Friday, February 29, 2008

Happy Leap Year!

Little Edie says:
"It's a banner day!"


In the spirit of bloody paws:

Have a great weekend!

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Kate the Great



{Photos ganked from the Sartorialist}
Kate Lanphear is one of the hottest/coolest women alive.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Fear and Self-Loathing in Las Vegas

Vegas was okay. I think I over hyped it in my mind. I hate it when that happens. When did I turn into such a huge windbag? I'm all talk, little-to-no rock. Sigh...

Five hours of laughing, then arguing with my parents later, we checked into our old people casino/hotel with a TRAIN theme{?!? WTF for 3 yr old boys?}. We freshened up a bit and caught a cab to Wolfgang Puck's at the MGM for dinner & to see our friend Paul, who works there. I had the butternut squash roasted duck ravioli, a pomegranate mojito, a chocolate souffle, a{nother} drunken irishman (bailey's, frangelico, coffee, whipped cream dream). R ordered bleu cheese potato chips and this fucking bombass pepperoni and real olives pizza.

A long trek, 2 well vodka drinks, and $25 later... it was show time. The crowd was super annoying. But it was cool to see Sarah in the flesh, even though the fleshier version looks, dresses, sounds the same as she does on tv. She had the sniffles, which I thought was cute. She kept having to blow her nose in the middle of her set. I was *this close* to screaming out for a tissue. It was fun, but we was so exhausted {r from driving, me from sleeping- all the way there & back} too tired for titty milk, even.


Dad not pictured:




My sniffly jewlover:
America, FUCK YEAH!
Humvees {fuck yeah!} & free sandwiches {fuck yeah!}

Monday, February 25, 2008

Oh, Ricky you're so fine...

...you're so fine you blow my mind!

rick, baby, you look as though you belong in the redrum.







Totally absolutely in love x tentrillion with everything from your collection. Dress me? ♥♥♥

Friday, February 22, 2008

Now Playing: Vol. 1 No. 2 {Sports Edition}

JR: I didn't know you liked sports...
me: I don't, just Steve Nash.
{click to enlarge the nashty}





{Transcribbled:}

Now Playing:
*Steve Nash is a motherfucking party monster!
*Mike D'Antoni has 3 first names
1) Mike 2) Dan 3) Toni
*The Celtics were/was(?) my favorite team growing up. I'd watch religiously with my grandmother {and entire fam}. I had a parakeet named Larry Bird {the other was named Tiffany, hey, c'mon, it was the 80s!}.
*Final score 85-77, Suns. Another crazy physical game.
*I was wrong about Shaq, aka Whaq [sic]. I think it was a good decision, after all. Can't wait to smoke Tim "I'm A Dirty Cheater" Duncan's ass in the finals.
*I think R gets worried when I hoot, holler and caterwaul at the television...
*Unsports related:
---> I fucking HATE Dennis Miller**
---> See you if & when I get back from VEGA$!


**Dennis Miller gobbles huge cocks because he cannot finish a joke without laughing at it/himself! Stop laughing at yourself! You are not funny! You are your own best and really, only, audience. I hate your dumb face, voice, and shit eating grin. Fuck you.

Poll Smoker: Vol. 1 No. 2

The results of the 2nd poll are in. Tim Gunn is the big weiner!!!

{no, I'm not calling TG a poll smoker}

Who is the hotter Silver Fox?

55% of you resoundingly went gaga for Tim Gunn.

00% of you cold hearted bitches voted for Poor Dr. Drew.

22% thinks Keith Olbermann is a hot piece of ass.

22% wants to do Anderson in the Pooper.

Thanks to all who voted on this important issue. This was fun! I accidentally deleted the first poll before I could report the results for "What do you think about my new blob?" A few thought it was "incorrigible," some thought it was "hilarial," but no one voted "boring," so that's a huge win in my book!

Stay tuned and make sure to vote for your favorite magazine editor!

Thursday, February 21, 2008

FittyCent?!?




Aww, hell naw!


This morning I walked {ran} into our office's bathroom to find a shiny new tampon/maxi dispenser staring back at me. To my ♥'s discuntent, I immediately noticed that the white #s read 50¢.

FIFTY CENTS for a fucking tampon?!?

