DREAM REFRESHING BEVERAGE
Coconut water is a dreamy beverage with the same properties of human plasma. “It’s a natural isotonic beverage, with the same level of electrolytic balance as we have in our blood. It’s the fluid of life, so to speak.” It saves lives in 3rd world countries and replenishes the body with magic-like properties. Refresh!
DREAM HAIR COLOR
I know that I just went brunette, but a girl can dream, right? I’m going to slowly work my way up to this Strawberry blonde/brown masterpiece. Bad idea? Hit me with thoughts, my little fashionistas. (please!)
As seen on Sea of Shoes.
They go on sale today. TODAY! The future is here and the soundtrack is NomotherfuckingDoubt.
I might actually buy these from this chick on Etsy. Maybe they will change my life. But probably not.
I want to roll around in Mother Earth’s vanity. In her pink compact full of powdery, sparkling sand. In her perfume bottle filled with salty sweet sea. I want to take naps in a hammock and swing from a rope like a spider monkey. I want to savor tropical delights and take sunshine and moonlight baths with pretty mermaids, my handsome man and seaside best friends.
DREAM = CLEAR, SPECTACLE-FREE EYES
If I recognized Lent, I would give up negativity. However, I’m not religious and don’t really like to give up things completely. So my tiny complaint of the day is that I constantly have red eyes and can only wear contacts for a few hours before I have to go back to glasses for weeks to get rid of the red. I’m so, so tired of going to the doctor. And I hate wearing glasses so much that I’d rather just stay in every night. Ok, I’m done.
Ok, starting now. Focus. Focus. POSITIVE.
“Sorry I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“That’s okay. Sometimes you have night panic attacks. And it really pisses my off.”
At least he’s honest. I spent the entire night watching infomercials and feeling sorry for myself. Which means the scripts that come out of today are going to look a lot like this:
Ladies and gentlemen, start your Tivos.
Truly, I do. But I just realized for the first time in my twenty-something years that punching yourself in the face is a near impossibility. Physically, it’s awkward to get a good wind-up for a square hit. And then ballsack-wise, I don’t have any. It’s like how you can’t sneeze with your eyes open. Or can you? I’ll have to try that one again.
I could use a good, hard MFing punch because I’m having a seriously retarded case of insomnia. As in, I will not sleep tonight. And I so desperately need and fucking deserve some sleep. I have been exhausted and jet-lagged out of my mind The. Entire. Day. And now the subway keeps rattling my brain, the dog is hot and spooning too hard, I’m hungry for one thousand snacks and I can’t stop buzzing about reasons my quality of life might possible blow. Plus I think I have restless ankle and wrist syndrome. Not the legs…just the rotators. HELP.
I’ve tried reading a cheesy vampire book, taking a melatonin, watching Battlestar Galactica, reading again, popping more melatonin, reading, crying, Internets and now blogging. It’s like Valley of the Trekkie Dolls and there are not enough pills or nerdy activities in the world to knock me out tonight. I hate me.
If insomnia manifested itself into an actual person, he would look like this:
He’s all “Having trouble sleeeeeeeeping? Oh, you are? Well, do you like my ouuuuuuuuutfit? You don’t? Tsk Tsk, assclown. The joke will be on you tomorrow when you have to go to your 12 hour job and try to be funny on NO SLEEP.” What a piece of shit.
Ok, off to try some bad TV and possibly just make some coffee and give into my stupid life.
I’m going to try, try, try to bless this weird blog with a new horrifically-designed Masthead every once in a while. Yes, it will probably always be pink because I suck and love pink.
Here’s the first go…
And it is guh-ross.
As seen on Ferocious G:
GET ME THERE!
Yes. Yes, I did.
I’ve waiting a long, long time. Oh, how I have waited. But it is finally here.
Now you can hark back to the permed days! Imagine you’re grounded from TV, so watching The Last Unicorn on your Beta machine for the 47th time isn’t an option, you’re all out of Ramona books and you’re little brother is straight buggin’ because the only word he knows how to say is “no”. So, you flip on the Commodore 64 and play a little Oregon Trail Game and start maxin’ like Michael Jackson. Until you die of dysentery, that is. But cheer up, Charles in Charge, cuz it’s Wiener Wrap Night and yo moms just bought a new can of Tang. *BURP*
Here’s how I did and be forewarned. I’m awesome.
Now if only I could ACTUALLY hit the trail to Oregon. That would be radical.
I guess actor Jeremy Sisto lives next door to us. Husband spotted him a couple of weeks ago and was all “That’s the crazy brother from Six Feet Under” and I was all “Dude, we need to work out a celeb signal or some shit. Get on my team, Coulter.”
The sighting was confirmed this weekend when we saw him. Up in his apartment packing a suitcase next to the open window. Nothing says stalker like actually looking into someone’s lit bedroom as they fold underwear for their travels.
Here he is playing the crazupid* annoying brother on Six Feet Under. ZOMG that show is #1. Netflix it. Now.
And of course we can’t forget his epic giant-cellphone-holding performance as Elton in Clueless (no, I did NOT have to Google the character’s name). Cause I’m rollin’ with the homies.
*crazupid: both crazy and stupid. I did have to google that one.
Last week on my way home from another late night at work, I was walking through The Vil and talking to Amanda on my celly. We were discussing her music and trying to concept words that would be used to describe her music for some promo items she’s putting together.
We were throwing words around like “ethereal”, “sweet but dark”, “cozy” and “fragile”.
I might as well have been saying “Seymour Hoffman, Seymour Hoffman, Seymour Hoffman” in the style of Beetlejuice because he suddenly appeared. Philip, that is. Not a dead-tranny version of Michael Keaton. He was eating a snack and talking fancy-film-talk in the window of the Hudson Diner. Being angsty in a crappy diner is SO him and I love it. I said “I’m staring at Philip Seymour Hoffman”. Staring is right.
It was fun to have a Best Coast buddy on the phone. It was like we both had a star sighting. I knew he lived close to me and was definitely on my list of top 10 famous peeps to see.
Here he is in my all-time favorite roll of his. Obvs, Brandt. Devoted asssitant to Mr. Lebowski. The millionaire.
Bunny Lebowski: I’ll suck your cock for a thousand dollars.
Brandt: Ah hahahahaha! Wonderful woman. We’re all, we’re all very fond of her. Very free-spirited.
Bunny Lebowski: Brandt can’t watch, though, or he has to pay a hundred.
Brandt: Ah haha. That’s marvelous.
The Dude: Uh, I’m just gonna go find a cash machine.
Feast your ears on my Philip Seymour Hoffman sighting soundtrack
while you’re at it. Ad friends, be the first to use one of her songs in a spot before she’s famous and too cool for school. Sounds like this:
(note: also my costume for dream burlesque comeback solo debuting in Spring of 2011)
Sorry Robin Williams, I prefer stirring my Dream Omelet with a unicorn horn.
Chef Cooks ‘Dream Omelet’ From Recipe That Came To Him In A Dream