You May Kiss the Husband

A new gay icon has emerged from the crevices. Okay, maybe not the "crevices", but she has at least emerged from the depths of the gay friendly film (The Devil Wears Prada and Brokeback Mountain). Anne Hathaway has always been one of my fave actresses. Ever since sporting a heinous wig, wire-rimmed glasses, and shouting "I have to wear a TIARA!?". Now, she's an advocate for change and equal opportunity proponent for the LGBT community. God love her.

More importantly, she's a strong supporter for her older, gay brother, Michael (pictured above). Incidentally.... so am I. I support Michael as a mighty fine, attractive, and potential husband for ME. Even though some deluded divas would protest otherwise. Mexi, please. He's my Snickers candy bar.

...mashed up in Vanilla ice cream.

...with chocolate and carmel syrup drenched on top.

...and strawberries......

Anyways....
For some shits and giggles, check out a trailer for Anne's new thriller.

The Best Medicine

No doubt about it, I'm a HUGE fan of the 'prank'. In fact, random strangers automatically assume I'm the youngest sibling because apparently I have the personality of "the baby" (What exactly about me screams 'mischievous'?). However, I also find playful banter and harmless teasing endearing and completely necessary to keep any friendship and/or relationship alive. It's those tightly-wound bitches that usually shit a brick when they're exposed to any insignificant or microscopic prank (you know who you are!). I could never date someone like that. Any relationship I'm involved in has to be playful and casual (a la. Jim and Pam from The Office). Save the conventional and conservative rendezvous for Palm Springs. I want something more.

Therefore, when I was cruising the net, I came across an amazing home video. Apparently, this husband/wife duo have an ongoing joke they play on each other. Having watched it repeatedly, I'm convinced that my aforementioned epiphany proves true. It's the small, loving jokes and pranks between couples that really make the relationship work.

Dancing Machine

Delicioso

Is it me, or does Devil Wears Prada fan, Mexican't, and E! assistant extraordinaire make you want to crush viagra, sprinkle it on seasoned lamb, add some cheddar, and stuff it all in a pita pocket?

Lorenzo (formerly known as Larz... more commonly known as Lawrence - damn, this boy has had more names than Prince)... anyways, Lorenzo has three passions in life: the menz, international pop sensations, and when people find time to post blogs about him. Therefore, I thought it pertinent to post one of Lorenzo's better pictures and share ever inch of cellulite to the world. I do this out of love..

Konichiwa bitches.

...5, 6, 7, 8

Throughout my entire day-dreamin' life, I've always had unspoken, microscopic (and a tad unrealistic) dreams which were far too embarrassing to reveal. You know... the dreams that only actually ever occur in the subconscious. Everyone has them! Mine include a telekinetic revelation (sans the bloody Prom), discovering a million dollars in a nearby dumpster (et. al. 'Blank Check'), and having a secret love affair with a gynormous movie star (If only...).

However, none of these "dreams" can compare to my ultimate dream. Maybe I've been watching too many musicals, but how cool would it be to randomly break out in an elaborate dance? I'm not talkin' a 'crazy-person breakdance' seen exclusively at the Santa Monica promenade. But a fully choreographed, ultimately rehearsed routine with 20+ folks. Nothing would please me more! Unfortunately, LAiens are far too jaded to even consider tapping a foot, let alone a dance sequence. Fine! Until then, I'll always have my dreams.... and my secret movie star affair...

For those still confused of what I'm talking about --



(If only...).

An Apology to Diablo

There's a point when reality and make-believe collide, and that point occurred at about 3:10pm today. Today, I regrettably posted a DiaBlog that outlined various inaccurate occurrences that were falsely revealed to me from a friend. Immediately, I figured since Diablo's a public figure, her business should be public as well. I was wrong.

This afternoon, various people (including Diablo herself) instant messaged me to set the record straight. While many people would be elated by Diablo's pop-up message, I was filled with yuppie guilt. (side note: I realize, this "messenger" could have been some concerned fan posing as Diablo Cody. However, enough people were concerned that an apology was definitely in order). I cannot apologize enough for succumbing to my own selfish (albeit, stupid) needs and revealing way too much. I should have known better. I understand Diablo's not an actual "friend" (I'm just another face in the myspace-friend crowd. I don't fool myself otherwise). However, she is a human friggin' being and shouldn't have to be subjected to any unnecessary and unsubstantial gossip (from her alleged "fan", no less). So, I'm really really sorry Diablo.

That being said, I'm completely surprised Perez Hilton sleeps at night. I felt like shit afterwards, and I could never do this kind of "journalism" for a living. I've totally learned my lesson.

P.S. If it's any consolation, as I drove home from work this evening, a trucker hocked a loogie and spat on my windshield. If this isn't an open and closed case of karmic retribution, I don't know what is.

My apologies.

Always a bridesmaid...

So I'm rummaging through one of my fave celeb-gossip sites, and I stumble upon this. My husband (T.R. Knight) walking his bitch. And their dog too.

I'm très upset. This picture makes me want to stick my finger down my throat and purge the Chorizo remnants into my hamper.

A Whole Lot of Nakey

Let's be honest, the buzz surrounding Forgetting Sarah Marshall has nothing to do with the supposedly hilarious script, the creative advertising, not even Judd Apatow. Really, people high and low are flocking towards theatres to catch a glimpse of Jason Segal's who-haw. His willy nilly. His gadunkajunk. Apparently nudity in film is the new black (vagina is SO last year). In reality, the theatre screen will only make it appear THAT much bigger... Let's just hope the room's not too cold.

The question remains, what do we think of Segal himself? Do we want to bake him in the oven, stick him on some skewers, and serve him with cooked peppers, tomatoes, and onions? Or do we merely just want to snatch him from a drive-thru and smear him with Heinz ketchup?