SNACK

This just in! Josh Hartnett is being hospitalized for excruciating abdominal pain.

Hmmm…these symptoms sound familiar. Could it be that Josh Hartnett has the Crohn’s Disease like yours truly? I hope not, of course. But seriously, I’ve been waiting for someone of significant celebrity status to make Crohn’s the new Darfur. Hit me with a cool t-shirt at least! I mean, if Paris Hilton had it you KNOW they would have found a cure by now. Hot. Hurry, world!

Here’s a photo of Josh Hartnett possibly making a nasty disease look even nastier. In a good way.

Here’s hoping for more non-surgical solutions than what I had. It would be a shame to bust up that frontside. Ba-dow!*


*Meh, nevermind. I retract that Ba-dow. He’s not that cute. But speedy recovery!

Congratulations, me. I won this dress from eBay over the weekend. And by won, I mean that I have to pay for it.

It’s a vintage “child’s dress” but says it’s perfect for a small adult. Which is what I am. A slightly comically-undersized version of a grown-up. Hey kids! If you like grown-ups then you’re gonna love Lil Grown-Up! Available at a store near you.

Yet another 5 things that may cause my untimely death:

1. Rabid Central Park squirrel attack.
2. Hair color poisoning from constant re-defining of self.
3. Allergic reaction to cockroach feces.
4. DIY Coconut Water blood transfusion.
5. “Karoshi” (the japanese word for “death from overwork”)

A follow-up to this post and this post.

Another HIDEOUS masthead for your bloggy enjoyment. Still pink and still GUH-ROSS.

I adore Esquire’s “10 Things You Don’t Know About Women” written by she-celebs. Not sure if they’re still printing these, but here are a few of my faves featured in the magazine. Insert “I KNOW, RIGHT! You go girl.” and a limp arm high-five chick style.

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“I look like a fool in a dress if you’re in a T-shirt and jeans, but we look like a stylish couple if you add a blazer. Unrequired fanciness is the cutest thing ever.” -Mindy Kaling (writer + kelly kapoor on The Office)
because I love to dress up and like it when boys do, too.

“The best parts of your body don’t even know they are attractive. So don’t get too knocked out about your six-pack because it’s really your earlobes that make us hear the wokka wokka music.” -Ana Gasteyer
because of Husband’s olive, pheromone-drenched neck.

“Never ask a woman if she’s pregnant unless she’s in the hospital, feet in stirrups, pushing out a baby.” -Maya Rudolph
because this is the worst.

“If you’re funny, we will sleep with you.” -Julia Louis Dreyfus
because with the kind of girls I roll with, it works every time.

“It doesn’t matter how big the bauble, how fabu the restaurant — the time you spent on that pencil drawing of our eye or that haiku written on the vintage hotel stationery you found in Omaha is what truly steals our hearts.” -Sandra Oh
because of Husband’s handmade cards.

“Beware the vagina, because it can read minds. You should also listen very closely to the vagina. It is a storyteller and a dreamer of dreams.” -Maya Rudolph
because it’s funny cause it’s true.

“Girls like it when you nickname them something smaller than a bread box. Chickadee. Pat of Butter. Baby Mouse. This makes us feel tiny and adorable. Space Heater and Minivan do not.” -Mindy Kaling (writer + kelly kapoor on The Office)
because Husband sometimes calls me TicTac.

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Today is going to be in the sixties. I love the sixties! Bitchin’! Bright, sunny sun. Previously frigid new yorkers actually smiling. Smiling! I’m smiling, too. And in celebration of this day, I purchased myself a spring present on the Interwebs:

Sure to add a nautical spring to my springy step. Also and plus…I’m getting my hair did on Tuesday. Thinking about hitting up some highlights in honor of this sneak peek appearance of the sun. I love you, sun!

No, seriously, I love you.

if you like, zoom one here.

Plans are the best. And they’re even better when the plans are with three other girls. Whole real live actual girls! I can’t be completely sure, but I suspect there might be talking and laughing that might occur. And I know for sure there will be eating and drinking. We’re heading to Pure, a fancy pants raw food restaurant a la that scene in SATC where Samantha meets Smith. However, I’ll take meeting new friends over sexy up-and-coming male underwear models anytime.

