First Hillary Dream of 2008

My subconscious is working overtime. Lucky for all of us, I'm not dreaming about Britney. I'm sick to death of her so no more words devoted to that topic. After hours of CNN coverage of the New Hampshire primaries, I unclenched my jaw to celebrate Hillary's surprise victory last night. I don't care what tactics she needs to use (tears, groans, stomach clutching, boob-flashing) to win, I want her in office. When the sh*t goes down, I know she has the hairy steel cojones to take care of the little people (i.e. me). I like Obama, too, just not as much as Hill.

Here's the dream.

I mistakently flew to Los Angeles six months too early. I checked into my hotel, got ready for my business meeting, then realized I made a huge error. Not fun since we all know it takes a crowbar and strong threats to get me onto a plane. I wondered if BF would join me, but of course, he wouldn't. I was too early. I made the mental preparations to jet home.

Switch to: City Hall in New York City. It's night, the stars are out and I'm wearing the rare formal business suit. I look very Hillary in that sense. Just as I'm about to walk home, I see Hillary walking near me, unguarded, alone. I approach her and praise her work. She smiles and we start a conversation. I wind up walking her to her next function. Of course, I do some butt-kissing because she might be president and I see the human side of her. Are you barfing yet? I know it's a total wish fulfillment dream. It was nice while it lasted. The point is: Hillary and I bonded. I woke up feeling slightly lesbionic, though Hill could have represented my mother, to whom I am close.

Reading Gloria Steinem's Op Ed piece in the New York Times today only affirmed that I'm moving in the right political direction for me. Maybe Gloria will appear in tonight's dream to feed me a magic potion, taking away all stress.

First Tom Cruise Dream of 2008

It's officially the start of a new year since my subconscious has delivered another Tom Cruise message. Again, I don't ask for these dreams. This one came circa 6 a.m. In it, I was waiting in a coffee shop for *someone*. No sooner do I chug my half mocha cara-latte than Katie Holmes wafts over to my table. She's laughing, she's tall, she's the person everyone wants to befriend. There is no Suri, no Tom (though it's really Tom by marriage)--just two girls chatting over coffee. Was this my official welcome? Is she implying that Jesus will appear later? Who knows. The dream was so benign I fell back to sleep, which is usually a hardship for me. Thank you, Katie. Sniff.

Celebrity Resolutions 2008

This year, Dish will do the following:

1. Stop feeding into negative publicity about celebrities (Already cackling over Pamela Anderson's impending divorce and Lohan's leap off the wagon into drunk make-out land).

2. Read inspirational news and ignore Britney (Checked Perezhilton.com five times in the last hour).

3. Avoid sugar (except for that piece of See's candy lingering on desk, more appetizing than month-old, frozen over dulce de leche ice cream).

4. Run even when dead tired (Done--except tonight felt gassy by the third mile so retreated from jungle of treadmills. Mistakenly ate garlic at lunch).

5. Support stars who support causes (meditated tonight and thought of Richard Gere, which totally screwed up my trance).

6. Stop watching movies dominated by a cast of craggy white men (exception: Space Cowbows).

7. Don't be shocked and bitter when you hear of stars who've had plastic surgery (i.e. Shirley MacLaine, whom Dish loves).

8. Be nicer to cat who could be Laurence Olivier reincarnated (he's sitting in the corner eating his butt).

Garnering Sightings

Long Overdue Sighting: December 7th, 11:10 p.m., Jennifer Garner after her performance of Cyrano. She signed autographs forever and was so nice to her admirers. She's just as friendly and cute-seeming as in movies. I still harbor fantasies that someone will catch her smoking crack...

Just finished Rosie O'Donnell's Celebrity Detox, a present from BF, and, to my surprise, it overlooks her final exit from The View. I don't get it since the blowup was super-dramatic. But I liked most of the book and wondered how much editing was done. I'm cynical that way. Parts are intoxicating, especially when she describes her painting. And I totally get her love for Barbra Streisand. There isn't as much of an "as told to" feel to her story as with other celebrity memoirs.

