Thursday, October 14, 2010

Stay tuned for Target's version of this gem....


I can just imagine the switchboard overload at WME the day this gem came out... "Am I or am I not white hot enough to neccessitate a fashionable but precautionary measure such as the Anti-Pap Clutch?" Because there's nothing worse than wearing a defensive evening bag and not getting the change to use it.
The Anti-Paparazzi Clutch is sure to be number one on the Christmas List for sad celebs this year. The ones who call the pap themselves on their way to Don Antonio's (Lauren Conrad I'll never forgive you for foiling my attempts at privately consuming enchiladas) and the ones who feel they might be fading out of the spotlight...
What this bag is great for however, is taking those epileptic shuterbugs down a peg or two... So Tourists, epileptics, and Disco Strobe Light Owners beware, the Anti-Pap Clutch was designed with you in mind. So I'm going to go with, um, not the new black, but maybe that's only because I haven't found out which of my enemies are prone to seizures... I'll get back to you.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Dear Straight World,

I don't know if you are aware of this stereotype, but within the lesbian community, people often say that there is a tendency to (quote, unquote) "U-Haul" relationships. "U-Hauling" a relationship is when you move way too fast, for example, if you were to move in together on the second date because we're so in love, oh my god! Soul mates! How did I live before I met you?
Now, as with many stereotypes (like African Americans are good at basketball or all Asians are geniuses who know Kung Fu), there is some truth to this. Evolutionarily speaking, it's in a cave woman's best interest to talk her mate into settling down. The cave baby can be safe at home supervised by the cave mom, while the cave dad is out there fighting sabre tooth tigers and bringing home the wooly mammoth bacon. While our cave men were trying to shoot sperm into anything that walked, women had to get really good at convincing them to be faithful. And thus, the blow job was created. This works out well for straight people, because they've got a nice push-and-pull thing going in the beginning during the "dating" process, until the woman eventually wins (as we always do) and they get married and stop having sex.

Now when you put two women together, on the other hand, both of your evolutionary ancestors just want to stay home and make babies (or adopt Asian ones - Kung Fu babies!). Without one person trying to pull away to go sow wild oats, things are bound to move a little bit quickly (hence the U-Haul). This creates two (equally annoying) problems:

1. Relationships tend to start at warp speed before you've had a chance to really vet each other. One OkCupid date, you blink, and all of a sudden you've got 3 cats and you're filling out adoption papers. You haven't left your bed on a Sunday in a month, your friends have given up on asking you to do things, and then all of a sudden. . . wait, what? You get anxiety from sleeping in the same bed as someone? You want to take our future children to church? Your ex-girlfriend was a witch, like for real? You don't like eggs?? I can't date someone that doesn't like eggs! What will we do at brunch!? (That last one is actually me. I hate eggs. And I also got dumped for it once. True story.)

2. People get totally freaked out when they perceive the relationship to be going too fast, because (among other things), everybody hates fitting into stereotypes. just like everybody hates turning into their mother. "I really like you a lot, but let's not 'U-Haul' this thing." If you like hanging out, then hang out! If you want a day to hang out with your friends, go hang out with your friends! If you really like each other so much, is it the worst thing in the world if you end up hanging out a lot? Sure, life balance is important, but imagining life imbalance for the sake of avoiding being a stereotype is just silly.

So I guess my point is, be careful with your heart, but that being said, cat shopping on the second date is still the new black.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Los Angeles in 2005 called, and it wants its rolling blackouts back


Hello internet world! Miss me? I woke up this morning after a bit too much jungle juice and flip cup last night, and I knew it was time to come back to Blogland, USA. I haven't been this hungover since my bithday (March 26th, if you want to buy me a present), and I magically felt snarky again. So in honor of my hangover inspiration, here are three tell-tale signs that the party you were at last night was totally the new black.
1. Your lights are still on. Not just your bedside light, I mean ALL of the lights. Bathroom, kitchen, and if you have other rooms in your apartment/house, then those are on too. I don't know what those other rooms may be, considering my crappy studio apartment has exactly 5 light bulbs in the whole place, but you get the idea.
2. You're naked, regardless of whether of not you had bed company. And by naked, I mean maybe your underwear and the stamp from the bar you were at last night. Or you wake up in all of your clothes. And by clothes, I mean your theme party costume. Preferably with something on your face (glitter, fake eyelashes, something you double-sided taped to your shirt, etc.).
3. Your TV is on, blaring the menu page of whatever DVD you put on to "fall asleep to" last night that you watched for exactly .8 seconds before passing out. And if you wear glasses, you're still wearing those too.
Blacking out is the new black.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

If I Don't Go Away, How Will You Miss Me?


And. . . we're back. Okay, I'm back. I got tired of waiting for other people to post. I was trying not to be a blog-hog, but apparently being a blog-hog is the new black.

Sometimes there are things in your life that are just a little bit TOO awesome. I know you're thinking, "but KC, how can something be too awesome? Doesn't adding the word "too" mean it's not awesome anymore?" No, seriously though, it happens. These overly awesome things can be activities, people, foods, drink specials, cat massages, whatever! And sometimes you just get so friggin' into that thing that you start to let the other awesome parts of your life slip. I'm not saying it's bad to focus on one aspect of your life every now and then, but it's a good idea to keep things balanced.

I hadn't gone out on a week night in two weeks. I had totally fallen victim to the "stay-at-home-lesbian syndrome." Why go out when there is cuddling here?!?! I may have been caught complaining about getting "too much sleep." There were definitely cats involved (I have the fur on my jeans to prove it).