Self Bunny Foo Foo:

Why wait 9 months to have a baby when you can have one in 9 seconds? No brainer! All you have to do is CLICK. So many new additions to The Coulter family to introduce you to. Time flies when you’re makin’ fake babies!

Meet our sweet Jyrus.

And our little troublemaker Ginger Cy.

And our “oops” baby, Bradley Coulter-Pitt. (Husband treats him like his own. SO SWEET!)

And our “oops I did it again” baby, Lil’ Chrissy Brown. A messy and often dangerous situation with a cute little outcome!

And, I hate to play favorites but sometimes you have to be honest with yourself. This little one is THE TWINKLE of my eye. Meet Jessie, Jr.

Finally, I can’t help but brag about my work partner’s latest addition Demonica. SO ADORABLE.

Note: The face of my jess on jess asexually reproduced sponge baby will haunt my dreams for the rest of my days. DON’T. SPONGE BABY.

“…and the walls became the world all around.”

There you are, childhood feeling!

Note to self: purchase Wolf Suit for potentch Halloween costume.

After 6-ish years of reading Dooce every morning, I get to sit down this morning and write a blog about how I met her. Um, awesome. Last night I met up with mamalikes at Barnes and Noble in Tribeca (she used to be one of my super duper superiors at an agency I worked at in PDX and is now my fave cross-country commiserator). She got there early and snagged us really good seats and a copy of the book for each of us. Over the Barnes and Noble intercom, an employee would chime in…”This evening we welcome Heather B. Armstrong to read from her new book ‘It Sucked and then I Cried”. I love when people who don’t normally say “sucked” say it because for some reason they really push it out extra hard and it sounds totally obscene. SUUUUCKED.

At 7pm the organizer announced Heather and she came out to the podium. The crowd was pretty giant and we all cheered timidly and then louder because, I mean, everyone there felt like high-class stalkers at this point. We’ve all known what this person has done every day for, well, years. I can’t say that about most of my friends and family.

It’s kind of gross.

When she greeted us she was a little shy and joking about her prom hair and red lipstick. One of the first things she said was “I’ve never done this before” which is refreshing to hear from any successful person at the peak of success. She read a couple pages on two subjects covered in her new book. SHE. WAS. HILARIOUS. Those of you seeing her in PDX or Seattle have lots of laughs and creepy staring to do. Enjoy yourself.

After she read and did a Q&A, they excused each row individually to go up and have her sign their book. I got a:

For Jess
Much love!
Heather B. Armstrong

Pretty good, pretty good. mamlikes and I each got a photo with her via mama’s iPhone (because I’m a douche and forgot my memory card. DON’T, SELF). My pic turned out pretty good. But her pic? I got nervous and failed miserably. It looks kind of like this:

Dear mama,

Please accept my heartfelt apology for buckling under dooce pressure. I tripped at the finish line. I’m a piece of buttered Douche Baguette, the original Douche Bigalow, my homies call me Doucheface Killah and if I was an animal I’d be a Douche-O-Potamus.

Soooo sorry.

Love,

Mrs. Snack

After our dooce lovefest we were hungry. VERY hungry. We both had a little of that familier low-blood-shoog crazy in the eye. Ahhh, I love hanging out with another girl who has the crazy in the eye, looks across the table and says “Fried?”

Yes, mama, I do fried.

We landed at a delicious spot for sushi in Tribeca. They had a Godfather BIG MAKI Roll with Fried Oyster and Gorgonzola that knocked my Lindsey Lohan stretch pants right off. Good book, good accomplice, good jokes, good food inserted in mouth. A tote perf Tues. Cue the BIG MAKI!

Well, my face is totally famous and everywhere. While working at That One Coffee Company, employees were asked to submit photos for a chance to be included on the new label for the “Create your own tumbler” travel cup. You know, the one where you can Mod Podge photos of your kids, cats or drunk fun-having friends to take to work with you as a remember of why you go to work in the first place. College/Fancy Feast/Grandpa’s cough medicine.

Anyhooters, I submitted a photo from my honeymoon and it made it in! In fact, on the cup I am the only non-child or non-animal present. I am the only example of an adult that the corporation (one of the biggest corporations!) was willing to print and put forth.

I am the face of corporations.