Inflation is out of cuntrol, Ben Shalom Bernanke! How am I supposed to feed my tampax habit? I'm, like, going to have to get a secunt job or take out a high interest loan! Half a dollar for a little stick of cotton to be gobbled up by a hole, is much too much! It's vagina robbery!

Back in myyyyyyyy day, tampons only cost 10¢. The price of a repossessed Harry Potter DVD! 25¢, at most. What's a gal to do? 75¢ for every $1 and now 50¢ of that must go to feed the old vajajay?

This just cun't be happening.

GUEST BLOBBER Vol. 1 No. 3: R


The Anti-Anna


French Vogue editor Carine Roitfeld is full of respect for the powerful fashion editors on the other side of the Atlantic. “They are very, how you say, slick,” she says. But all that money and success are so . . . American.

When Carine Roitfeld, the editor of French Vogue, styles a fashion shoot, she does not start with the clothes. She looks first at the model and comes up with a story: Perhaps this girl has married young and taken a lover. Perhaps she married young, has taken three lovers, and is about to go to Brazil. Perhaps she lives in London and is bored to death with mad cow disease and wants desperately to eat a great, juicy piece of steak. “I do a movie in my mind,” she says. “Who is this girl?”

Left to right, Roitfeld and Karl Lagerfeld attend Chanel’s cruise 2007 runway show at Santa Monica Airport; Roitfeld attends the showing of Calvin Klein’s fall collection in New York City in 2006; Tom Ford and Roitfeld at the Costume Institute gala in New York City.
(Photo: (L to R) WWD/CondeNast/Corbis; Robert Pitts /Landov; WWD/CondeNast/Corbis)


One cold, bright December morning, her own story is this: She is a fiftyish woman having a double espresso in the lobby of the Carlyle on Madison Avenue. “For me, it is best to be the youngest in hotel,” she explains, “and I was not having this feeling at the Mercer.” She has come to New York for her son Vladimir’s 23rd birthday, which she celebrated the night before with dinner at Indochine. “It makes me happy because there is vewy gweat lighting,” she says about the restaurant. “Vewy flatter.” (Roitfeld has reached a compromise with the hard American r by converting them all to ws.)

She was especially pleased with the lighting because of a disfiguring recent visit to the dermatologist. “I am monster,” she explains, gesturing at an infinitesimal dot on her nose.

Roitfeld has slid out of a fluffy paneled Tom Ford fur cape, and it is gathered at her waist, her impossibly skinny body sticking out of each side. Her eyebrows are thick and dark, her hair is surprisingly blonde—“I follow an advice of Tom Ford: When you get older, you have to get blonder. It is my surfer look.”

Read the full article here:
http://nymag.com/fashion/08/spring/44215/


Thanks for the heads up, R!



ps. upon further reflection, this is not the most flattering article. but i still ♥ her. she's uber unapologetic.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Now Playing: Vol. No. 1

Now playing on the forefront of my mind:

{click for more detail than you are comfortable with}
EDIT: natch. no longer day dreaming about hot dogs. just totally ralphed this baby up. just viewing my blob makes me want to hurl. now i know how you all must feel on a daily basis.

"my mind's telling me yes, but my body--my body's telling me no." -misparaphrased R. Kelly

Protecto!



First thing's first, this watermark is fucking ridiculous!

Second, my mom♥ and I were in a single staller at the ENT and I went to place the cover on the seat like I've always had... you know flap in the back... as pictured, if facing the toilet. And my mom was like, "No, turn it the other way. That way the flap covers that nasty little opening in the front and it's less likely to slip in."

My mind was blown! Of course! YES! That makes PERFECT sense! I was humbled and bewildered that I was going about it ALL WRONG for so long. But now I know, and knowing really is half the battle. I've been missing out.

STORY OF MY LIFE.

Question for you, dear readers, buds:
Is this a common sense/knowledge thing? I'd always just assumed that the flap goes in the back. Please try this next time ...unless you're already rocking this method!

Mother is always right.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Reason #8456152135483 why I ♥ David Lynch:



after dinner edit: Reason #1 {and only} why I don't ♥ DL: Inland Empire.

Enjoy!

But I won't front, I am ~*~jealous~*~ of your iPhone.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Hi-Ho, Bronco!

