could get high while walking it...or see a celeb!

As hubby and I were navigating the slow pokes, I spied chef Bobby Flay with a younger model. Some may call the new one an upgrade given her sleepy-eyed youthfulness, how she didn't need makeup to temper that morning after, um, glow. Dish calls this a downgrade, for Stephanie March has an impressive body of work and is no typical blond starlet. Her voice sets her apart, so that you believe she's a prosecutor on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. At the same time, she's beautiful enough so that she can almost (but not quite) share a screen with the spectacular Gale Harold in Falling for Grace. Lastly, Steph did a nice job with Liev Schreiber in the Broadway revival of Talk Radio.

So many thoughts about this sighting. They did look blissful and, in the end, I have to support gingers in their success. Well, except one running for president.

This Is What the Truth Feels Like

There comes a time in everyone's life when a question is asked: What do I do now?

I've met the man of my dreams. We're married.
I've written a book. I'm working on another one. Okay, three.
I work.
I don't really clean or cook.
I do my best.
We watch TV after work.
I go to the gym.
There are no pets, but I wish I had one.
I am managing my "issues."

So what else?  Is this the time when I go through my diaries and remember golden periods of my life? I could do a podcast or more snapchats, instead of following others. Gardening. Volunteer work.

There are no real problems here, just that pre-old age musing about my place in the world or if it is all just this staring out of these eyes, cataloging what I see, reacting, then refueling the vessel. 

Screw that. Depth is not my thing. Let's talk celebs!

Since November 2015, I've been all about Gwen and Blake. That hasn't changed. Maybe I drifted for a few weeks, but then The Voice came back. Begone, Christina, and bring back that other blonde minx who is my age and still rocking it, even though she uses "literally" incorrectly and literally says it in every other sentence. I diss her because I love her.

With friendship, especially imaginary friendship, it's all about transparency.

This is why Julia is no longer on my radar. She seems to be leading a "private life" with her "family" and doing "serious roles." Gwen can multi-task, she's a giver. Not only does she crank out this cool album, This Is What the Truth Feels Like, but she also uploads a new snapchat video every few hours. I know she takes milk in her tea (or is it almond milk). Her Grammy live video rocked, showing us what an amazing roller-skater she is (me too, GS!). Her three boys are precious, thereby giving me a snippet of that motherhood experience (not really, but the cuteness is appreciated). A testament to her fierceness, she traveled to Japan with a flu-like illness, then did a concert! She attended at least four weddings this year. One minute she's doing an interview--and telling us how it went--the next, she's getting her makeup done by her entourage or flirting with Blake on Twitter. She chews gum too--though I'm an Altoid girl.  I barely have time to register the nuances of our relationship before she's packing up for another trip.

What can I say, her schedule exhausts me, but it also has me thinking, "I really don't do anything close to how much Gwen does." If you know me, you understand that this actually is going through my head.

So here I am again. Dreaming bigger.

Oh, and Hulk Hogan just won a $115 suit against Gawker, which means, either my husband or I will be proposing marriage to the Hulkster very soon. Step aside, ladies.

Celebrities Must Stay Inside for the Time Being

This week hasn't been kind to the stars. Losing David Bowie was hard enough for Dish, but Alan Rickman, too? Then just this morning, Celine Dion's husband, René Angélil, who discovered her at age 12, also lost his battle with cancer. You know what? Fuck cancer.

How to lift one's spirits after these losses?

Google Gwen and Blake, which I've done. Do a few puzzles--also done. Eat a vanilla kreme donut, yes. Think about how these stars made our lives better. That's easy to do.

I'm insanely lucky that I got to see David Bowie in concert in 1990--the best artist I've ever seen. He created on a different plane from all the rest. Twice, I saw Alan Rickman turn a so-so play on Broadway into something captivating. He was hot, hot, hot as anything he wanted to be--Snape, Colonel Brandon, the crappy husband in Love Actually. And I'm thankful René Angélil found Celine Dion because in 1998, that freaking song "My Heart Will Go On," well, it coaxed a few tears from Dish during a potent Titanic phase (for which I'm ashamed since it is one of the shittiest movies of all time). Also "New Day" was one of my anthems after a particularly awful year.

Our hearts will go on, but they're a little heavier.

And now to watch the hot mess that is the Republican debate, where there are plenty of candidates I'd rather see vanish. I shouldn't say that, should I?  No apologies here. Life is short!

Gwen and Blake Are Better Than Reality

When Blake and Gwen became a couple, I threw down my book on Seneca, famous ancient Roman philosopher, and rushed to get the dirt. No need for stoicism when you have Gwen's outrageous outfits, Blake's gut-tickling humor, and three hours a week of sizzling chemistry on The Voice.

The pain I feel over next week's finale cuts deep, and I am hoping tabloids will keep me stocked with pics of their canoodling until next fall. Forget Kim and Kanye's baby deity or Trump's Hitleresque rantings (yes, I said that). You're okay if you focus on Gwake.

With constant Youtubing and TMZing and Googling--sending links to TG, friends and relatives--call me grateful that they've pulled me back into celebrity obsessiveness. Duran Duran just wasn't cutting it even with their excellent new album. After thirty-plus years, there is no hope beyond my usual nosebleed seats, which doesn't appeal to my almost-fifty lazy ass. Screw Seneca and delayed and expensive gratification.

Gwake is free*, immediate and middle-age sassy.

*Not free if you buy Gwen's collaboration with Urban Decay. It's 58$. Yes, I did.

Politicians Are Celebrities, Too

Now that the presidential campaign is in full circus, I'm putting forth ways to survive the next fifteen months.