The View represents the dynamic of many female cliques. Usually, there's a hierarchy--the group goddess, the peacekeeper and follower, and the one who gets shat on. The first person to get dumped on was that twenty-something Debbie (Matenopolous?) and she was practically chased off by torch-wielding villagers. Though annoying to watch, Star Jones was clubbed to death in her last year on The View. Then, they went after Rosie, and you know Sherri (no idea of her last name) is next to go. I had thought Elisabeth would be fired, but she's hung in there. While I loathe her opinions, I admire her for surviving the wars. After Rosie left, the pattern seemed so obvious to me, I couldn't watch this show anymore. Though I love Whoopi.

Flying Sucks

Getting up for very early morning flights is not enjoyable and even worse when the same-day flight home is delated three hours. On the first flight, the plane banked through angry clouds and, finally, glided down the Toronto runway an hour later. This city has a clean, quiet airport and I was looking forward to explaning why I was in the country for the day. For inspiration during turbulence, I listened to Dolly Parton's "Better Get to Livin'." She might be what Jesus with boobs and gallons of plastic surgery. It got me through some turbulence. Does Dolly ever have a bad moment? A few, but I've only seen them in Straight Talk and Steel Magnolias.

Six hours later after alighting, I waited in the Toronto airport, hearing for the first time that my flight would be delayed. Staring into the green and black flecked carpet, I thought I might die of exhaustion. Maybe I'm not meant to leave my couch. But then Dolly has done a lot of traveling. She, too, probably battles malignant forces from time to time (those wigs much itch like mad). What's wrong with a little sleep deprivation, stress, and malnutrition for one day? Really, I'm totally spoiled.

Today, I'm watching In the Land of Women, mostly to see how fishy Meg Ryan's lips are. The characters don't make sense. A deeply charismatic Adam Brody plays a young soft-core porn screenwriter, like that's realistic. Somehow, he manages to date a celebrity long-term, but she dumps him for Colin Farrell. And Adam's an average guy living in L.A. When he finds out his grandmother is going downhill, he does his mother a favor by taking care of the crazy bat--played by Olympia Dukakas, of course--cause mothers can't be bothered, ya know. Out in the boondocks, he befriends Meg Ryan and they take long walks together, connecting instantly. In one hot moment, they make out in the rain after she tells him she has breast cancer. Then, he makes out with Meg's daughter, too. Conflict ensues. None of it is believable, though, despite the stigma of cutesiness, Meg has excellent moments. Her lips are way puffy, yet she acts around them. I love her again and hope she does more movies--and goes back to the short hair.

And now I'm thinking, maybe Dolly and Meg should make a movie together. Hmmmm.

Fire in My Stomach

Dish hates to travel, mostly because flying is a big pain in the butt. Along with some deep breathing and rubbing of knotted stomach, I watch Steven Seagal's Fire Down Below before I fly. Sometimes, I'll mix it up with The Glimmerman. The important thing to remember is that Steven Seagal would never be afraid of flying. Just one of those tips that makes life infinitely better (or worse, depending on how my planes go tomorrow).

Another thing that makes life better--Jennifer Love Hewitt. Photos of her big butt in a bikini surfaced today. I can hear the thought going through millions of female minds: That's what MY butt looks like. Or at least, that's what I'm thinking. So I love JLH for shaking the jiggle in a bikini.

Sex Becomes Her

Dish mainly watches Sex and the City for Kim Catrall. I don't care about the backstage squabbles between her and SJP (everyone should get more money whenever possible). My friend Langdon worked with her, said she was great fun and nice to the little people. So, she's even more my favorite. Mention of her in today's Page Six made me remember to give thanks to certain big people for lifting my spirits at 11:30 pm. And smart girl for dating a man who can cook.

I'm dating a man who can cook...and vaccuum and do dishes.

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Gordon Gekko would approve of me showing my homemade slippers (knit/felt), though he wouldn't be caught dead wearing such Holly Hobbie crafty comforty footwear. He did provide the entertainment as I took photographs. Though, Wall Street seems a little dated to me now, especially the Hal Holbrook character who keeps spouting mentorish cliches. Ah, Michael Douglas. Do I dare do a before/after photo? Of course!

He might have had work done. Regardless, I bet he looks hot in a bikini...