Oh, it was a Memorial Day of Memories, of treats and tricks and candy.
In a scene straight out of US Weekly, Miss Blotto ran into Marcia Cross at Bed, Bath and Beyond! Bree Van de Kemp herself, being all giggly and relieving MB of her shopping trolley. Stars: they use shopping carts! They're just like US!
In an even bigger treat, Miss Blotto discovered that rare and ephemeral pleasure that has escaped her since the Slightly Unhealthy Bravo Habit Summer of 2004: a West Wing rerun that she had not yet seen.
Yeah, it was an exciting weekend.
5.31.2005
5.27.2005
Blind Items: Because I Don't Want To Get Fired
Which both big-shot and big-boned hip-hop video director has a yen for small blonde videologgers, and after asking her for a Post-It, left said Post-It on her desk with his number?
Do you even know the names of any big-shot hip-hop video directors?
Do you even care?
To think my LA career highlight is still that time Kevin Federline walked into the lobby.
Do you even know the names of any big-shot hip-hop video directors?
Do you even care?
To think my LA career highlight is still that time Kevin Federline walked into the lobby.
5.26.2005
On Encouraging Office Romance
MissBlotto: i think he might be slightly too upstanding to bang his assistant.
FriendOfMissBlotto: get a few drinks in him. which, luckily, you can do at work.
FriendOfMissBlotto: get a few drinks in him. which, luckily, you can do at work.
5.24.2005
NICK AND JESSICA GONE SPLITSVILLE
Heard from Dennis who heard from N. who works for CAA and heard it from a publicist... semi-confirmed by E! Online, even!
Now, I don't want to spread things prematurely. I learned my lesson from Liam Torppey and Courtney Denihangate of 6th grade on that one ("Liam and Courtney broke up! Liam and Courtney broke up!" They had not. Ensued: ugliness). But I just want to say, you heard it here first. And who has two thumbs and called this one? Me, baby. Me.
(Though with items like this one on the bandwidth, I don't know how you couldn't. I don't know what PA sacrificed her job and future to provide me with such a snippet of joy, but anonymous PA, I bless you. Namaste).
------------30 min later--------------
This is what I get for my shoddy fact-checking. Apparently E! had their sources f-ed up. The sham: still on.
Now, I don't want to spread things prematurely. I learned my lesson from Liam Torppey and Courtney Denihangate of 6th grade on that one ("Liam and Courtney broke up! Liam and Courtney broke up!" They had not. Ensued: ugliness). But I just want to say, you heard it here first. And who has two thumbs and called this one? Me, baby. Me.
(Though with items like this one on the bandwidth, I don't know how you couldn't. I don't know what PA sacrificed her job and future to provide me with such a snippet of joy, but anonymous PA, I bless you. Namaste).
------------30 min later--------------
This is what I get for my shoddy fact-checking. Apparently E! had their sources f-ed up. The sham: still on.
5.23.2005
I'm a Little Obsessed With Gawker
Gawker. You know it, right? Gawker? Come on. Were Gawker to go offline, your quarterly productivity would increase 12%. Yeah, that Gawker.
Anyway, Gawker's founding editor went to Duke. We have a special connection. I once met a Gawker "special correspondent" (he wrote the PoweR Girls recaps) at a party in LA, freaked out, and started telling him how I know said founding editrix, Elizabeth Spiers. (This is a lie. Elizabeth Spiers went to my college but, I am fairly certain, graduated before I got there. She links to the blog of an acquaintance of mine. I spun these half-truths like a reporter for Star).
But fuck that! Check out Intern Alexis's analysis of the NYTimes Review of Books in comparison to primetime sensation The OC. This sounds eerily like any number of my senior year cultural anthropology papers. InternaLexus69: you were in Diane Nelson's Myth, Ritual, and Symbol Class. Don't deny it. Gawker, the connection grows.
Did you notice how I linked? Yes, I am a renaissance hu-buddy.
Anyway, Gawker's founding editor went to Duke. We have a special connection. I once met a Gawker "special correspondent" (he wrote the PoweR Girls recaps) at a party in LA, freaked out, and started telling him how I know said founding editrix, Elizabeth Spiers. (This is a lie. Elizabeth Spiers went to my college but, I am fairly certain, graduated before I got there. She links to the blog of an acquaintance of mine. I spun these half-truths like a reporter for Star).
But fuck that! Check out Intern Alexis's analysis of the NYTimes Review of Books in comparison to primetime sensation The OC. This sounds eerily like any number of my senior year cultural anthropology papers. InternaLexus69: you were in Diane Nelson's Myth, Ritual, and Symbol Class. Don't deny it. Gawker, the connection grows.
