A Plague On Both Your Houses

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What's In a Name?

"How strange or odd some'er I bear myself—As I perchance hereafter shall think meet to put an antic disposition on—That you, at such times seeing me, never shall" - Hamlet

Lately, I have noticed something rotten in the state of Denmark, otherwise known as Hollywood, California. Do these three actors look alike, or is it just me? To me their resemblence is so striking I had to IMDB their names to clarify who is whom. Granted, they all have something strikingly attractive but, they're like Hollywood triplets. Likewise, they have similar acting styles. With their deep set eyes they penetrate the hearts of women with their slight cockiness yet everday guy acting.

One of the above men is marrying Fergie. Lucky him because I hear she's "Fergalicious" which is, obviously, an adjective meaning "being like or named, Fergie." I know of one other Fergalicious woman, Sarah Ferguson duchess of York aka the original Fergie. Anyway, this man stars in a show that airs Friday nights called "Las Vegas." Sadly, I am far too popular to watch this show, and by popular I mean drunk, alone on Friday nights, dancing in my leggings and long blouse (ala Lindsay Lohan my hero). I digress, this look-alike was also seen in Transformers making him pretty damn Fergalicious himself. Or would he be Josh-a-licious as his name is Josh Duhamel. Props to you Josh, you look like three other male actors.

Another man above was once on a show that was on the air for 52 years called "7th Heavan." I hated this show because the father was a preacher, they had 7 kids (get it, 7th heavan? GET IT?) that were all wholesome, and because Jessica Biel can't act her way out of her own asshole. This guy was pretty decent and definitley the only sexy aspect of "7th Heavan." I'm still pissed that they didn't change the name to 9th Heavan when the mother popped out twins at 45 years old. Anyway, now this handsome 1 outta 7 member is on "Samantha Who" which is much funnier, and a lot sexier, than "7th Heavan." If you're ever in the mood to laugh, this young lass was also in the acclaimed film Sorority Girls where he plays a young lassy. Comedy ensues thanks to Barry Watson and his familiar face.

Although one of these men looks like the other, he stands out to me because he's a bad boy. I mean, he's married with kids in real life but there is something about him that...well....let's just say he would've been kicked off "7th Heavan" after a solemn talking to by the preacher-dad. I don't even feel like getting into his list of films (all sexy), and "Deadwood" on HBO (bow-chica-bow-wow), because Timothy Olyphant shakes up the good-guy image of the Hollywood triplets.

Wait a minutes, who are you sir? You look like the Hollywood triplets? Good lord, ANOTHER ONE OF YOU? Are you brothers? This lad is on "October Road" which I sometimes keep on in the background while I crochet yet another afghan, after I get over my hangover while wearing my leggings and blouse. Another tangent, I apologize. This man, oddly enough, was on an episode of Las Vegas (with Josh) and graced "7th Heavan" with Barry. This is getting weird. You're pretty adorable, Geoff Stultz. *Upon further research I find Geoff Stultz has a twin brother...George. George doesn't look like Geoff but, like most of this list, was on fucking "7th Heavan." Goddamn that show

*Upon further research, I'm going to hell.

Love and look-alikes in 2008,

~The Lady~
(Imagine a picture of a woman who looks like the above men)

Condemn'd To Have An Itching Palm

"Thou art a votary to fond desire."

The Two Gentlemen of Verona (I, i, 52)

I'm back! Its been a little while but boy-oh-boy have I been brewing with thoughts and ramblings that must get blurted on my lovely blog spot. So, here we go!

"Post-Surgery-Rambling of Things I Thought Whilst on Drugs"

While I was laid up (lay? lie? lied? flayed? the world may never know) in the hospital bedroom I delighted in many thoughts. Mostly, I pondered "gee, I need more drugs," and "this remote control bed, while in theory delightful, never goes in the right position for optimum comfort."

Television: I watched a lot of television during my one night stand with the hospital. I enjoyed some "Do You Know Lyrics" game-show that Wayne Brady is hosting these days. Oh, how the melodious voice of an African American man can soothe my wounds. I also caught up on my celebrity gossip. If it weren't for the discomfort I was feeling this would have felt more like a vacation than anything else. Sadly, this was no trip to the Holiday Inn.

Nurses: The nurses at the hospital I visited were delightful. They were really nice and, every 4 hours, when I buzzed them for more pain killers, they were at my side quickly. They always asked me "On a scale of 1-10 how bad is the pain" which was kind of annoying. I never wanted to say 10 and sound like a drama queen. 5-6 made me sound like a big fat baby. I can see them mocking me in their minds if I had said "5".

"Really, your pain is at a five but you need pain killers? Who are you, Rush Limbaugh?"