Ok, that’s overkill. But my face is repeated at least 30 times at every Starbucks store in the world. Sip on that, Paris Hilton. I bought one of the cups yesterday while ducking into the coffeehouse to use the bathroom. It went like this:

“Hey barista. Want to know what’s awesome? That’s me. On the cup.”

“Oh. 10 dollars.”

Ouch, barista. Here’s the label that is inside the cup:

Buy a “Create your own tumbler” travel cup and SUPPORT MY FACE*. And here’s the original photo (taken by world-renowned corporate photographer Cyrus T. Coulter):

*All proceeds actually go straight to That One Coffee Company. Them’s the breaks.

ToNIGHT as in THIS night I get to go see Heather B. Armstrong aka Dooce read from her book “It Sucked Then I Cried”. I’ve been reading her blog daily for many, many years and I am thrilled to be able to see the funny in action and just a few blocks from my apartment no less. AND it’s going to be a girl date and mutual Dooce lovefest with THIS
funny chick. Yeah, I pretty much can’t wait.

She’s reeeeeeal funny and always on lists like “top 20 most powerful blogs” ahead of TMZ and the likes. If you’re not a child-bearer, married person, dog-lover, ex-mormon or blogger and are curious as to why you would ever want to get into a mommy blog, here what she’s says in the “ABOUT THIS SITE” section:

“My name is Heather B. Armstrong. Some of you may remember me as Heather B. Hamilton. I am married to a charming geek named Jon. We live in Salt Lake City, Utah, with our five-year-old daughter, Leta Elise, our six-year-old SuperMutt, Chuck, and a one-year-old miniature Australian Shepherd, Coco. The chaos in our house is unreal.

I am a Stay at Home Mom (SAHM) or a Shit Ass Ho Motherfucker. I do both equally well.

In a previous life I was a web designer. I lived in Los Angeles, California, for several years where I worked for drug-addicted executives and discovered what life was like as a recovering Mormon. This means that life was filled with PowerPoint templates and lethal amounts of tequila. I dated several actors and met a handful of celebrities. Everything you’ve ever heard about Los Angeles is absolutely true, especially the parts about traffic and actors: they really are that bad.

I grew up in a small suburb of Memphis, Tennessee, and graduated valedictorian of Bartlett High School in 1993. The reason I am telling you about the valedictorian part is because being able to say, “I was the valedictorian” is the only privilege I ever got in life from achieving that goal. No one ever hired me because I was valedictorian. The lesson to be learned from this is: AIM LOW. Save yourself the time.

My parents raised me Mormon, and I grew up believing that the Mormon Church was true. In fact, I never had a cup of coffee until I was 23 years old. I had pre-marital sex for the first time at age 22, but BY GOD I waited an extra year for the coffee. There had better be a special place in heaven for me.

I attended BYU from 1993-1997 and graduated with a degree in English. I firmly believe that BYU is the most horrible place on Earth, worse even than Disneyland. The one skill I learned in college that serves me well now is not how to solve differential equations or how to write a paper deconstructing The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, it’s how to distrust organized religion. I am no longer a practicing Mormon or someone who believes that Rush Limbaugh speaks to God. My family is understandably disappointed.

I started this website in February 2001. A year later I was fired from my job for this website because I had written stories that included people in my workplace. My advice to you is BE YE NOT SO STUPID. Never write about work on the internet unless your boss knows and sanctions the fact that YOU ARE WRITING ABOUT WORK ON THE INTERNET. If you are the boss, however, you should be aware that when you order Prada online and then talk about it out loud that you are making it very hard for those around you to take you seriously.

This website chronicles my life from a time when I was single and making a lot of money as a web designer in Los Angeles, to when I was dating the man who would become my husband, to when I lost my job and lived life as an unemployed drunk, to when I married my husband and moved to Utah, to when I became pregnant, to when I threw up and became unbearably swollen during the pregnancy, to the birth, to the aftermath, to the postpartum depression that landed me in a mental hospital. I’m better now.

In October 2005 I began running enough ads on this website that my husband was able to quit his job and become a Stay at Home Father (SAHF) or a Shit Ass Ho Fuckingbadass. He takes both very seriously. This website now supports my family.

