A Stop of Wine, Mistress Maria

"Dost thou think because thou art virtuous

there shall be no more cakes and ale?"

-Sir Toby, "Twelfth Night"

Lately, there is nothing in this world I love more than my boyfriend. I mean, I've loved him since the day he stalked me on campus but, recently he has become someone that I love more than anything. After the many internal understanding that he might read this blog and, subsequently, he would learn of my love of the many celebrities I call boyfriends #2-#30, he read this very blog. Although I try not to disclose too much about myself on this, I will say that my boyfriend laughed at my posts. It was more rewarding than a paycheck on payday. Its one thing to have one or two avid readers but to have someone who knows you better than anyone else laugh outloud at your writing feels nice. It feels just as nice as birthday cake and a glass of wine.

Recently, a good friend of mine celebrated her birthday. As I have become a big fan of cake, and it was a birthday, I decided to pick one up for the lovely 20 year old. As the party of friends drank and was merry, we decided to cut the cake. Someone decided the cake slices would be as big as our faces and, thusly, we all got diabetes that night. The cake might have been delicious but, our plates were piled high with large slices and the sugar comas were abundant. As I washed it down with a fresh glass of Franzia's Sunset Blush,I realized how much I love wine, cake and my boyfriend.

My father called me a wino. In my defense, my father joined a wine of the month club for two months. It was the most wonderful months of my life. As we ripped through the packaging of our fresh box of 12 different wines I exclaimed, "Father, this is the best decision you have ever made." Second only to having (and keeping) me as a daughter, the wine-of-the-month was a fabulous idea for my Dad to come up with on his own. Each month, we recieved all types of delicious wines from all over the world. Shiraz from Australia, Cabernet from Italy, and Pinot from California delighted me every time we opened up the monthly box. Then, my mother found out about how much the wine of the month was costing and cut short our wine-loving livelihood.

The boxes stopped arriving at our doorstep. A 21-year-old didn't have to be present to sign for that precious box. The clouds loomed and God stopped smiling in the days to follow. Since then, Papa has hoarded every remaining wine from his club. Each time I secretly steal or open one he catches me, calls me a wino and reminds me that hes running low. I still steal them because--as he informed me--I'm a wino. I don't discriminate either. Boxed wine is the gift that keeps on giving. Whoever thought that 1 bottle of wine couldn't beat 5 liters is someone I must thank profusely. The boxed wine creators got me through my junior year of college. The boxed wine creators also created a reasonably priced way to pretend I was elegant whilst getting shitfaced. I'll pretty much drink cooking wine if it hits the spot. Next up, pure vinegar. And, with all that classiness bottled into one lady, my boyfriend still loves me for who I am.

Its also my boyfriend's fault that I've become obsessed with cake. His family has the most delicious cakes at his house all the time. I was never a true lover of cake until his birthday in which I ate my own slice and then asked the fattest question of his brother, "Are you going to finish that?" The lovely boyfriend and I also watched a cake contest on the Food Network for an entire afternoon (be jealous of our invigorating lifestyle) and it made me want to eat every cake that was ever made. There are so many sweet adittions to my life since I've met him and different cakes, and my new appreciation for cake has just been the sweet icing to our love. Also, we play Mario Party together and this pictures is the best cake for a couple with such nerdy inclinations.

To sum it all together. My boyfriend is a wonderful person who loves me for everything I am and every weird nuance I have.

All we need is love, let us drink and be merry, and let them eat cake!

~The Lady~

(this is a cake topper...that I love)

The Whirligig of Time

" 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad." But do you remember?"Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you smilenot, he's gagg'd." - Twelfth Night

It started with "Drive Me Crazy" starring Melissa Joan Hart (of "Clarissa Explains it All" and "Sabrina" fame) and Adrien Grenier (my boyfriend).

The whirligig of time has flipped me from being too busy to sleep, to too busy not to sleep in. Since I have had more time to myself I've taken to watching everything On-Demand and there are ALOT of choices for me. Although some of my choices have been crap-tastic, they have really done the trick at making my mind escape life's duldrums.

"Drive Me Crazy" is a pretty terrible movie from the late 90s. Although the plot, characters, and general acting is terrible there is one sexy man (who now works on some small HBO show Entorage). Adrien Grenier stars as the sexy "weird" lead male who Melissa Joan Hart turns cool. I love ever sexy second of his sexy performance. With that, I watched it twice in the matter of a week. Don't judge me for this, just watch as his sexy curly locks dangle sexily across his sexy forehead near his sexy blue eyes that look at me, I mean Melissa Joan Hart, in a sexy way...sex.