Did you notice how I linked? Yes, I am a renaissance hu-buddy.
5.20.2005
Famke Janssen Is Both Tall And Trilingual, You Know.
I have to go move the BMW of an ad exec and C+R client resembling Famke Janssen. Meghan = grunt on Entourage or Unscripted. Background drone. Bad wardrobe. No lines.
5.18.2005
DAR
When I was a rising college freshman, I did this program at Duke called PWILD--you go two weeks early, drive to the Tennessee border at Pisgah National Forest, and hike for two weeks. This was not some pansy-ass four-day walk where you eat trail mix and sleep in A-frames. No no no, my friends. Two weeks without showers or going inside or eating anything normal does things to people, and my crew and I began, in the midst of a torrential rain on day 9, to go a little loopy. "Ba-ba-ba... Ba-ba-rbara Ann..."
...
...
(these connotate much repetition)
...
...
... and it didn't stop. Elise found an abandoned doll's head, which we fixed up on a little stick body, clothed in a bandanna frock, dubbed Barbara Ann, and carried around as our totem. I kept Barbara Ann's head for a few years after that, in a plastic baggie, which freaked out more than one dear roommate.
(Her head never left the baggie after the trip. "We love Barbara Ann, but we do not touch," we would say. She looked a little festered).
In addition to our freakish embrace of Barbara Ann, we immersed ourselves in the world of Pirates!, running around shouting "DAR! DAR! DAR!" to anyone who would care (or wouldn't care, really) to listen. You can do this stuff in the woods--run around madly, and decide that pirates say Dar rather than Arrrr.
Why this sudden reminiscing of PWILD August 2000? Because I'm now volunteering at 826LA (live it learn it love it), an offshoot of 826Valencia, one of those too-cool-for-you Dave Eggers projects that is, despite the Dave Eggers Stamp of Pretension [But You Know You Wish It Were You], incredibly cool and in jive with everything I believe. Yes.
Anyway, for zoning purposes 826Valencia's headquarters includes a storefront, and they use this storefront to sell pirate supplies. It is San Francisco's only independent pirate-supply store. Alas, SoCal is a bit more lax, so 826LA is just a writing center.
To which I say: DAR!!!
[Dave Eggers, don't hate me for calling you pretentious. I wish I were you.]
...
...
(these connotate much repetition)
...
...
... and it didn't stop. Elise found an abandoned doll's head, which we fixed up on a little stick body, clothed in a bandanna frock, dubbed Barbara Ann, and carried around as our totem. I kept Barbara Ann's head for a few years after that, in a plastic baggie, which freaked out more than one dear roommate.
(Her head never left the baggie after the trip. "We love Barbara Ann, but we do not touch," we would say. She looked a little festered).
In addition to our freakish embrace of Barbara Ann, we immersed ourselves in the world of Pirates!, running around shouting "DAR! DAR! DAR!" to anyone who would care (or wouldn't care, really) to listen. You can do this stuff in the woods--run around madly, and decide that pirates say Dar rather than Arrrr.
Why this sudden reminiscing of PWILD August 2000? Because I'm now volunteering at 826LA (live it learn it love it), an offshoot of 826Valencia, one of those too-cool-for-you Dave Eggers projects that is, despite the Dave Eggers Stamp of Pretension [But You Know You Wish It Were You], incredibly cool and in jive with everything I believe. Yes.
Anyway, for zoning purposes 826Valencia's headquarters includes a storefront, and they use this storefront to sell pirate supplies. It is San Francisco's only independent pirate-supply store. Alas, SoCal is a bit more lax, so 826LA is just a writing center.
To which I say: DAR!!!
[Dave Eggers, don't hate me for calling you pretentious. I wish I were you.]
Look How Adorable We Still Are
5.17.2005
Very Happy To Be Back In The City
The Not-That-Big Reunion Recap...
...Brooke Worthington looked exactly the same. She's still fatter than I am, but it's small comfort. Most of the class looked exactly the same. Perhaps blonder. And with budding alcoholism. No one's engaged or doing anything supercool, and I'm proud to be among the 40% who's moved out of the family home. No one knows what happened to Amy Waller.
Pretty much it. Had a great time at The Park in NY and The Office in Summit, particularly loving when the "were they raised in the same house?" twins both started making out with random Europeans at the end of the night. We're not sure why the Europeans were at a bar in Summit, New Jersey (particularly since they were staying in Mount Olive), and think they may have believed themselves to be in New York, explaining their confusion about the lack of cabs. I slept 9 hours in 3 days (4 of those hours on planes) and my body is hating me for it.