These two weeks were totally awesome, and I'm sure that I will continue to have stay at home cuddle nights with my totally awesome chick. The question is: were these last two weeks a little bit too awesome? I was totally ignoring my favorite drink specials, not to mention my favorite drinkers. Sounds like it's time to hit the town. Right after Glee is over, that is. . . (I have to get my cuddling in sometime).

Taking a break from things that are TOO awesome (such as this blog) is the new black. Just don't go away for TOO long. ;)

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Liquor in the Front. . . Yard


I got a letter in the mail today alerting me of a public hearing about putting in a liquor store across the street from me. It was from a lawyer and mentioned something about the "environmental impact" this might have, so I'm pretty sure they were trying to rally the troops against it.

Um. . . do they know me? Clearly not. I wouldn't complain if they put a liquor store inside my building. I wouldn't mind buzzing in homeless people for it. Hell, I might even consider chipping in towards their rent. Basically, I really hope they open this thing, and I'm thinking of going to the hearing in support of it if I'm not too drunk.

Liquor stores within walking distance are definitely the new black.

Monday, February 22, 2010

That's (not-so) Brisk, Baby!


Due to my extreme lifestyle, I have a bit of a caffeine addiction. It’s not anything I’m trying to quit, I’m not opposed to addictions for addictions’ sake. I enjoy it (tastes good), it does what it’s supposed to do (keeps me awake), and it gives me an excuse to go walk outside and get a little bit of sunlight during the day (to go to Starbucks, Rite Aid, or the Panadaria down the street). I actually feel the same way about cigarettes, but instead of giving me an excuse to get sunlight, cigarettes give me an excuse to take a break from dancing and talk to hot chicks.

Recently I bought a case of Brisk Iced Tea instead of soda, mostly just to change it up, but also partially because I thought it might be a little bit healthier. Last night I had a normal amount of sleep,which generally requires 1-2 caffeinated beverages the next day. I had two Iced Teas today and felt nothing. I looked on the can, and it said there were 8mg of caffeine per 12 fl oz. This meant nothing to me, so I googled it and found this super cool website, http://www.energyfiend.com/the-caffeine-database . Turns out Brisk Iced Tea has only a tiny bit more caffeine than a cup of decaf coffee (which has 6mg), whereas a regular 8oz cup of coffee has 145mg of caffeine. I’m pretty sure a cup of coffee is healthier than 18 high fructose corn syrup-filled Brisk Iced Teas. Look at that, I learned something at school today! I’m thinking about making a word problem out of it.

Additionally, I now have a long list of really hilarious energy drinks that I can’t wait to try!

“Crunk Mango Peach” and “Who’s Your Daddy” are the new black (and Brisk Iced Tea is not).

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Call Mr. Flintstone, I Can Make Your Bed Rock


I have in the past, by multiple people, been accused of being a little bit "aggressive" when it comes to the bedroom. Not that I am pulling out whips and chains (though I don't mind a little spank every now and then *wink*), I'm just aggressive in terms of getting things started and making a relationship move in that direction. Now this strategy has worked pretty well at getting me laid. Unfortunately, this strategy sucks at locking down a girlfriend. While guys seemed fine with the term "boyfriend" meaning "a sex slave who buys me dinner every now and then," girls apparently get all offended that I don't want to "know them as a person" or hear about their "feelings" or something. Lame sauce.

To combat my overly-aggressive tendencies (ironic choice of the word "combat" there. . .), I have given myself a "3 date rule" (i.e. I'm not sleeping with anyone unless we have gone on at least three dates). Which means that I haven't had sex in three months. And still no girlfriend. Even lamer sauce.

On the plus side, I'm saving a small fortune on bikini waxes.

Maybe waiting is the new black. . . ?

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Here Kitty Kitty


While jogging around the hood the other afternoon some dude rolled down the window of his mid-nineties Toyota Corolla and screamed “LOOK AT THAT ASS!” in my general direction.

What the fuck?  What is this dude trying to accomplish?  Does he expect me to swoon?  Run over and jump in his car and start planning our sexual escapades?  Has anyone ever started a relationship from a moving vehicle? Even a really really casual one?  Am I out and about to catch the eye of a winner like him?  Better yet, does he think that I haven’t looked at my ass? 

Newsflash dude, I’ve seen my ass.  That’s why I run everyday in attempts to make it disappear so that losers like you don’t catcall me.

Assholes. Stop it!

Catcalling is not the new black.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Most Exciting Day Ever

So part of my pre-Coachella “diet and exercise” plan includes a daily run/walk situation which basically consist of me huffing and puffing around Los Feliz or Silverlake in awkward sweatpants whilst listening to decidedly un-Los Feliz/Silverlake music.  Just imagine a large-assed girl shuffling around the neighborhood in white, gatherered, capri sweatpants slowly jogging and being unable to resist throwing a hand in the air when Beyonce says, “if you liked it, then you should put a ring on it,” even though no one else can hear the music coming from her purple nano.  Yeah, that’s me. Pretty embarrassing, but whatevs, not as embarrassing as being a fat girl at Coachella.