Then it happened that "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitters Dead" was on Showtime. I got lost in nostalgia as this was a film that I used to watch with my brother when I was 7. I also thought the clothes in it were so "radical." In retrospect, what a fashion disaster the early-90s were. What a great movie. Christina Applegate, who I still think is pretty funny, is a lot younger. Also, the pot-head brother, terribly bitchy receptionist, and ridiculous plot still resignate as an awesome early 90s flick. Also, a young pre-X Files David Duchovony was the villanious sleeze-ball. If you're my age, I suggest watching this film to

The movie fun didn't stop there! I searched "Romance" and found a James McAvoy flick called "Starter for 10." What a delightful British romp. James McAvoy proves to me, time and time again, that he is a dynamic actor...and is my other boyfriend (sorry, Adrien). He can be funny and then cry in the matter of seconds. In fact, he cries ALOT. He cries more than me and I was once called a "Weeping Willow Tree" by a close friend. Anyway, if McAvoy and I married it would be tears all the time. He made me cry with his performance in "Becoming Jane." He cried, I cried, there was a flood. In "Starter for 10" his comedic timing and acting is superb. Plus, there is something so sweet about his face that endears me to all his performances. The film was decent but without McAvoy it would be nothing. He holds it up with his comedy and dramatics. There are some other key characters, a pretty interesting story-line, and romance & laughter. Yay for random British flicks and thank you On-Demand for letting me indulge my chick-flick-ness.

On the James McAvoy kick, I forced my parents to let me buy pay-per-view "Atonement." I'm still mulling over that film. Although it can compare to the caliber of "Drive Me Crazy" it was quite a beautifully done movie. Its one of those films that long after I am still thinking about it. Once again, McAvoy rocks my world as an actor. Keira Knightley proved herself as more dynamic than just the Pirates series. I knew, as we were hitting the "BUY" button that this was going to be one of those epic films where it takes twenty minutes to move from one scene to the next. I was correct in my assumptions. If you subtracted most of the beautifully cinematic moments the movie probably could have been done in 40 minutes. I assume it wouldn't be as good if I directed it. "Atonement" made me want to read the book and, at the same time, avoid the book entirely. If you've seen the movie you might know what I'm talking about. I don't like being a spoiler so I am going to change the topic now.

Let me put it out there:
Mr. Tumus, from "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe" although part man, and part donkey, is sexy. Anyone else? Anyone? No? I'm all alone on this one. Ok, well, leave Tumnus to me. Also, I'm excited for "Prince Caspian" but pretty sure Tumnus is dead (because the series fast-fowards 3000 years or something). Maybe McAvoy is too busy these days for the kids and the wardrobe. Too busy....in my bed!

I'm going to leave you now as this has turned into one big sexual innuendo.

To film-viewing and having as many boyfriends as I can find On-Demand!

~The Lady~

Must Be to Loathe Her

"She's gone. I am abus'd, and my relief
Must be to loathe her." -Othello


I was trying to sort out what to write here whence I came across this quote and was reminded of something in which I can't stand. It, in itself, is one of the most loathesome of things on this planet. I cannot go another second without venting about this, the worst of all imaginable imaginables....annoying females. They are not ladies, they are not women, they are The Annoying Females.

Now, there are a number of categories of The Annoying Female in which I loathe (much like Othello). With that, this will be one of those posts in which I list and label. It just needs to be done so we can spread my cause and bring awareness to all.


The Annoying Female Skirt-Liftin'-Ho:
I'm fed up with girls who flirt for no reason, with anything or anyone. They are the biggest attention whores (and I dont say either of those words lightly). They feed on the attention of males and, if they are males with girlfriends, the Skirt-Liftin'-Ho feels more in the need to seek the male's attention. You can usually hear these annoying females saying something like:
"Oh, (insert name of someone elses' boyfriend) did we just play footsey!"
Or, "(insert name of your boyfriend), you're just the sweetest. I wish I was as lucky as (insert your name here)!"
Or, while pouting, "I'm so lonely. Can I have a hug," which is obviously directed at someone elses' boyfriend.

At this point, the real girlfriend in the situation has flames coming out of every orifice as she suppresses the rage that comes with this interaction. Said girlfriend is also in a bit of pickle not wanting to comment to the boyfriend, who will think she is being mean to Skirt-Liftin'-Ho, irrational, and a bit overprotective. Here in lies the problem, men think we're crazy when we comment on these types of selfish bottom-feeders. The Skirt-Liftin'-Ho desires so much attention, so much love, and so much affection from other people's boyfriends that the boyfriends, in turn, feel sorry for them. Some guys are just nice, these men don't see the devious deceitful-ho-ness of these men stealers. Other guys, well they fall for the sluts and leave their significant others' and realize, only too late, they are with an Annoying Female only too late.


There are only so many things I would love to do to this type of female. When it comes to these females the only emotion I have for them is loathing; complete, utter, unrestrained and undeniable loathing.