Saying my pain was at 8-9 made me sound like I had planned my answer (although, I had by the 4th and 5th round of druggies). So I would always go with a solid 7. One nurse decided to ask me from 1-5 and I had to stutter a "3" after much mental deliberation.

Boy Surgeons vs. Female Surgeons: While both were nice, lifting my shirt for one was more so comfortable than the other. Hospital robes, once lifted, are quick to reveal it all and modesty is thrown out the proverbial window Had it not been for those sweet, very sweet, pain killers I may have cared more about being partially nude for the good-looking surgeon boy. Yes, ladies, he was a hot blonde, 6'2, dreamy blue eyed, surgeon. He had to check on me-wounds before I could be released and the thought of my own bed, self-administration of pain killers, and clothes had me lifting my robes rather quickly. I damn near yanked the I.V out myself.

IVs and Drugs: I imagine being under anesthesia is what a coma feels like...or death...I'm not certain *yet. You go to sleep, have no clue what is being done to you, and when you wake up things have changed and gall-bladders are removed. The last thing I remember was seeing those operating room lights (like on Grey's Anatomy/ER) and thinking "Oh, shit." Then a woman put the oxygen mask thingy on my face and said "take a deep breath." Apparently, my deep breath wasn't good enough and I remember her saying "take a bigger one than that." I don't remember anything that followed. I woke up and mumbled something about my Mom wanting to stay in my room over night. Clearly, the drugs were still working. A kind orderly brought me back to my room and I, once again, asked for my parents. How weird is it that one minute you are a functioning human-being, and the next minute people are messing with your insides and you have no clue. Sounds like a kegger gone wrong (or right depending on your nature).

I also don't understand how celebrities and rich peasants use Oxycontin (my drug of choice this week) and other prescription pain killers for anything but pain killing. The Drug Library explains Oxycontin as follows: "OxyContin® is the brand name of a time-release formula of the analgesic chemical oxycodone. OxyContin®, which is produced by the pharmaceutical company Purdue Pharma, is prescribed as a pain medication. Instances of abuse of this drug have increased in recent years. Street terms for OxyContin: Hillbilly heroin, Oxy, Oxycotton"

Here is what I think of Hillbilly heroin....imagine your most emotional night of drinking. Take that night, add more confusion with a slice of dizziness and you have what Oxycontin does to you. I felt fine but, in retrospect, I was talking crazy and barely knew my own name. A couple days out of the hospital, and feeling a lot better, I took one for my pain on a whim because I, uh, couldn't find my Motrin. Uh, my pain was at a 7 and....listen, don't judge I NEEDED IT I TELL YA'!

Anyhow, I took it without eating any food (ala my idol, Lindsay Lohan). I ended up baking two chocolate cakes (?), watching 3 hours of VH1 countdowns (?), and lying (laying, lie, lied, lid oh F**** it) under the Christmas tree for 20 minutes as the world spun. I felt hungover and nauseous so I ate most of those two cakes and enjoyed the lights of the Christmas tree.

Hospital food: Tastes amazing when you're on Oxycontin. I distinctly proclaimed that my JELLO was "the best tasting JELLO of all time." In contrast, I called the soup "piss" and dribbled it on my robe in protest. Thank you, Oxycontin. I only hope the hot surgeon noticed my piss-soup-dribble stain...along with my private bits.

In conclusion, the hospital can be fun if you like mentally being on another planet but thinking you're completely sober. It can also be fun if you like eating piss and watching as your mother eats delicious macaroni and cheese (which is your favorite food ever) and can't give you any for fear you might, I don't know, implode. How evil is that? That act, to me, is close to Chinese water torture or something of the like. Spoken like a true fat kid. Oh and one more thing...

Itchy Wounds: Some wise asshole once said "if your scars itch it means they're healing." Well, I think that is just a justification for the fact that your wounds are itchy for no reason. Its like when people say "It is good luck when a bird poops on your head." No, it is not. In fact, that is just gross and the only reason you say claim it as good luck is so the person feels better about having shit on their head. I digress, the itchy wounds are awkward and I wish the itch would stop. Haven't I had enough? I wonder if there is Oxycontin for itchiness?

Stay healthy! Happy holidays bitches and ho-ho-hos!

~The Lady~

UPDATE

By saying "Marie will win" over and over the gods smiled on my plight and Marie, sadly, left early on in the finale. Then, shock of all shocks, Helio (my love) won!!! Yay for the little Brazilian and his cute partner!

What reality show shall I cling to next? When does American Idol start? My life is just THAT interesting.

