The King of Wimbledon

I knew my girl Venus would charge to victory, but I've waited for that little eff Nadal to win Wimbledom for AGES! And as soon as Federer sank the ball into the net, I burst into tears--though it could have been screen nausea. Federer is a god, but that little Spanish scrapper has touched my corazon.

Maybe the tide of 2008 is turning.

Boundary Issues

Due to my "cable problem" (I pressed the wrong button), I was given a month of free HBO. So, after a night out, I am ecstatic to tune into The Patriot, starring Steven Seagal. Steven plays a holistic doctor who feeds his village dried flower petals to combat a deadly virus (that he never gets). Screw the pharmaceutical companies (except for the makers of Ambien), nature provides healing. And Steven provides the can of whoopass necessary to extinguish the bad plague-givers (military crazies).

This Sunday will be fun-filled. My star-love often spills into sports venues. These athletes inspire me to shrink my body mass (hide it under roomy material) and hit balls with a racket. Today, I'm eating cookie dough ice cream and rooting for Nadal. Now that I'm almost 40, I fantasize about what it would be like to be his proud mother (cougar wife). I'd cut his hair, though he probably hides behind it. I do that, too.

Suspicious Dish

My milestone birthday fast approaches. I'm not embracing 40 gracefully but a few members of my entourage are behaving suspiciously. Let's just say: I'm onto you! Only a celebrity would get me off my couch. And who but a schemer would volunteer to do my hair for an event to which I planned on wearing jeans and a t-shirt?

So here's what I think could happen during my birthday celebration next Saturday:

*Julia Roberts will call me to tell me how great it is to be 40 (tho it sucks). But why would I need to get my hair done to get a phone call?

*I will be flown out to LA to be Teri Hatcher's kissing double on Desperate Housewives--though I would probably need a horse-sized Xanax even to shake hands with Gale Harold.

*Through my brother's friend, I will get backstage after "Chicago," which I've never seen. That would be nice.

*Duran Duran's tour schedule says they'll be in Italy for my birthday, but really, they're coming to serenade DISH!

*I will be on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy--since I saw the culture guy at a party once and so we have a mutual friend--because Dish desperately needs a severe makeover (which I could do myself but I'm too lazy and why bother?).

*Jon Tenney will show up, which will make me immediately lose my appetite for cake. Because he gets to make out with the amazing Kyra Sedgwick, his starpower has doubled, rendering me nauseous with excitement.

*I'll be made up to attend the premiere of Mamma Mia, where I'll meet the famous Meryl Streep, who is my favoritest.

*Or, I get to be an extra in a film. Though I know what extra work is like and I'd rather have root canal--unless there's a speaking part.

Stay tuned. I'm trying to break my brother but he's revealed nothing, which it very well might be. At least it gets my mind off my barren single wrinkled state.

Dish Lievs Naomi

I heard Naomi was preggers again and felt intense jealousy. But it passed within five seconds when I remembered how much I love her (and want to brush her beautiful blond hair). I thought I was all about Liev, but really, I heart Naomi so much more--though why compare? I'm sticking with the girls these days. Besides, she's amazing in The Painted Veil. You'd think she'd go the traditional Hollywood blond route and play the girlfriend/wife to a box-office male. But she chooses mostly intelligent parts. She's a real actron.

Today, I'm forcing my family to celebrate her with a viewing of Le Divorce. A Cholera epidemic might be too intense for the Fourth, though apt, in my opinion....

Maybe the Universe Is Trying to Tell Me Something...

...my cable is out. Till next Wednesday. Big Eff.

Kathy Fourth of July!

I'm not a fan of July 4th. But I love Kathy Griffin. We are polar opposites, except for the red hair, whoring for a buck, and we don't care who sees our panties. She says all the nasty stuff I mean to say but my synapses don't fire as fast. What else to do tonight--Thursday--except watch her on Bravo?

In other news, my mental database sputters out Tom Cruise as a birthday. And what's the big deal with A-Rod, Madonna, Mrs. A-Rod and Lenny Kravitz? People act freaky everywhere. Put A-Rod in one of Madonna's bustiers, snap a photo, and I'll be impressed. A-Rod would look fabulous as a girl--but not as spectacular as Hal Sparks in Queer As Folk when he walked in the Pride parade.

Hats Are So 1980s and Even Then They Were Sad

I must proclaim the following:

The Mr. Amy Winehouse look, which I've seen too often lately in NYC, is TERRIBLE. That hat/jacket/shirt combo is only appropriate for someone going to a McKee seminar and even then he should be smacked to death. In addition, the faux-hawk is over and sad. Men are so pretty, why not have pretty hair?

Today's inspiration: Gorgeous and serene Sigourney Weaver in a smoking white suit on Regis and Kelly. As I approach 40, evidence of smoldering womanness appears everywhere. Maybe Crones are the New Black. Make way for Meryl Streep via Mamma Mia!

Also excellent: The Savages. But we all know Phillip Seymour-Hoffman is like my porn. Laura Linney is fabby as well.

Silk Pajamas

Dish doesn't know the purpose of blogging, except to get attention. My arms will turn into flippers with hands reaching the keyboard. At night, my jaws clench from too much screen action. All this to say, it's time to be intellectual and dive into some Deepak (my MA in French Lit is for sh*t). I must read books again and watch fewer celebrities.

Who am I kidding? I have on my purple silk PJs with the remote set on Oxygen.

Tonight's pet peeve: I hate how Dean McDermott calls Tori Spelling "Mama." He seems okay, though how tuff it will be for him to get cast in a movie.

Recommendation: Go see Wanted, if only to see how Angelina dodges a bridge--quite poetic and I'm trying to do the same thing in daily life. The falling motion, however, hurts my knees and witnesses are prone to laughter. Not to mention my wrists are so puny I can't hold a gun for more than three seconds (convenient only if I try to aim high but really want to hit below the belt). ps. Don't you love how movie posters repeat themselves? Angelina and Antonio were together in Original Sin (which kinda blew).

Embarrassment: Always, having an IT person see my Gale Harold wallpaper, which happens far too often. Why couldn't he fix my computer at home, where my wallpaper is Hillary Clinton?