The Annoying Soon-to-Be Mrs. Female

For most, I am happy to see someone has become engaged. Its nice to congratulate them and talk shop about the wedding to come. Then, there is the "Soon-to-be-Mrs-Female." Recently I encountered the most extreme of these females. She regaled me with the details of the wedding and repeatedly referred to her boyfriend, who was standing there at the time, as "my fiance." He no longer had a first name, he had become "my fiance" in all aspects of the phrase. This girl's hands were so tightly wrapped round' his balls that when he excused himself to go to the bathroom she had to accompany him. It wasn't just the fact that he was whipped, or that he had become "my fiance," it was mostly that she could not speak without mentioning her engagement. It went a bit like this;

Me: So, how's the new job?

Her: Well, since I've been engaged I swear the work has piled on.

Me: Really? How did the engagement affect that?

Her: Well, being engaged is just so tiring.

Me: I guess with all the plans...

Her: I don't plan on getting engaged everyday though do I (chortle-snicker).

Me: Is this conversation happening?

Her: Well, my fiance and I need to have a conversation about color palettes before this engagement moves any further.

Me: Maybe you should talk about your grip on his balls?

Her: My fiance and I are thinking of an engagement-engagement party for my fiance, my fiance, my fiance, blah, blah, blah-fiance-blah, blah, blah.

Me: Your ring is ugly.

The Annoying Disney Princess That Never Was Created

Oh, jeepers! Everything is just so sweet in this girl's world. Nothing ever goes wrong because she's a Disney Princess That Never Was Created. Gosh, she's so damn sweet I need a route-canal. Golly, she would never cuss because her mother once told her that girls who curse are crude (giggle) and no man would marry a potty-mouth! She cries when something merely pricks her finger and, Lord forbid it, if something doesn't go her way she is frantic. Its ok because there is always a nice warm male to cuddle. Oh, boy she likes to give guys hugs and tickle them playfully but nothing more! No, no, no silly billy! Shame on you for thinking dirty thoughts of this Disney Princess That Never Was Created. She is pure. Sure, she'll wear her dainty, almost invisible, skirt but its to look at and not to touch! No, no! Your grubby fingers aren't nearly worthy of this girl's poontang. She smells like cookies in the winter, ivory soap on a baby's ass, lemonade and sunshine all balled up in one lovely little package. She's off limits and waiting for prince charming with his big grin and promises to keep her in her ivory tower forever.

All I can say to the Disney Princess That Never Was Created is...uh...fuck you. You are no more precious than anyone else. Your purity shows an inability to get past a 5th grade mentality about sex. Your resolve to be so sweet shows a lack of self-esteem, personality, ability, and understanding of self. I loathe you because you think you are so much better than others. Stay in your ivory tower of delusions.


Ladies, the point is, keep it real. You don't need some form of teasing or a piece of jewelry to define you. Your skirt doesn't need to go up your ass crack to feel a sense of worth.


~The Lady~
(no picture necessary)

What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks

"All the infections that the sun sucks up

From bogs, fens, flats, on
Prosper fall, and make him

By inch-meal a disease!"- Caliban, The Tempest

<-- this is an ad for Sunless Tanner from Brussels. Get it, Snow-NOT-so-White!? I'd buy that product.

This is a story about my adventures in tanning salons. I ask that you do not judge me to unkindly. And, don't tell me all the harsh realities because, frankly, I don't want to know.

One dreary-gray afternoon, when the sun in Pennsylvania hung hidden under a smudge of dark clouds, I felt a bit down. Instead of blogging about life's problems I turned on Oprah. As you may know, I love me some Oprah Winfrey, so it was no uncommon that I was watching Oprah on this afternoon. That day a Gyno-guest-expert was discussing Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) which a lot of people in Eastern States acquire due to a lack of sunlight. SAD victims feel horribly depressed during the winter months when they recieve less Vitamin C (or D...or B...really I have no clue. This is the last I will pretend to be a scientist). That dribbly day, in front of my television, and with the eyes and ears of only my dogs to attest to this incident, I proclaimed "I MUST have SAD!" Torn , and feeling more depressed that I now had a true disability, I waited to hear how to solve my deeply troubling problem. The specialist on Oprah enlightened me that by sitting near a higher frequency lightbulb I, a SAD victim, would feel better about life.

"What the $%&^!?" I yelled at the television scorning both the expert and, my love, Oprah.

Frustrated, and wondering how much of an expert this lady was, I now felt more depressed. Where would I get a higher frequency lightbulb? How much of a tool would I look if I sat, at home, near a lamp for the suggested 20 minutes) sticking my head close to the rays of the lamp hoping, without hope left in me, that the lamp would make me feel happy.

I toiled with asking my father to buy an extreme lamp to leave in my bedroom. I would tell him it was for reading. Only true SAD victims, like myself, feel the need to cover up their disorder. Then it came to me.