So as I am jogging around today and spacing the fuck out who do I bump into but A REALLY SEXY VAMPIRE!!! OMFG!  No, not an actual vampire, but someone to plays one either film or television.  I even got a head nod as I shuffled by the sexy vampire as he walked his dog!  Then I got another one when I waddled by the sexy vampire on the return part of my loop.  So this is what I know:

  1. A sexy vampire lives in my neighborhood (because who drives to another neighborhood to walk their dog unless there is a park or something)
  2. Said sexy vampire is neighborly (though I do not plan on inviting him into my house because we all know that’s terrible idea)
  3. Where the sexy vampire lives within about a quarter square mile (Shout out to google maps for making stalking easier!
I’m not going to name names, because I plan to actually stalk this person and don’t want there to be direct evidence on the internet.  If you’re a lawyer and reading this, let me know what needs to be more vague here.

I cannot wait to go jogging in full hair and make up tomorrow!

Having a sexy vampire for a neighbor is the new black.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Panty Raid!

Ladies and Gentleman, I have a problem.  No, it’s not my drinking problem. That’s already been well documented and discussed. No, I’m not smoking crack.  Although Dr. Drew is starting to make me think that I might be the only person in America who isn’t.  I am compulsively buying expensive undergarments.

Like every girl, I love pretty lacy under things.  I have rationalized the necessity for $15 Hanky Panky  underwear for daily wear, none of that Victoria’s Secret mall lingerie bullshit here.

But the problem has gotten REALLY bad since a little boutique known as Panty Raid opened in the neighborhood.  Now, I literally have to walk 30 seconds from my morning coffee spot to the most adorable little lingerie shop in Los Feliz.  I can’t stop buying panties!  The need for matching bra and panty sets is becoming overwhelming.  I can’t even go to the gym if my sports bra doesn’t match my underwear.

I’ve also discovered something amazing; garter belts.  Garter belts completely eliminate the need to wear tights.  The truest saying I’ve ever heard in my life was Edina from Absoultely Fabulous who simply said, “I'd just once like to take my clothes off and not be marked by them...”  I’m in full agreement with that statement.  I mean, even Kate Moss is probably left with that tragic flesh-seam running down her stomach when she wears tights.  Not only does the garter belt eliminate the aforementioned seam, but it also doubles as a purse of sorts for items such as a Blackberry, lipstick, cigarettes and small handguns.

It also gives you that added jump in your step if you know you’re wearing sexy lingerie, even if no one else does.

Sexy lingerie and garter belts are the new black.

Ex Marks the G-spot…

I recently hooked up with one of my ex’s and I’ve realized it’s kind of like seeing a comedy routine twice. You know the jokes already but they’re comforting in a way. And although you’d never admit in a public forum that you were so desperate for a laugh you went back for a reprise, you know you’re at least guaranteed a chuckle or two.
Anyway the whole thing got me thinking about ex’s…. thankfully, this particular guy is pretty sane, but what if I was dealing with a nutso? Sure I’ve had my share of crazy, but being the sneaky ginger devil that I am, I’m not going to disclose anything about myself … so I’ll tell you about my friends.

Rather than bore you with endless anecdotes of all the crazy ex’s I’ve been hearing about over the last couple days, I’ll just list the best of the best (insert image of me with raised eyebrow and judgmental smirk at pretty much every item).



1) Picking a fight with a mailbox (guess who won and guess who ended up in a beak-like cast for two months?)
2) Ignoring the break-up completely, moving in, and keying new girlfriend’s car.
3) Unfastening the stitching of his dress pants ever-so-slightly so that eventually, his ass will ‘bottom out’ (hopefully during a very important meeting).
4) Urinating in her Brita Water Filter.
5) Take a picture of his desktop wallpaper, set it as the desktop wallpaper, and watch hilarity ensue as he furiously tries to click on icons with no result. (Actually way more satisfying than it sounds.)
6) Sleeping with the mom/dad. (Surprisingly not as satisfying as it sounds.)
7) Diluting his tea with extra-strength laxatives.
8) Vomiting in her closet.
9) Claim an STD but “that’s all I’m telling you.
And the most crazy thing I’ve ever heard an ex do....
10) Go to Haiti to be an Aid Worker. (She was an actress.)

After hearing all these ridiculous acts of violence, hilarity, and sheer brilliance, I cuddled up happy in the knowledge that my ex is normal, sane, and willing and able to go for a roll in the hay without any baggage.
Yup, I really am lucky that him and I are able to share such a productive relationship even though we didn’t work out as a couple. And if he ever does let me out of this basement, I’ll be sure to take this up with his wife.

Dear ex’s, you’re the new black.
LB

Friday, February 5, 2010

Rehab is for Quitters


If you are lucky enough to know me in person, then you know that I am basically a robot. I do not need the things that normal humans need to survive, like food or sleep, and I generally function very well on caffeine and cup-o-noodles. On an average week, I go out between four and six nights, get around four hours of sleep each night, and I am more than fine the next day. When people describe me, they generally say something along the lines of, "She's cool, she's pretty funny, and she goes out a LOT." I don't go around getting shit-housed all the time, but I generally knock back a couple, shake my groove thang, and then call it a night.

This week, in honor of parent conferences (because I teach 7th grade. . . yes, I am that hardcore), I decided to give myself a break, and only went out on Thursday. I figured that it would be a bad idea to have whiskey breath around grown-ups that actually know what whiskey smells like. This means that I did not drink Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday (skipped mimosas Sunday, skipped Moustache Monday, skipped Rockwell Tuesday, and skipped The Betty on Wednesday). I felt a little bit lame, but figured it's be a good idea to rest up and let "the scene" miss me a little. By Thursday, I was starting to feel like a bit of a shut-in, so I called up one of my favorite semi-alcoholic friends to hit the town.