1. Unfollow Facebook friends who post more than three times about their candidate. It's sort of like those Jenny Craig commercials. Sure, I want to lose weight, sure I wanna eat right. Don't tell me how you did it. Dish discovered that the most annoying are those within her own party. The other side of the aisle friends post far less because they just know.

2. Enjoy the crazy. Really, The Ginger Snap is hilarious, so offensive that I've stopped being offended because my skin is thicker than his (notice how I'm bragging--so like Ginger). We've had insane Presidents before. There are plenty out there ruling other lands. I don't take hyperbolist-misogynists seriously because ...

3. It's going to get a lot worse in a year. Patience is important for any campaign. I got plenty riled up in 2007 but come 2008, my vision of Utopia vanished, for many reasons. I don't believe in Utopia this time and just want someone who can navigate A-hole Waters and won't let my retirement fund go to hell.

4. If you're going to argue about politics, don't do it on social media. Remember the days of arguing over the dinner table? Sadly, my kind-hearted and knowledgeable husband "lost" a Facebook friend because of a political disagreement. In a rash of temper, that friend publicly ended their decades-old friendship, which prompted me to unfriend and permanently ban that person from our lives. It's all really, really stupid.

5. Though odious, put yourself in the shoes of someone whose beliefs are not yours. Isn't that American? I forget to do this, especially when I see posts that are anti-women, anti-LBGT, anti-choice, anti-religious freedom, just anti-everything and nasty. I stew, I rage, and then, after taking it out on my husband, I let the anger pass. Luckily, I live with/have lived with/am related to/love people who think differently. Isn't that nice? Maybe not, but whaddya gonna do, send non-Dish-thinkers to a slaughterhouse?

6.  Know that, the one who spouts fewer clichés will win. In this era of crap, a lot of crap just won't fly. Making America Great Again will sink like a wet cat fart. As will building the middle class and finally making Wall Street pay. I leave those promises to Wonder Woman -- maybe Batman if he runs as an Independent and shows us his breasts. Call me optimistic, but even a Prez needs an X factor these days. Rick Perry should have thought beyond the new glasses--though Dish likes the look.

7. Now is not the time to binge-watch news shows and browse Twitter feeds. Ginger Snap's nightly Town Halls and declarative Tweets have become a snore. Now if Jeb Bush posts swim-trunk shots on his Intagram, I'm there.
 

Which Sandra Bullock Character Are You?

If you want to take this important quiz, click here. Being slightly witchy (in an uptight, constipated way), Dish is Sally Owens from Practical Magic. Can I stir my coffee without using my hand? Only if you assume I put anything in it.

Joaquin Phoenix stunned us all--and by all, I mean me--by announcing his engagement here. My first thought was--and I'm ashamed because I should talk--who would marry this hot mess? TG is the answer.

Today's confession is that I've stopped running. I've stopped exercising and can say now with scientific certainty that not exercising has a terrible effect on the body. The only positive is that I'm very thin, but after reading this Post by Elizabeth Gilbert, I got back on the treadmill today without feeling the urge to flee. Tonight, I will eat carrot cake and every other fattening thing I can find.

Is Amal Pregnant?

After careful examination, Mrs. George Clooney might just be wearing a poofy dress in today's TMZ, but then, if I thought cameras were on me, I'd mess with them big-time and stick out my gut. I hope they keep everyone guessing.

I won't fall for pregnancy rumors since Julia came out in this a few years ago and Dishbrother told me she was preggo with amateur confirmation by Dishbrotherhusband. As it turns out, Julia had had a big lunch and maybe a soy vanilla protein smoothie (this gives Dish major saddlebags).

Still gaga over The Affair. I don't get it since the show is about a  seemingly mundane fling gone awry. Or is it just the godliness trifecta of Dominic West/Ruth Wilson/Pacey that keeps Dish enthralled?

There's nothing else. Except for True Tori (please get those implants taken out. No one cares about your t*ts. It's all about the butt now). Oh, and the Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce, which is surprisingly entertaining. There is much girly whininess, but Lisa Edelstein can make any shit-show shine.

Catching Up on Reality

18 months ago, I updated this blog every day. What's happened? Though some may beg to differ (*cough*Mom, *cough* TG) am starting to believe that obsessing about the stars might be the key to my mental health.

So for starters, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills: Asslips is on fire, my new favorite character. Her hair is the same, lips the same as the last 25 years. Why mess with what works? She's bubbly, perky and I would like a Lisa Rinna IV in my veins.

Vanderpump Rules: Not so trashy as last season but Kristin is the train wreck that I need. I learned so much from Jax's nose job and Tom, as in how to hide bad-ish skin. Plus, I'm fascinated by how Stassi infiltrates despite having no purpose on the show. Goat cheese balls indeed.

Madam Secretary: Tea Leoni can do no wrong. The implausibility alone makes me bubble over with happiness, like she has time to spend so much time with her family, chat adorably with hubby and look unmussed yet mussed. As I avoid looking at Bebe Newirth's 90s frizz, I focus on Joan from Mad Men's husband who is carving out his own identity.

The Good Wife: Jumped the shark by killing Will. I continue watching because of David Hyde Pierce.

Grey's Anatomy: The show is dying, so returning to the original Meredith/McDreamy conflict. Karev is the only one I'd let operate on me. Praying Geena Davis lives through her brain tumor.

Nashville: Though I wish I were her, Rayna makes one stupid mistake after another--and looks amazing at the same time. Why would you ever choose Luke over Deacon (the alcoholism would be a deal-breaker for Dish)? I live for the ecstatic romantic reunion between either: Juliette and Avery and/or Gunther and the Airhead Who Gets Panic Attacks on Stage.

Because I've binged on every TV show imaginable, I'm rewatching Queer As Folk and understanding once again that in most crises, one must ask: What would Brian Kinney do?

Can't bring myself to discuss Bill Cosby.