~The (brief) Lady~

All That Glisters is Not Gold

"More matter with less art." -Hamlet

This has been the first season I have ever watched the show Dancing with the Stars. I've fallen in love with the Salsa, the Merengue, and the tricky Cha-Cha. More importantly, I've fallen for the personalities that have danced their way into my heart. I learned, through out the season, not to latch on to any celeb couples because they, ultimately, got the boot. I further realized that the American audience, or atleast a large majority of the American audience, is the worst dance judges God ever created. That is why on this the night of finals, I will bet lots and lots of money on Marie Osmond because the American audience is a bunch of morons.

In the past 11 weeks, she passed out, she got back on the horse, she did well for her age, and she lost her father and some unwanted pounds. I feel for her and I know shes America's sweetheart but, COME ON PEOPLE. There have been much better dancers on this show that have gotten the boot. Marie Osmond has one thing going for her...her last name.

People LOVE the Osmonds. The Osmond clan, in itself, makes up half the country. With that, I believe the shear size of her family has tipped the scale and furthered her presence on Dancing with the Stars. It's unfair I tell you. Even the judges, on last night's show, tried to say in a nice way "you're an entertainer but not a dancer." Get the hint Marie!

Since Sabrina and Mark (the best team on that show) got kicked off (way before their prime), because the American public wasn't voting, I learned my lesson. Don't even get me started on my in-home temper-tantrum, the things I threw, and the people I killed the night they were voted off the show.

Last night I voted 11 times for Helio and Julianne. I think he's precious and has really grown (I know because I've been watching since the beginning). If his partner weren't so damn cute and friendly, Julianne would be the girl you hated in high school based purely on her good looks. If ever I could say "I want to look like someone" I'd pick her. No offense Marie, but this tag team is more energetic, more technically sound, and has done better than you along the way. It doesn't matter, you're going to win.

Mel B and Maks are awesome to watch. She is a great dancer and has learned well from Maks. They're also very funny together and have the showmanship that the judges have loved. The scary in "Scary spice" will most likely come out tonight because, I have no doubt in my mind, Marie Osmond is going to beat both Helio and Mel B. Why? Because she's mormon.

That was a strong statement to make. I apologize. She's going to win because she makes dolls. Yes, thats right. Marie mentioned a couple of times last night that she has doll-making friends who are voting for her. She also dressed like a doll (an image too frightnening for me to put on this blog) and mentioned she was the 3rd highest selling doll-maker in the world. Maybe, just maybe, you should stick to dolls Marie. It doesn't matter though because you're going to win. I've seen QVC, I know the strange people out there who sit by their telephones dialing in for your dolls and now for you to win this competition.

She seems like a nice person, a friendly lady, a great mom, and a funny woman. Does that mean the American public should vote for her because of these attributes? No. Will they? Yes.

With that, I'm moving to Russia. I assume a Russian competition would end in bloodshed if someone who didn't deserve a trophy won. In America, we believe that the underdog should win. We love Rocky, we love rooting for Philadelphia teams (regardless of the let-downs), and we root for whoever had the toughest breaks. For Dancing with the Stars, the doll-lady has it.

Proud to be an American (or, am I?)

~The Lady~

A Lean and Hungry Look

"O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick.
Thus with a kiss I die."
-Romeo and Juliet (V, iii, 119-120)



In a couple of weeks I will be saying farewell to my gall-bladder. Not many people even think about their gallbladder. I've had issues with mine since I was 7. We've had a tumultuous relationship one in which I'll never be able to truly forget. After 22 years of pain, ignoring the signs, and then more pain, I will have to go under the knife (very soon) to remove a part of me that doesn't function well (no, not my brain...smart-asses). Although I am fearful of this whole "surgery" thing I will pretend I'm perfectly fine with a nice love-note to my gall-bladder. I would like to give my gall-bladder a proper goodbye. So, in this lovely-ladies' blog, I will send a fond farewell to my bile-storing gall-bladder.

Adieu, Sweet-Fellow,
You lousy good for nothing gall-bladder. You've given me trouble since I was seven. You pooped out far before your prime. Yet, something makes me think you and I never had a chance. We never quite clicked. I, with my absolute love of cheese, and you with you inability to process it. How could we ever commit to one another when you just wanted to cause me pain? At a young age, I learned what "pain killers" were and boy did I want to kill the pain in which you caused me. We fought and fought and when you disappeared I was glad you left. I didn't mind when you stopped bothering me with your spasms. I could feel normal again without you getting in the way. I could eat cheese and all sorts of caloric delights, and did for many years, forgetting you were ever once a problem. Then, after a night of Chinese food, you called me up again.