I had three drinks, stopped to get food on the way home, and was in bed by my "normal" time (a.k.a. 2:30 am). This morning, I felt like total crap. Wtf?! Over my four day break, I somehow managed to lose all tolerance to alcohol and sleep deprivation! Not cool. Thus, I have vowed to never take a break again.

Sobriety and sleep are NOT the new black.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Too Ugly To Blog

Did you miss me?  I know that I have been absent from the blogosphere for a few days, but I have a really good reason; I was too ugly to blog.  Let me tell you my little story…

So I have an obsession with having shiny jet black hair. I know, so typical and expected for the founder of the new black blog.   Despite the fact that I have always had a mild allergy to hair dye, I have been keeping up with my locks.  Usually I get a little rash at the base of my scalp, and it’s awful and embarrassing and all of the gay dudes at my gym totally judge me when I rock a pony and whatnot.  Where was I?

So apparently these allergies are progressive and this time my head and neck swelled up to twice their normal size and I ended up looking like this bitch and losing my ability to breathe normally.  So I had to take steroids and benedryl and something else that I stopped taking because it said “do not mix with alcohol” and “take with food’ on the label, two things that stifle my lifestyle.  So the moral of the story is I have been hiding in my house and not blogging and that hair dye is dangerous and shit.

All I know is that when I go, I don’t want it to be from a box of Nice and Easy. 

Jet black hair is no longer the new black.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Blah blah blah

Was recently invited to a special appearance by Kesha. Unfortunately, my crappy cell phone static resulted in me hearing "Keyshia", as in the great Keyshia Cole... I was stoked.

Well imagine my surprise when I walked in expecting a radiant songstress but was greeted by a sloppy white chick with half-inch roots, a visible beer ponch, and most assuredly some type of Herpes. (Whether it was 1 or 2, I could not say.) It was like being at a fantasy ex-girlfriend convention....

Abnoxious as she was, I was impressed by Kesha (who spells her name Ke$ha - wow) on two fronts:

1) anyone who is that S-faced but can still lip sync is Ok in my books, and

2) her song Blah Blah Blah really hit home for me.... on that superficial but still lasting level... the kind of level that one hopes can be shift+deleted with just one dose of antibiotics after a questionable rendezvous with someone from oh, say, an annexed country....

But I digress...

When it comes to relationships - or at least the start of them - there seems to be a lot of blah blah blah and no action. I can name a slew of gal pals who have spent many an earnest night getting jimmy leg in the back of a cigarette-stained chevette - twisting themselves into positions that would make the Cirque de Soleil crew blush - all the while trying to fein interest as Bacardi-infused whispers of white picket fences and meeting the parents fill our ears.

While its usually the fairer sex that gets labeled as Chatty Cathy's... I think it's fair to say that when it comes down to it, ya'll men need to put out or get out. (Can I get an Amen from the Canadians on this one? See my blog on staying warm... talking won't cut it, mister, we need some serious eskimo style friction please.)

You want to have a relationship? Ok. Just wanna bump uglies? Fine. Have a wife? That's cool, I have a boyfriend. You like to hook up only when drunk? Ditto. Wanna Chris Brown my ass? Can't, I have a real date tomorrow, but I will touch your man bits for another martini....

See how easy that was?

Fellas, just tell us what you want... most of us will dig it.... but we're not mind readers. In closing, I'd like to mention that it's Hug-A-Ginger-Day. (Remember... Hug-A-Ginger, not Talk-To-A-Ginger-About-Your-Feelings.) I'd also like to mention that Ke$ha and Talking are not the new black.

LB

This blog was dedicated to a very special girl: I hope I'm the rainbow to your lucky charms : ) (that's not as perverted as it sounds, it's wayyyyyy worse.)

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Do you date me?


Are all of you bitches terribly sad that the Jersey Shore is over?  Just as I invented my own jersey shore drinking game involving pickle juice and energy vodka shots…  Snooki and her band of brothers fade to black.  It feels like my summer is ending as well, even though it’s the middle of fucking January.

Well, praise the lord I have found a new obsession, and it’s free, and it’s on the internet.  Ladies and the five or so gay gentleman that read this blog… I would like you to meet BOBBY BOTTLESERVICE!

 


Bobby Bottle service is the new black, as well as in addition to… my new favorite person! 

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Pussy and PBR



Lately it seems that reality shows are getting a little too close to home. I'm totally fine with shows like The Real Housewives or The Jersey Shore, as these shows make fun of people that I would already make fun of anyway. In the past few months though, I have heard about two different reality shows that I would be eligible to apply for, and I find this a little disconcerting. Does this mean that other people make fun of me? Crap. On the plus side, neither show will last very long, since they will both probably be the most boring shows ever made, assuming they could even get them made in the first place. (Again, not sure that this speaks well of me either. . .).


The first is a show called The Real L Word: Los Angeles. This show will follow six Los Angeles lesbians as they do normal lesbian things, like, you know, staying at home hanging out with their cats drinking chamomile tea and scissoring. I guess the show IS supposed to be on Showtime, so MAYBE they'll show the actual scissoring, but besides that, lesbians are pretty dull. I would also guess that whoever they find to be on the show will end up canceling at the last minute because they're "too tired," so it will probably never air. Bullet number one dodged.