Been reading The Namesake and Assassination Vacation lately. I'm enjoying both, but Assassination Vacation is particularly inspiring me to grab on to a piece of American history and eschew rest until I've researched, visited, and inhaled everything having to do with it. Also been listening to This American Life at work, realizing that my life is less enthralling than the stuff on public radio.
Pretty much it. Had a great time at The Park in NY and The Office in Summit, particularly loving when the "were they raised in the same house?" twins both started making out with random Europeans at the end of the night. We're not sure why the Europeans were at a bar in Summit, New Jersey (particularly since they were staying in Mount Olive), and think they may have believed themselves to be in New York, explaining their confusion about the lack of cabs. I slept 9 hours in 3 days (4 of those hours on planes) and my body is hating me for it.
Been reading The Namesake and Assassination Vacation lately. I'm enjoying both, but Assassination Vacation is particularly inspiring me to grab on to a piece of American history and eschew rest until I've researched, visited, and inhaled everything having to do with it. Also been listening to This American Life at work, realizing that my life is less enthralling than the stuff on public radio.
5.12.2005
Pre-Reunion Mystic Tan
Ok, Mystic Tan. I'm playing by your rules. I've disrobed. I'm wearing a poufy cap not unlike those worn by unnaturally cheerful factory workers in Post cereal commercials. I've applied the "barrier cream" (aka "hand lotion") excessively over my cuticles, and, per my Mystically addicted coworker's suggestion, my elbows and knees. I'm standing in your booth, awaiting your sweet, coconut-scented blasts of perfectly safe chemicals that will put me in the family tree of a Tahitian Oompa-Loompa.
Shit this feels unnatural. Wooooo LA!
Perhaps I will ask the Mystic Tan questions; it is a mystic after all, and at $29.00 for a single session, I bet it knows the future. Perhaps it knows if I'll achieve my TV-writing dream, or the fate of the war in Iraq. But I should be choosy: the Mystic Tanning session lasts a mere 45 seconds. I need to ask the really burning questions.
"Mystic Tan, did Brooke Worthington get fat?"
"Ay, my child. [blasts of perfectly safe chemicals] She enjoyed her beer in college; yet alas; alas; she has discovered diet and exercise; she has shed the pounds."
"The braces?"
"Gone, my child; gone with your hopes."
"Is she at least fatter than I am?"
"Fatter than you? Hell yeah, honey, you'll always have that. Turn around, I need to get your back."
I comply.
Shit this feels unnatural. Wooooo LA!
Perhaps I will ask the Mystic Tan questions; it is a mystic after all, and at $29.00 for a single session, I bet it knows the future. Perhaps it knows if I'll achieve my TV-writing dream, or the fate of the war in Iraq. But I should be choosy: the Mystic Tanning session lasts a mere 45 seconds. I need to ask the really burning questions.
"Mystic Tan, did Brooke Worthington get fat?"
"Ay, my child. [blasts of perfectly safe chemicals] She enjoyed her beer in college; yet alas; alas; she has discovered diet and exercise; she has shed the pounds."
"The braces?"
"Gone, my child; gone with your hopes."
"Is she at least fatter than I am?"
"Fatter than you? Hell yeah, honey, you'll always have that. Turn around, I need to get your back."
I comply.
5.11.2005
The Countdown Begins
High school reunion commences Friday at 7:30 PM.
My goal for the weekend is not one I can control, as it is to see that Brooke Worthington's gotten fat and hopefully, though it's a stretch, still sporting those braces she had at 2003's Kent Place School Class of 2000 Senior Year Holiday Happy Hour at The Office. How sweet it would be. Particularly because I'm spending Friday afternoon at my father's office, having him and one of the mamacitas who assist him irradiate my teeth to blinding, unnatural whiteness.
I am also spending this afternoon at Mystic Tan. These bitches need to be put in their place.
My goal for the weekend is not one I can control, as it is to see that Brooke Worthington's gotten fat and hopefully, though it's a stretch, still sporting those braces she had at 2003's Kent Place School Class of 2000 Senior Year Holiday Happy Hour at The Office. How sweet it would be. Particularly because I'm spending Friday afternoon at my father's office, having him and one of the mamacitas who assist him irradiate my teeth to blinding, unnatural whiteness.
I am also spending this afternoon at Mystic Tan. These bitches need to be put in their place.