You were there, again, in my life and causing trouble. Why couldn't you even try? Why couldn't we make it work? Maybe, I am partly to blame. I should have put more effort into the relationship. I should have tried as well. I shouldn't have ignored you so much. But, you, you didn't even give me a chance. You came back to hurt me once more and you're making up for the years you were silent.

Now its time to remove you forever. You have made your presence known and in a big way. You've kept me up at night, agonizing, and in tears. Why couldn't you just leave me alone? I will be free of you in a couple of weeks, but just to make sure you don't bother me until then I'm locking my doors and turning off the cellphone. No more fatty foods until you're gone. It's all fiber and veggies to make sure you stay at rest. You can get so violent sometimes and that is why its time to say goodbye. Now, you've left me hungry and hoping not to make you stir.

When the day comes, I hope you don't resist. Take it like a man...or, uh, a gall-bladder and just let go of me gracefully. Thank you for those days in which we got along. Thanks for hanging out with my liver (even when the liver was in party-mode).

Goodbye, gall-bladder.

~The Lady~

The Worth and Dignity of Man

"O, what men dare do! What men may do! What men dailydo, not knowing what they do!"Much Ado About Nothing (IV, i, 19-21)

A few years ago I went as a gypsy woman for Halloween. I was a standard gypsy; long skirt, scarf, tarot cards aka the basics. Lately, I've been using the term gypsy in a different way. They are no longer strange old ladies with curses lightly flittering off their lips who smell of incense and oregano but, a completely new breed of gyspy whom I have been attacked by (more than once) in the mall.

I went to the mall as a sanctuary away from doing homework and chores and, somehow, it became more of a chore than I had assumed. It was a trip to get more professional clothing and to get away from the mundane for a little while. Instead of being attacked by annoying highschoolers I was in for an entirely new form of nuisance; the gypsy-man.

He seemed nice but I knew his tricks...he wanted to sell me a manicure set. Recently, I decided to go faux-naturale with acrylic nails. I pay a Vietnamese lady to paint and fix them up every two weeks. With that, I didn't need some strange gypsy-man telling me how to buff my fake nails. Yet, it was late at night and, as me and my beau were leaving for home, the gypsy man snagged me. Literally, he grabbed me by the arm and made me listen to his 10 minute speech about how my face was dirty and that I needed his facial peel. Then he rubbed it on my arm repeating how he couldnt put it on my face in the middle of the mall. Meanwhile, the beau was seething with anger and frustration over gypsy-man's hostage takeover of, well, me. As he's rubbing my arm with his gypsy-peel I'm begining to fall for the bullshit.

"My face IS dirty," "this stuff IS all natural," and "I could use my 'only for emergency charge card,'" were all thoughts I had while the gypsy man smooth-talked and rubbed his way into my purse.

Then, the rubbing stopped. I felt the remnants of my under arm and it was as smooth as the gypsy-man's words. We compared the left arm to the newly buffed right arm. My normally pale skin was abnormally translucent on the arm he had scrubbed so dilligently. But, damn, it was soft like cotton. Then, he whipped out the price. A 12-month supply for 79.99.

"Yeah, we were on our way out and I have no money," I said to the gyspy-man as I turned to the lover who rolled his eyes and took my arm back.
"Did I tell you we are having very special discount today," he asked pulling out his visual aid...a magical calculator.

I kept protesting and he kept calculating a lower price but, never low enough. Then he said it...a number I could almost handle.

"29.99, pinky swear you won't tell anyone. I give this price to my family."

Visions of my American Express danced in my head. I could handle 30 bucks, right? I mean, it was a 12 month deal! I would have the most see-through skin of all the girls in the land!

My dreams were crushed as my boyfriend swiftly dismissed this STEAL of a price, told the gypsy man he was "very good at his job" and grabbed me as he said "we just have no money, sir."

On the way out of the mall I was glad I had someone to stop me from falling for the gypsy-man's spell. My boyfriend said I was better off since my underarm looked "unhealthy." And, that could've been my face!

The next day I ended up back at the mall, near my gypsy friend who I cleverly avoided; or so I thought. A couple kiasks down a new gypsy man with bangs that stood straight up wanted to sell me a straightener. I yelled "No thank you!" as I ran past him and smiled at my new found gypsy-confidence. I can beat their spells and potions! I dont need a clean face or straight hair!

Then a couple more kiasks down and a modern gypsy-woman asked me "Excuse me, do you keep your nails natural," I raised my very long and very fake nails in the air and screamed "Nope, not at all."

I ran away from the mall that day with a newly found confidence and the evil eye spell lurking over my head (thanks to three angry gypsies). I don't go to the mall anymore because it has become more trouble than its worth. Thanks to internet shopping and holy water I am a much happier, less cursed, gypsy-free woman.


~The Lady~