Example two is The Real Hipsters of Silverlake. The craig's list casting call asks for "rich, wealthy, hipster GUYS and GIRLS 21-30 whose personal style is homeless chic." Now I certainly wouldn't call my personal style "homeless chic," (though I have been known to go a day or two without washing my hair), and I don't think I would consider myself "rich" nor "wealthy" (uh. . . are these different?), but these are my peeps damnit!! Let's be honest though, how many episodes can we really have of a bunch of dirty twenty-somethings drinking cheap beer and trying to out-band-name their friends ("Wait, have you heard so-and-so's new album? It's so rad. It blows (insert your favorite band's name here)'s last disc out of the water, man!"). This show is clearly being created for the sole purpose of making fun of rich people who try to look poor on purpose. Lucky for me (and my fellow Silverlakers), no self-respecting hipster would EVER call themselves a hipster, and thus would not audition for the show. Nice try haters!


If these shows ever do air, truth be told, I would watch both of them. And I would probably sleep with anyone on either.


I guess reality shows about your actual life ARE the new black. *sigh* Fuck.

The Bait-And-Switch

Dear Men (and sneaky Women),

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you very little for a duplicitous trick of yours I just learned about... it's called the "bait-and-switch" and it goes a little something like this....

Tell a girl (or guy) you are hooking up with that you're absolutely "Ok" with the fact that she (or he) doesn't want a relationship. It's fine. It's fine! It's totally fine! No problem at all with restricting your encounters to lovely dinners, fine conversation, and raucous bumping of the uglies... nothing more needed, nothing more expected.

And then.....

Bam!

And then, out of nowhere they start dropping "I miss you", "You're fabulous", and "I wish you were my girlfriend/boyfriend". Talk about a big old FML....

Now, this puts us in a sticky predicament.... it causes self-doubt - which we don't like - and it causes us to question ourselves... were we unclear when we explicitly said, "I don't want a relationship right now," or "What we have is perfect, let's not change a thing." ???

And when we responded to your lovey-dovey-eyed insinuation, "Well, I'm not seeing anyone else..." with a stare more blank than my ex-boyfriend's face when asked to explain why he de-friended me on Facebook whilst we were still dating, what did you think we meant by that? C'mon people, this isn't Canada, you don't need to couple up just because it's cold outside...

Let's just say it's more awkward than the first time I checked out my hot first cousin by accident... Ladies! Gentlemen! I beg of you... Please don't do the bait-and-switch. It's so not the new black.

LB.

Poor Career Choices

OK, so this is kinda sorta related my Radiohead rant; but do you ever feel like there are a lot of career options you didn’t consider?  There seem to be plenty of options that don't require a 4 year degree out there and I am starting to think that perhaps I wasted a lot of time and money.

For example, I know a ticket scalper that made $3k in one night on Radiohead tickets (and that shit is not going to Haiti).  I know a guy with some sort of ailment that got him a “medicinal marijuana” perscription and then sells said weed for much more. And I am 100% sure that I would make more money than I do now if I sold something like crack instead of PR services.  Just sayin’


I also become painfully aware of how really stupid people can make a ton of money when I watch MTV Cribs.  If I see another rapper blowing trillions of dollars on shit like fish tanks with mini sharks or a “professional BMX biker” with a mansion, I might hurt someone.

Why my parents didn’t encourage me to be a stripper or rodeo clown blows my mind.  I definitely wouldn’t be asking for loans if I had those kind of skills.

“Non- traditional” careers are the new black.

High Infidelity…

Recently I’ve been pondering the paradoxical nature of monogamy. Is it really possible to be with one person for the rest of your life? Who cares? That’s not what I’m talking about… (the answer is a resounding no, btw).

I’m talking about serial monogamy: the process of dating one person right after another right after another right after another... just writing about it is almost enough to drive me to creative suicide (like doing a pike-jump into oncoming traffic) I can't imagine actually doing it.

And yet I did. For ten years. Was it fun? Sure. Was it worth it? Ya, why not. Was I monogamous the whole time? Um, I believe I’ll answer that question with another question, “would you like to have a bubble bath with your handsy perverted uncle?”

But I digress…

Thanks to ditzy Psyc Majors who ramble our ear off thinking they’re being prophetic and telling us something we don’t know after one too many Seven & Sevens, we ALL know that monogamy is a construct. Great. Thanks. But does anyone stop to think why? Cue equally intellectually inferior Sociology Majors.

So here’s my question (and hopefully it’s a new one; coming from somewhere other than a desire to pursue a major that doesn’t strategically position said girl as more marry-able and ‘cute’): if we all agree monogamy is bullshit… why do we hold this asinine construct up in such high regard? And, why do we stigmatize and alienate those who "fail" at it?

Remember the first time you shoplifted/cheated on a test/snuck out of your parents’ and/or boyfriend’s house to be with a boy/touched your BFF’s boyfriend’s naughty bits?

Um, thrilling!

Infidelity is sneaking a bite of the last cookie (and by cookie I mean married man’s you get it). It’s all us morally devoid weekend sociopaths have left. So to all you naysayers and whistle blowers… shush it! (Or don’t, some of us get off on that too).

Did you ever stop to think that there could be tremendous benefits to having a little fling? Keeps things fresh, learn new tricks, even appreciate your current partner more. True story. (Just be safe, you adorable little skank.)

I was never more vindicated on the day my boyfriend told me my skin was “positively glowing” and "what was my secret?” From that point on our love life improved immensely and I made sure to thank my on-the-side-lover for the bounce in my step… See? Everybody wins.

I leave you with two paradoxical but universal truths:

1) It’s hip to be square

2) It’s good to be bad

And that’s the new black… just don’t tell anyone, my boyfriend would kill me…. LB.