5.09.2005
Grey's Anatomy, I Was Wrong About You.
Can you ever forgive me?
Yes: I called you a piece of trash. I did. I bad-mouthed you at bars. I dubbed Shonda Rimes's shoddy dialogue style "Shondy," and awarded her the Lauren Weisberger Literary Award for Television Writing. I made faces when Aury, who used to write for Sex and the City, called you not half-bad!
But can you really blame me? Admit it, GA, you were skating on thin ice. These are DOCTORS, Shonda Rimes. They may be the only doctors who look good in those little Muslimesque caps, but they are in the most competitive surgical program in the country: they cannot be this stupid.
Yet I gave you a chance. Drawn in by my roommates' squealing, your Sandra Oh pedigree, and Patrick Dempsey's adorable adorableness, I forced myself past the schlock. Then Katherine Heigl starts ripping off her clothes in the doctor's lounge, Sandra Oh is possibly making babies with the hot black doctor, Izzy ices a cake on a lazy Susan, and I'm hooked! The medical drama is still shondy, Shonda, and I can see every plot twist by the end of act one, but Ms. Rimes, you have compelled me to watch.
Congratulations, Grey's Anatomy. You have won my hard and cynical heart.
Though save for the zippy one-liner "I plan on getting very fat as a tribute to your mother," Desperate Housewives is still a piece of trash.
Yes: I called you a piece of trash. I did. I bad-mouthed you at bars. I dubbed Shonda Rimes's shoddy dialogue style "Shondy," and awarded her the Lauren Weisberger Literary Award for Television Writing. I made faces when Aury, who used to write for Sex and the City, called you not half-bad!
But can you really blame me? Admit it, GA, you were skating on thin ice. These are DOCTORS, Shonda Rimes. They may be the only doctors who look good in those little Muslimesque caps, but they are in the most competitive surgical program in the country: they cannot be this stupid.
Yet I gave you a chance. Drawn in by my roommates' squealing, your Sandra Oh pedigree, and Patrick Dempsey's adorable adorableness, I forced myself past the schlock. Then Katherine Heigl starts ripping off her clothes in the doctor's lounge, Sandra Oh is possibly making babies with the hot black doctor, Izzy ices a cake on a lazy Susan, and I'm hooked! The medical drama is still shondy, Shonda, and I can see every plot twist by the end of act one, but Ms. Rimes, you have compelled me to watch.
Congratulations, Grey's Anatomy. You have won my hard and cynical heart.
Though save for the zippy one-liner "I plan on getting very fat as a tribute to your mother," Desperate Housewives is still a piece of trash.
5.06.2005
Cinco de Whatto?
Jumped the line at Qs which made me feel all important, even though a place like Qs has no business with a line in the first place. My tolerance for crowded places full of drunkos has waned sharply, so we left for Casa Escobar, which was nice and chill.
K. joined us at Escobar, which was nice, and we sat and talked with Anna, the roommate I replaced in my current apartment. She described her first "ding-ding-ding" meeting with her fiance:
"He came over and started talking to me, and he was just so funny and so charming. I felt like I was glowing."
K. and I then suppressed joy-tears and talked between ourselves how Anna has given us hope. Then we talked about how we don't want boyfriends. Then we talked about how consistent we are with our desires. Then I went and screamed I Love Rock And Roll at the Gaslite, which is my new favorite and extremely crappy karaoke bar.
PUT ANOTHER DIME IN THE JUKEBOX, BABY!
And then I went to Westwood.
Anna and Rob's story really does make me happy, though. I barely know them and they are my beacon for the future.
I felt remarkably well this morning, except for when I dropped my pen and toppled trying to pick it up.
K. joined us at Escobar, which was nice, and we sat and talked with Anna, the roommate I replaced in my current apartment. She described her first "ding-ding-ding" meeting with her fiance:
"He came over and started talking to me, and he was just so funny and so charming. I felt like I was glowing."
K. and I then suppressed joy-tears and talked between ourselves how Anna has given us hope. Then we talked about how we don't want boyfriends. Then we talked about how consistent we are with our desires. Then I went and screamed I Love Rock And Roll at the Gaslite, which is my new favorite and extremely crappy karaoke bar.
PUT ANOTHER DIME IN THE JUKEBOX, BABY!
And then I went to Westwood.
Anna and Rob's story really does make me happy, though. I barely know them and they are my beacon for the future.
I felt remarkably well this morning, except for when I dropped my pen and toppled trying to pick it up.
