Don't Tell Me

Campbell waits patiently in the makeup chair before going on air

Please, please, please tell me Campbell Brown is not loved by millions of Americans. Bitch gets paid God knows how much, yet looks mortally embarrassed every morning by Al, Matt, Ann, or bumbling David Gregory. Nor can smarty ever read the damn teleprompter or quit complaining about the weather or bad writing. Heavy on the eye rolling and "I'm so much better than you" sidelong glances, why doesn't some nice producer--or better yet, someone who actually likes her and gives a fig--pull her aside and remind her she's on national tv? Maybe having all that good hate-fucking tension between hosts is good for ratings.

"I'm waiting for you, Matt..."

Pump Up the Jam

The Turbo Jam! I have got to know if this workout is as amazing as everyone said on the infomercial. I watched the ENTIRE thing and was completely sucked in. Who watches the whole thing? Someone who is fat and bored.

Once them tapes come, my life's gonna change...

Take This Job And...

Time for Timer indeed!

Big news on Thursday--Khan has resigned! However, the reign of terror will be continued by COO, pictured above (if I had better skills, would add brown bob under top hat). Am eagerly looking forward to see what new rules giant bigmouth COO will enact.

So all of this has me thinking of other careers again.

Drug Dealer: Since I found electronic scales at work, feel better equipped for this position. Must be willing to face jail time, balloons of drugs up the hoo-ho, unethical partners (isn't this every fucking job?), and violence. Good math skills, poker face, and pain resistance a plus.

Clown: Natural love for makeup and hatred for children make me well-suited for this one. Long hours, smelly circuses, and everyday enthusiasm=no good. Little cash but much travel could be bonus. Easy access to elephant ears, cotton candy, and beer.

Rapper: Love of money, rhymes, and baggy clothes bode well for this one. Knowledge of firearms, street slang, and culture make for good continuing education endeavors. Perks include access to drugs and drinking--with no penalty for on-the-job use! No advanced degree required, must have good accountant to avoid purchasing excessive bling and pimp cups.

Am spending next week on resume and pursuing alternate careers...and maybe hitting Club Boss for inspiration on how to hit it big. Missy Elliott lives in VA Beach--holla!

Worst Day EVER

Yesterday I....

1. Realized car had been broken into and no more cell phone, wallet, or ipod for me
2. Was turned down for big grant application, likely leading to my getting canned in the near future
3. Had to endure sexist comments from most revolting board member ever as he sat in my office leering at me with teeth worse than Austin Powers and the same drool as the alien from "Alien"
4. Suffered through another meeting with the bitch committee (in a palatial and recently re-decorated estate inhabitated by 34-year-olds Christ what am I doing with my life) where I was called out for dicking around and not doing any work on upcoming special event
5. Endured serious intervention from parents on debt, my issues, living like an immature sixteen-year-old, and shirking responsibilities and am now considering living with my fucking grandmother--in MECHANICSVILLE-- for a year to save $$

Life is grand!

Oh Brit...

Sean Preston and friends watch Mommy's interview

STILL vomiting from interview with Matt Lauer last week...why did we need to see this TWICE, anyway?

In Brit's defense, I'm going to have to assume that she fired all stylists, publicists, assistants, and probably even her mother before the interview. When supporting K-Fed, she needs all the scratch she can get, yo. Kohl's was obviously having a kick-ass sale and she loaded up on the denim minis and Rocket Dog stacked flip flops. But she's just a sweet, innocent, country girl y'all! Her tastes are simple...she don't need no Goochie or Vursase or Prayda--no siree! Give the girl the Jaclyn Smith collection from Kmart or the Metro 7 from Wal-Mart and she knows just how to work it.

My Boyfriend's Back

Who needs summer blockbusters? Who'll miss The Sopranos? Not me!

X to the z can pimp my lemon of a ride any time. New season of PMR--b/c I am definitely a 20 year-old boy on the inside.

No pics no posts

Blogger.com having tech difficulty--will post later!!

An Unfashionable Life

"Don't forget to accessorize"

It began in nursery school with tennis shoes covered in fruit that all the other tots had but yours truly couldn't beg from Stride Rite since the dogs were growing so fast no little canvas shoes could possible contain them. Then, on to second grade when I couldn't find one whale turtleneck to be had and was still stuck in Swiss Miss braids when the other chicks had progressed to ponytails with grosgrain ribbon bows. Not to mention picking up layaway at Marshalls, for Christ's sake (about 1.5 million pairs of corduroy pants with white piping down the side--thanks Mom).

Approximately 1000000000000 fashion mishaps and day-late dollar-short ensembles that are hopelessly out of style by the time I pull them over my fat ass, I'm now an adult crying because I can't dress like Carrie Bradshaw (see--already passe) or the girls from the OC.

Patricia Fields would likely approve of this now

Personal style should have been cultivated by now, but, alas, it isn't. Today drove the point home further when I looked down at my outfit at work and realized there was no way in hell I was running any errands at lunch because it was horrifying. See-through Hecht's pants with a flat-front way-too-tight elastic waist (elastic in the back, natch) THAT WERE MY MOTHER'S , too-tight black sweater, old-lady black shoes, and some horrific earrings that hadn't seen their way out of the jewelry box since 1999. What happened? I thought. Did I get dressed in the dark? Was I awake when I got dressed? This phenomena has been happening more frequently--am I mentally ill? Or do I just have terribly bourgeois taste?

Wait a minute...there's no Dress Barn Woman out here!

I have become a walking advertisement for Mom Jeans and/or a Kathy Bates understudy for the local production of Fried Green Tomatoes. At times like this, I can only thank the Lord that my coworkers dress worse than I do and that I don't live in NYC.

Once You Go Greek....

It's here! The best Richmond event of the year, seriously. Yes, the parking sucks, but the people-watching and the food are unparalleled.

http://www.greekfestival.com/

"Run, don't walk! We don't even have lamb this good in Mypos!"