*Disclaimer: don’t be a dumbass and cheat on someone who matters or with someone who has kids. Next week’s lesson is on cost-benefit analysis…

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Will Work for Corporate Rock


In order for you to understand how much distain is brewing inside me today, I am going to have to have to give you some background info.  Radiohead is playing a Haiti benefit show at the Henry Fonda theater tonight.  Tickets were sold online via auction so the highest bidder won.  The highest bidder was playing around 400-500 dollars from what I can figure out. This a “amazing” for 3 reasons:

  1. OMG it’s Radiohead!  Everyone’s favorite band of all time!  Frat dudes love them! Super judgemental hipsters that don’t normally listen to music that you have heard of love them! Your dad loves them!
  2. The Fonda is a smaller venue so it’s going to be “once in a lifetime experience” and what not
  3. That whole giving money to Haiti thing…
 Oh wait, no one gives a shit about Haiti and I guarantee you that scalpers are going to getting much more money than Oxfam off this shit.  The insanity of people trying to get into this show is disgusting. Take for example this guy, he is clearly loaded and doesn't give a fuck about Haiti but was too lazy to get tickets on line.  On second thought, I think I am going to call him and see if he'll take me to Katsuya next weekend. Or this dude is such a fucking loser I don't even know where to start.  This douche has to be my favorite, I am pretty sure that he will be going to the Radiohead concert tonight.  And I am 100% sure that this Persian girl's daddy is going to be PISSED when he hears about her swapping her birthday present for a Radiohead ticket.

I didn't know that people were so desperate to listen to Radiohead.  I am putting my copy of the Clueless soundtrack on Ebay immediately.

Selling your soul to see some band is not the new black.

How to Hide Your Drinking Problem 101


Now, if I was to wake up on a random morning and have a vodka soda with my cheerios, you would probably think that I was a dirty drunk.  But move that meal a couple of hours later and call it "brunch" and it's socially acceptable to drink bloody marys and mimosas.


This is the thing I don't get about brunch;  why is it OK to have a bloody mary but not a rum and coke or perhaps a tumbler of Jack Daniels?  What exactly is it about spicy V8 that makes it socially acceptable to drink vodka in the morning? Does anyone even drink that shit without vodka in it?  The mimosa I kinda understand because it has a "lower alcohol content."  But in those tiny champagne glasses? Bitch please! No one had just one mimosa.


Oh well, who the fuck cares?  It's 2:00 p.m. and I've already had three alcoholic beverages today. 


Brunch is the new black.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Hope for Hotness


OK, so I know the point of the Hope for Haiti telethon was to raise money and awareness for Haiti and for Wyclef Jean to quote himself like he was the bible. And because I did my part and texted GIVE to 50555, I think that it's time to raise awareness about another terrible tragedy. Leonardo DiCaprio is not hot anymore.

Now, I have first loved Leo since "What's Eating Gilbert Grape," when he was totally robbed of an Oscar because he went "full retard," or maybe even before that when he was the hot homeless kid on "Growing Pains." Every girl in America wanted to be that fat chick floating next to him on a piece of wood in the icy ocean, the Juliet to his Romeo or join his murderous cult on "The Beach."  But a terrible event has taken place, and Leonardo DiCaprio is no longer hot.  Please refer to Exhibit A below from last night celebrity clusterfuck:


I mean, him and Jack have have the same amount of wrinkles.  His whole face just seems bloated and his mustache is beyond pervy.  He just makes me think of beer guts and sweat that smells like vodka. Sick.

Leonardo DiCaprio is not the new black.

R U 2 kewl for skul or wat?





When did it become okay to just completely eliminate all grammar and
spelling from text messages?  I mean, I get it, sometimes if I’m up to
159 out of 160 characters and I’ve already eliminated that second
space bar after all of the periods, I may spell “you” as “u,” but I
don’t feel good about it.  And occasionally I’ll throw in a “l8r sk8r”
just to be ironic, but only to people that know that I’m kidding.  I
gave my number to a girl on Wednesday, and today I had the following
text conversation:


Chick: Hey kelly..wats up..
(at this point, I am judging her already, not only on the spelling and
lack of capitalization, but on the two period ellipses instead of 3)
Me: Hello. . . who is this?
Chick: (I will remove her name for annonymity’s sake)..u gave me ur #
Wensdae nite..


Seriously?!?  I mean, I talked to this girl for about 1 minute (yes,
clearly I should be a little more selective about the strangers I hand
my number out to. . . point taken).  This text is basically the first
impression that she is giving to me.  Wensdae!?!?!?!  She spells worse
than an illiterate seventh grader.  Come the fuck on.  And it’s not
like typing “Wensdae” is really any easier than just spelling the
whole damn word.  The name of this person that I am omitting is also a
“creative” spelling (read: misspelling) of a common name.  Perhaps she
was just doomed from birth?  Even so, six out of the eight words in
this text message are wrong (including her name).  Get your ass back
to elementary school, and take your mother with you.


On the plus side, texting can make it easier and more efficient to
scan for mate quality.  I could have spent days talking on the phone
with this person thinking that she was a very bright individual.  Now
I know a person’s level of education by first text, and much less time
is wasted on those unworthy of my attention.


So what was my first impression?  Ur an idiot.  Or should it be U’r an idiot?


Textspeak is not the new black.


by guest blogger KC

Sunday, January 17, 2010

I stopped caring...