5.05.2005
License No Longer Looks Like I Made It In My Basement: Looks Instead Like I Printed It Here At Work
It was my first foray into an out-of-state DMV. Would it measure up? New Jersey DMVs are exactly the way DMVs should be. The forms are coated in a slick of oil and cigarette smoke; their mere presence clogs pores to levels requiring Accutane. Acting Governor Codey has also taken to importing Coney Island sideshow freaks to work the lamination crank in back. Really. You can see them if you look--Jo-Jo the Dogfaced Bitch Boy, his paws smearing everyone's Polaroids. I knew I wasn't that dreary looking for reals, man.
Things are different in the Governator's state: as an homage, itt resembles T3, post-machine rising. Although the Santa Monica DMV office is technically tidy, with screens reading your number (and you get a number... very NJ deli), it allover resembles some sort of bombed-out wasteland hell, populated by talking computers and Taiwanese women who've lost their keys.
Is Meghan now a California driver?
She has a computer printout that says yay. Woo computer printout.
In other news, it's Cinco de Mayo. The office celebrated by shooting tequila at 10:30 this morning. They were both bemused and besmirched by my disapproval, as only pussies wait till noon.
Things are different in the Governator's state: as an homage, itt resembles T3, post-machine rising. Although the Santa Monica DMV office is technically tidy, with screens reading your number (and you get a number... very NJ deli), it allover resembles some sort of bombed-out wasteland hell, populated by talking computers and Taiwanese women who've lost their keys.
Is Meghan now a California driver?
She has a computer printout that says yay. Woo computer printout.
In other news, it's Cinco de Mayo. The office celebrated by shooting tequila at 10:30 this morning. They were both bemused and besmirched by my disapproval, as only pussies wait till noon.
5.02.2005
Note To Self: Sunscreen
I have been aware for many years now the sun-deprived climate of my ancestors. Then why, my friends, do I feel that when it comes time to refinish my patio furniture, I must don my teensiest tank top and start stripping paint on the roof, to best maximize the wide angle of the noonday sun?
The perfect magenta half-moon on my upper back now complements quite nicely the puce stripe sitting just north of my buttocks. Stripping paint kind of sucks.
In other news...
Not-particularly-sanitized weekend report:
Saw the tres stupide Interpreter on Friday.
Saw it at the Grove, which is like Ye Olde Streetes at Southpointe in Raleigh minus bronzed children. My friend likes to go there and see all the happy families. I would like to go there and shop.
Saturday was spent obtaining the magenta back.
Spent Sunday whining about magenta back, rubbing aloe on it, and watching it fade to mere fuchsia. Purchased some sweet gold flip-flops. Actually registered at my church and made vague promises to attend YMA (Young Ministering Adult) events. Is it wrong for me to think of YMA as a singles bar? Yes, it is. Anyone I met there would automatically carry the practicing-Catholic mark against them anyway. I don't feel that a healthy relationship requires more than one practicing Catholic; one gets quite enough guilt for the both of them. Plus there would have to be a very unnecessarily awkward conversation about... you know...
"How Catholic are you, exactly? Are there any... technically... mortal... sins that you might consider... ahem, venial? What are your feelings on those later encyclicals?"
Or something. Though for an organization promoting chastity, I wonder that all the YMA events have alcohol themes.
The perfect magenta half-moon on my upper back now complements quite nicely the puce stripe sitting just north of my buttocks. Stripping paint kind of sucks.
In other news...
Not-particularly-sanitized weekend report:
Saw the tres stupide Interpreter on Friday.
Saw it at the Grove, which is like Ye Olde Streetes at Southpointe in Raleigh minus bronzed children. My friend likes to go there and see all the happy families. I would like to go there and shop.
Saturday was spent obtaining the magenta back.
Spent Sunday whining about magenta back, rubbing aloe on it, and watching it fade to mere fuchsia. Purchased some sweet gold flip-flops. Actually registered at my church and made vague promises to attend YMA (Young Ministering Adult) events. Is it wrong for me to think of YMA as a singles bar? Yes, it is. Anyone I met there would automatically carry the practicing-Catholic mark against them anyway. I don't feel that a healthy relationship requires more than one practicing Catholic; one gets quite enough guilt for the both of them. Plus there would have to be a very unnecessarily awkward conversation about... you know...
"How Catholic are you, exactly? Are there any... technically... mortal... sins that you might consider... ahem, venial? What are your feelings on those later encyclicals?"
Or something. Though for an organization promoting chastity, I wonder that all the YMA events have alcohol themes.
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