This babylove reaks of east mesa, urine, and pudding.
Nothin' a little Febreze can't kill.
Thanks to R and his mad ebayskillz.
{rescued from a nursing home?}


We can finally make the sweet sweet music we should have started making a decade ago. Better late than never ♥

Sunday, February 17, 2008

A Sentient Bag of Bones

25

{click to enlarge}
"it took me 25 years & a minor
outpatient surgery
to finally feel
comfortable in my
skin & confident in
my thoughts."

Happy Sabbath!

Today we're going to a golden retriever's 3rd birthday party. This is what happens when fur babies come out of your vagina instead of human babies. Anyway, cheap beer + nascar on the west side, just can't be a bad time. It's impossible.

In more exciting news, we're going to see Sarah Silverman in Las Vegas on the 23rd!!! I'm the biggest loser fan girl there is. I love love love her. So so so excited! We're staying in some comped room waaay off the strip because my gambling addicts of parents {so cliche!} have hook ups there. We're caravanning because my {undiagnosed} austistic brother insists on tagging along. Don't care, not there for family nor gambling, just my little jewish princess.

A trip to the Peppermill Fireside Lounge is definitely in order. This place is a-maz-ing. All the waitresses look like 19 meth mommies, who have flapjack little titties hangin' out of their very very classy low cut in the front, high slit on the side black sequined evening gowns. There's this epical drink there called the Scorpion {depicted below} and you can get it either on the rocks or blended. Our bud M dubbed the blended version Titty Milk. In order to make it the waitresses come by and give you a squirt from the flapjacks, stir and serve. YEAH! I'm so fucking jazzed! If ever in Vegas, you must must go to this 70sneondarkmirroredcokeclubesque bar with a denny's next door, then thank me later.
This is what we look like after a few Titty Milks:
Check out what the website boasts as ameneties:
ROMANTIC FLAMING POOL* EXOTIC DRINK MENU* EXTENSIVE MARTINI MENU *15 WIDE FORMAT PLASMA SCREENS* ALL THE LATEST VIDEOS* STATE-OF-THE-ART SOUND * FRIENDLY STAFF {with flapjack titties} * UNMISTAKABLE ATMOSPHERE {you can say that again!} *COMPANY PARTIES* PRIVATE PARTIES *OPEN 24 HOURS A DAY

Enjoy the rest of your weekend, sweetiedarlings!

Saturday, February 16, 2008

O.P.P.-- yeah, you fucking know me.

I'm a gigantic nerd. I find immense pleasure in finding other people's photos of me. I love that feeling of not remembering what it feels like to be that person. Damn, she looks familiar, but that ain't me, is it??

"Such as, and like: "

{ganked from Yoshiko's Picasa --November 2006}



Post a bad/good/new/old photo of yours truly if you have one? Pretty prease??

Squiiiiiiisssssshhhhhhhhsloooooooooossssh.



thanks, w!


It's 5:38 and Bella and I are up because our stomachs hurt. Too much champagne and human food/hair stuck in butthole, respectively. I pulled this very curly, very shiny, very black hair out of her ass. I couldn't tell if it was a really long pubic hair {not from our house-- for the record} or a normal textured hair that got kinked on it's travels through the chihuahua guts. Anyhow, it's gone now and I bet she feels better. Our stomachs are gurgling in a surprisingly symphonic manner. I'm the bassoon and she's the piccolo. Together we make sweet sweet interspecial music.





I just want to be back in Waikiki, rolling with my homies:





photo by makito, not national geographic!




ps. found bellar had jumped into the bath tub to throw up. what a good dog! Sad!

Friday, February 15, 2008

Most depressing book ever. In the history of ever.

More depressing than Joan Didion. Hah!



"Hey, douchebag! 
You're depressed 
AND you're dumb!"

I walked past this remainder book at the bookstore for a week straight. $8.95 is still too expensive for an LOL. This free internets photos does the trick just fine, for my cheap ass.

Buck up, don't fuck up.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

"What's with today, today?"

Today was a top drawer day. I came to the office and found this:

Inside!

A fancy schmancy croissant from my colleague, H. H is my calorie fairie. She get's in real early and leaves sweet nothings on my desk. I love this woman. Dreams are made of raspberry cream cheese+chocolate+frosting.