Unless Adam Lambert fellates Ricky Gervais in the next five minutes I am turning this off.

The Golden Globes are not the new black.

Snoozefest



Is anyone else super-fucking bored?  I thought that Ricky Gervais would spice things up a bit but it’s all the same NBC jokes we’ve been hearing on Conan.  Does anyone care about the dude that wrote the song for Up? How bad did you want to smack that chick from Grey Gardens?  None of these dresses are even exciting.

Let’s make up a Golden Globes drinking game!

I’m gonna drink every time someone thanks god, their agent, the crew, or their husband/wife or a costar or says the word brilliant or amazing.  This will make it more fun.

Bored is not the new black.

Pure Sex




I just missed a lot.  There was a small martini crisis.  I may or may not be drinking a dirty martini made with olives stuffed with colossal garlic cloves and it may or may be delicious.

I might also be bored with all of this celebrity sharing already and why the fuck they give the President of the HFPA screen time is beyond me. The only thing keeping me watching are the occasional glimpses of NPH, god I love that man.

NPH is the new black.

Before you get really excited!





So for those of you mindlessly watching the Golden Globes, there is something you need to know before you get drunk/whisked away by the glitz and glamour.  The Golden Globes are the most bullshit award show out there.

They are voted on by the Hollywood Foreign Press which is basically a mafia of 60 or so geriatric entertainment writers with little to no credibility.  They have been known to vote for people that buy them expensive watches, which is totally allowed apparently.

Did Monique just share her award with everyone who has ever been molested!  That was awesome.

P.S. Dear Monique, god doesn’t give a shit about your Golden Globe.

I'm such a bitch sometimes.


I'm just gonna come out and say it.  Precious is disgustingly fat.

I don't know why when Mariah puts on ten pounds people freak the fuck out and call her fat and pregnant but this bitch who is like a walking billboard for diabetes is supposedly "adorable."  I think maybe they just feel bad for her because of the whole rape/incest illiteracy thing, oh wait that was a fucking movie!

Fat is not the new black.

Rain and celebrities do not mix!


Get out the bubbly bitches!  It's time for the Golden Globe Awards.   It's raining on the red carpet!  Ryan Seacrest loves talking about it! People like Paul McCartney have to hold their own umbrellas.  Fonzworth Bentley just came in his pants.


Oh, according to that guy on E! who uses caulk instead of hair gel, purple is the new black.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Lay off me already...

I am on a brief trip to my homeland and haven't really had time to blog.  Plus I was starting to feel like this chick...






Taking a break from you blog is the new black. See all you bitches on Sunday for the Golden Globes live blog.

Monday, January 11, 2010

And how does giving me 10 more make you feel?


In true Los Angeles/Lesbian/Jewish fashion, when I broke up with my
ex-girlfriend, I decided to treat myself to a little bit of therapy.
Not that I was slitting my wrists and crying all day or anything, but
I was kinda’ bummed, and figured there was some personal growth
waiting to happen in there somewhere.  I wasn’t really interested in
going to some Kaiser group-therapy b.s., so I shelled out a pretty
penny to see a woman my friend had recommended to me.  While this was
helpful, the majority of it was just me talking things through.

Now the other thing that I did for myself in the process of this
break-up was sign up for personal training at the gym (I wanted to be
really well adjusted AND really hot).  What I discovered is that in
between reps is a great time to talk out your issues!  Here’s a person
who 1) is paid to listen to you and b) doesn’t know all of your
friends.  For $30 a half hour every week, I get to spill my guts and
get an outsider’s opinion, while simultaneously toning that same gut!
Genius!  I recommended this to a friend, who said that they maybe
wanted to talk to someone with a little more insight into the world
than a 
personal trainer at LA Fitness. . . , but I stand by my claim.

Multi-tasking therapy is the new black.



Post by guest blogger KC.

For the love of NPH!


I’ve been noticing a suspicious trend in marriages recently: chicks marrying totally gay dudes.  I’m not talking about your run of the mill gay boyfriends who are out of the closet and go to places like “super pop stars” and “cherry pop” with absolutely no shame. I’m talking about that dude that you work with that has been to see Wicked fifteen times and says things like “super-high wedges are going to huge next season.”   We all know this guy.  When you ask him if he’s dating anyone just to see if he’s realized that he’s gay yet, he makes some vague statement about an ex-girlfriend who is in Ohio or college or some other far away place.

This guy is a good friend; he is great for happy hours, if you feel like doing something cultural like going a museum or movie with subtitles, or if your date cancels at the last minute he is always available for dinner.  He always tells you that you look great when you see him, usually with a specific compliment such as “loving what you did with your hair!”  You would probably tell him that you wished he was straight if he ever came out the closet, but not really mean it because you’re not attracted to him at all. 

I keep hearing about girls my age marrying some variation of this dude!  A friend commented last night that “marrying your shopping buddy might be the right move these days.”  She might be on to something.  I mean, aside from the whole sex thing you’re not going to find a more devoted adoring partner than your “metrosexual” best friend. 




Marrying a gay dude is the new black.

Enough is enough (is enough?)

A friend of mine is dating this guy who is basically any Hip Hop enthusiast’s wet dream: tall, dark, and bad ass (and from one of those countries that us prepsters only go to on grad trip or buy ethically made clothing or coffee from when we’re feeling guilty about over-consumption).

So what’s the problem? Well there isn’t one really. Except that recently, my friend started to limp.

“New swagger to match your new man?” I chuckled.