"Ah-HA!" I yelled to no one except the dogs who, at this point, wanted me to shut the fuck up. I had realized, much like Edison himself, where the real lightbulbs were at; Tanning Salons. There, in the mother-ship of lightbulbs, the hub of Vitamin C (or D, who knows) I would get a proper, if not excessive, amount of lightbulbage (words made up in blog are based on personal preference and are not to be used in daily life).

Through the dreary day I drove like mad to the nearest Tanning Salon. Past grey buildings, mud-colored roads, and deep-depressing leaflesstrees I flew in my Volkswagon searching for a bit of sun in the middle of January. Finally, it blinded me. There it was glowing in the middle of the gloom beckoning me to its rays of joy and tan-acity.

The girls at the front desk greeted me and gave me a tour. Past stand-up beds, coffin-like beds, and sleep number (just kidding) beds I gazed admiringly. Which would I chose to help me beat my affliction with SAD? In the heat of the moment, I chose the stand-up tanning booth based on it looking less like a coffin and more like a box o' happiness.

The glowing beauties who ran the Tanning Salon offered me lotions showing me how wonderfully they had tanned them. I pushed past their keen salesmanship wanting only to get, as fast as possible, to my cure of SAD. I also avoided their lotions noting the front-desk ladies had streaky-chocolate faces. I didn't need a mocha tan, I didn't need my tan to endure, I didn't need to tingle whilst tanning, I didnt need any of the various products they tried to sell me; including nipple gaurds, nail gaurds, hair hiders, jock socks (weird, huh?) or anal gaurds. Not really the last one but, what if? Ew.I disregarded why all these "gaurds" might be warning me to stay away from the booth and, instead got inside and pressed "START."

For the next five minutes I listened to the music playing in the booth, held tightly to the rails for, as I was told, a more "even tan," and repeated with clenched teeth and eyes "I'm getting skin cancer, I'm getting skin cancer, I'm getting skin cancer...."

Something did happen that day. I didn't feel happier and I didn't feel less SAD or sad. All I felt that day, after my five minutes in the sunshine-happiness booth, was the deep burn that comes with staying out in the sun too long but, in places the sun hath never seen before.

Let it burn,

~The Lady~

Love Looks Not With The Eyes

On a very belated note, I would like to say that I adore Valentine's day. I made this comment this past Valentine's days and a student replied "I love, love." It was weird. Regardless of this weird little student, I love Valentine's day and I'm not backing down on this one.




I hear people say "Valentine's day was created by the card companies" and I cringe. Who cares why the holiday was created? Get over it. The holday has been around for a while and--for all you lovely gents' trying to use that excuse--the ladies love this holiday regardless of what they say. Yes, the cards and the hearts are corny but there is something special about the day that makes me love, love. Men, take your girlfriends or wives out to a cheesy movie, get them flowers and chocolates, and make sure they know you care. Ladies, give your husbands or boyfriends exactly what they want--a bj* and a beer.



Why can't we go back to middle school where you got to hand out those little Valentine's with Garfield smiling on the front (yeah, I'm that old) and a lollipop half-assed attached to it. Those days, I saved the special "hint" of a Valentine for the cute boy in the class. His Valentine was always the nicest, most obvious proclamation of love. If we kept up this practice, as adults, girls could give their respective crushes cards that read "I want to do YOU, XOXO" or "Can we have sex but take the relationship further after...PLEASE?" Or, maybe "I look hotter after 32 beers!"



Nevertheless, I think we should use this holiday as a day to tell everyone we love them. For example, this year I chose to tell my favorite local hobo that I love his dedication to harassing strangers for change. I told him I respected any man who could get strangers to give him money for booze. He smiled at me, his one tooth dangling menacingly, and asked me for a nickel. I gave him a dollar and a sweet "Happy Valentine's day," before he fell asleep on an empty 40oz.



I would also like to make a point that V-Day is not just for the "coupled." Single ladies, its a day to get together with your girlfriends, drink a cosmo, eat chocolates and bitch about catty-skanks and mean boys. Chat about your birth control pills, bras, and who looks like they've lost weight. Give each other flowers and celebrate the beauty that comes with being able to blame a whole week's worth of bitchiness on "PMS." Go to a bar, dance, get crazy drunk, and enjoy being unattached. One day, you'll think back to this crazy Valentine's night and smile.



Men, dudes, chicos, and all you single guys who are enjoying Valentine's Day alone, I say you go out and get laid. Find one of the above vulnerable ladies and give them a V-Day they'll never forget. Years later, when these women are pregnant and unhappily married they'll think about that one-night of bliss. You will all appreciate Valentine's Day more if you follow my lead.

I love, love and, although I have been a poor blogger these days, I love you all.

~The Love Lady~

*The lady apologizes for her crude mouth. She will wash it out later with soap and/or vodka.

A Plague On Both Your Houses

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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)