It was beautiful outside. Ate lunch with new friend & potential client.
I broke into my reserve xmax rock candy stash, also from H. It was a 4:30 emergency.


Meg's birthday was last night. She basically rules.



Off to polish off my old-fashioned {CHEERS!}, then huff some rubber cement & bed.


I'm a dick. A grade A+ dick.

Me: Can you do Thus this week instead? It's my buddy's bday tonight we're going browling :)


MM: Hi, how are you? Yes, we can work out Thurs, but don’t you want to do something special with your honey on that day?


"Oh, fuck."



This is the second year in a row that I've made plans on Valentine's Day. With...someone other than my very significant other. I feel like the smallest peron in the universe. At the same time, I also feel like the biggest jackass in the universe. All I can muster is, "Well, I'm like not into hallmark holidays..." What an asshole! I'm oh so sorry. This is kind of eating me up inside. {nomnomnom-- sry again, couldn't help myself.}

He deserves a girl who's going to make homemade cookies in the shape of anatomically incorrect shaped hearts out of baking soda and like flour, and stuff. Not someone who eats the ENTIRE hotdog {that was supposed to be shared} and half YOUR nachos, and makes plans on Vday with other people. Cry! I can only try to be better. I'm trying, I'm trying. Try, try, cry, cry.


Be mine??


GUEST BLOBBER Vol. 1 No. 2: R

I couldn't think of a pict-o-gram for your blog; however I came to the conclusion of an anagram:

"Lamenting on Grace's daily howl."

(woolgathering and miscellany)



Thanks R!!! This is amazing {like you} and so so apropos! "Oh hey, I rhymed! I always rhyme!"

Keep them a'comin' babies!


Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Monday, February 11, 2008

GUEST BLOBBER Vol.1 No.1: J



My anonymous little polywhore fairy contributed these two gems. We have a shared love for Mz. Wino and just about everything else.

Feel free to submit items {anything, really- stories, photos, collages, doodles, transcripts, videos, songs, the world is your oyster, dear reader [& future guest blobber]} to id{at}gracie{dot}com.

ME WANT FOOD!

I'm so crazy insatiable right now. All I can think about is shoving copious amounts of grub down my {tonsiless} esophagus. Like this weekend was madness. Pure madness. We'd just barely finish eating, be driving back from eating, and I was like, "Ooh Wendy's!" "Ooh Cracker Barrel! {wtf}" "Ooh Rosita's!" "Ooh Sushi Ken!" "Ooh Dunkin Donuts!" "Ooh this!" "Ooh that!" Face and slobbery mouth pressed against the window makin' hungry fog at 48mph. It was nuts. R was shocked and awed. Me want food. Plain and simple. Right and now. Me. Want. Food.
xoxo,
foodie o


{pms, much??}


edit 4:04: H agreed/enabled me to some Cheetos after more whining and crying from me. I spun around in my chair arms up all freddiemercurywearethechampions style mouthing, yeeeeeeeeahhh! cheetooooossssssssss! launched myself back into my cube from across the hallway & hightailed it out of here, (literally RAN-- color me embarrassed), leaving a cloud of dust and bobby pins, to the vending machine outside and hit B6B6B6 maniacally. The little golden bag fell down into my arms. I ran back inside to split the loot. Sharing makes me feel less bad. Now I'm revelling in my britbrit orange pixie dust opium den-- ahem, cubicle. Free basing orange cheese dust has never felt. So good, yet so bad, yet so so good.

Triple Life Score



via

{thanks for the link, m!}


Dear J,

I want to play chocolate scrabble with you. Then proceed to eat the letters and look like we have shit on our faces. I promise I won't be a sore loser. I know you're going to open a can of whoop {soup}ass on moi.


Funny, true {sad} story. My dad's dad was in the nursing home and we'd buy him bulk chocolate bars from Costco. One day when we went to visit him, he had brown smears all over his face, around his mouth. We just thought, oh man, he's sure been hittin' the old chocobars hard. Upon closer inspection, it was feces.

xoxo,
me

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Hohan





I'm a little sick of talking/arguing about politics. Let's rot our brains for a minute, shall we? I'm no fan of this little firecrotch, but I really love this spread from the March issue of Harper's Bazaar. Harper's has the best editorials, next to French Vogue, of course.