“No,” she groaned, clearly in pain. “He Chris Brown’d my ass.”

Whoa whoa whoa, I thought, it just got dark in here...

And thus, I submit to you the following; how far is too far? When it comes to comedic endeavors, it seems that lately, all decorum and regard for political correctness flies out the window. Quite frankly, I love it.

I say bring it all back – the rude jokes, the naughty insinuations – but let’s keep smart folks. Let’s inspire each other to reach cheekier, more ridiculous levels of humor. After all, life, like that hellaciously boring family on Little People, Big World, is just too short.

Going too far is the new black…. LB

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Announcements! Announcements! Announcements!

I just wanted to let all of you know that I am going to be drinking a shitload of champagne (and by champagne I mean sparkling wine) and live blogging the Golden Globes Awards this Sunday.  I hate celebrities when they are all dressed up, drinking Moet and receiving completely made-up awards.

Get excited bitches!

Friday, January 8, 2010

I wonder if this is a big problem in Peoria...


As if dating in general isn’t hard enough, there is a whole new element to dating in Los Angeles that has been coming up a lot lately.  Celebrity exs.

No, I’m not talking about dating a celebrity myself.  I have to have a few cocktails to tell that story and you’ll probably still have to wikipedia the dude.  I’m talking about dating dudes that have dated celebrities.  As an eastsider there is the constant fear that you’re being compared to Kirsten Dunst every time you meet a hot dude at bar, especially if he’s in a band. 


I once dated a guy who had been in a long relationship with an actress that played the irresistible girl next door in one of those horrible teen movies.  I mean, how are girls like us supposed to compare to girls who get paid to not eat and work out all day? Famous people need to sick to dating other people for that reason.


Slow down Kirsten. Celebrity exs are not the new black.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

A douche is a douche is a douche...

And by any other name, he would still be a douche.  


Tonight I had the pleasure of hanging out in the Cahuenga corridor.  While Los Angeles is a lovely city, we have really douchey parts. None more so than the Cahuenga corridor.  If you're not not familiar there is an educational film to teach you the ins and outs of the corridor.  


There is every breed of douche there,  from the guy with too much hair gel to the guy with $300 ripped jeans.  But do you know pisses me off the most, the douche with the chain wallet!  Who do you think wants to take your wallet with your maxed-out credit cards?  And if they really wanted your wallet, do you think that pussy chain is going to stop them?  If you pair your chain wallet with a studded belt, you're dead to me.



Chain wallets are not the new black.

Shooting isn’t Just for South Central Anymore



Remember in college when you would go totally crazy over any guy (or
girl) in a band?  If it had a guitar, it was totally fuckable.  It
didn’t matter if they had any skill, or any actual gigs, or even any
original song.  Show me a guy with kinda long hair and an accoustic
guitar, and I’ll show you a sorority herpes outbreak just waiting to
happen.

Now while a Vintage Fender certainly isn’t a turn off, there is a new
panty-dropping accessory in town – the camera.  Why are cameras so
sexy?  Well boys and girls, it’s a known fact that most people are a
little bit (or a lotta’ bit) vain, and want nothing more than somebody
who can make them really, really, ridiculously good looking.  A good
photographer is like a good hairdresser, but more permanent, because
that shit will be on your facebook for years.  YEARS!!  Everybody
likes looking at pictures of themselves, but it is so much better to
sit and look at good pictures of yourself.

You may now be asking yourself, “I’d love to start a hobby that may
also find me a bedmate, but what type of camera should I buy?”  Now,
you’ve got a couple of options here.  If you’re frequenting bigger
parties where you can swing your way into looking like the official
event photographer, a giant expensive model with a huge lense and huge
flash is the way to go (bonus points if you are ACTUALLY the event
photographer).  If this is your scene, bigger IS better.  Try to
“accidentally” run into people with it, as the “Oops, I’m sorry, did I
hit you with my camera?” can act as a pretty 
good conversation
starter
.  If you’re into a more hipster scene (you silverlake and
williamsburg kids out there), you’ll probably get more “bang” for your
buck (get it?) going with something vintage like a Holga or a
Polaroid.  And if you’re in a bind for cash, just grab that digital
camera that your mom got you for 
Hanukkah 2 years ago and hit the
bars, because. . .

Cameras are the new black.



Post by guest blogger KC

New social networking site...

As a social geography major, I’ve long been fascinated with the way in which we’re all connected. It follows then, that social networking sites and hooking up with a lot of people are two of my greatest hobbies (and proud achievements).

I suppose it is possible I took that kindergarten song “the more we get together the happier we’ll be” a little too literally… However, it really does seem that “your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends” is good advice for both the Internet and the bedroom. But I digress…

Social networking sites such as Facebook and Twitter really boil down to one thing: they’ll all about who’s doing what to whom, where. When you think about it, it’s all about geography. We’re all social cartographers of sorts; trying to tap into what’s going on and most importantly, how we fit into the mix. Recently I wondered to myself, why not marry my two greatest loves and become a cocktographer?

Enter LinkedIn; the site for professionals to connect and expand their job networks. So here is my proposal: take the concept of the popular site and apply it to men. I call it DickedIn.

Much like its predecessor, DickedIn would apply the concept of online networking to your junk. Ladies can see how they're "connected", update their status, and keep track of ex-dick. There would be a link for “Would you recommend this Dick?” and the site could be accessed pre-blind dates. (Now where’s the App for that?) Posting photos optional...

DickedIn is the new black.

LB