I love bourbon, chips and salsa, Britpop, and television that excels at being really awful.”

Dooce’s dogs on Halloween:

Al and I on Halloween. Tote by chance:

Go Netflix The Wackness. Do it. It’s a coming-of-age story about a teenage boy in 1994 NYC. Apart from one pretty bad-rogue performance by that one actress previously responsible for 50% of little Michelle Tanner, the movie is great. I mean dope. It’s dope!

“Know what your problem is, Shapiro? It’s that you just have this really shitty way of looking at things, ya know? I don’t have that problem. I just look at the dopeness. But you, it’s like you just look at the wackness, ya know?”

Last night, The Coulters had a very-New-York-City evening. Husband took me to see Late Show with David Letterman! We checked in at 4:30 to discover that we’d been picked to be one of 30 people who get to sit in the front two rows. We rolled VIP-style getting to wait inside the Ed Sullivan Theater where it was warm and got some special comedic treatment before seating us.

The warm-up comedian was funny and the band (with Paul Shaffer!) was cheesy and awesome. Finally, David Letterman came out and let the audience ask him a few questions before the taping commenced. Had Husband been chosen to ask a question he was going to ask:

“What do you think Chuck Norris is doing RIGHT NOW?”

Hilarity would have ensued. Instead someone asked him if he regretted getting out of the weather reporting business to which he laughed and said “yeah, I do.”

After the Q+A, the announcer (Alan Kalter! The original ginger child!) got to business and Letterman shot right into monologue-mode. He was standing RIGHT in front of us and made long meaningful comedic and newlywed eye contact with me several times. We totally bonded over our striking similarities. Also, the man is iconic and the man is funny. I love the blend of classic, almost outdated joke-telling mixed with more random current humor.

So, everyone totally thought we were there to tape last night’s show, but because of all the pesky basketball that’s on we were actually there to tape this Wednesday night’s show. Which is WAY better in regards to celebrity bang for no buck. And it’s sweeps week! Here’s who graced the stage:

Christina Applegate (OMFG, so pretty). This was the glam look she was basically sporting:

Also in the line-up was Jim Gaffigan (hilarious comedian) and musician Jesse Harris in a surprise duet with Norah Jones (I mean, I have her CD and stuff). Gaffigan Hot Pocket break:

Holy star power, Batgirl. We have never clapped to a beat and created canned-laughter so much in our lives! If you catch the show on Wednesday night, you will be able to see us sitting on the very end of the second row in an audience shot during the commercial break between Jim Gaffigan and Norah Jones. Right when they say “Jason Segel” who is the guest Thursday night. You might notice my tiny face light up next to the Jason Segel graphic. I mean, it’s the closest we’ve ever been together.

After the show we watched a few of the guests get into their prospective town cars. Husband iPhone stalkerazzi shot of Jim Gaffigan:

Don’t, shiny brown head. The we headed back to The Vil for some slices and beer at John’s on Bleeker. BEST. PIZZA. EVER.

While we were waiting for a booth, my Cy-Dar went off, looked over my shoulder and spotted this among the thousands of carvings on the restaurant walls:

Also, Husband’s name is Cyrus. There. I said it. After our bellies were full and we had pizza glow we went home, snuggled on the couch with Walter and watched a movie. A perfect case of the Mondays.

Last night I dreamt the most HILARIOUS premise for a comedy sketch ever created. I casted it in my head with well-known comedic celebrities and watched the whole thing play out. Danny DeVito, even! I laughed and laughed and laughed. The belly kind. Then I woke up and giggled to myself on the way to the bathroom. I went back to sleep and replayed it again. STILL HILARIOUS.

I woke up to go to work this morning and realized it’s not funny. At all.

This morning while I was walking to work a man looked right at me and a light bulb went off above his head. He had a brilliant idea he just HAD to share with someone and I was right there. He says, “That’s it! Oh m’god. THAT’S the cover of my album. (maniacal laghing) I finally figured it out.”

Then he walked off to presumably go finish his debut R&B album.

Sometimes right after construction workers have covered and filled a line of work their doing on a sidewalk, it creates a long black strip of shiny asphalt. That asphalt is the same shape as a carpet. A RED carpet. Sometimes I walk down it and pretend I’m going into a premier party for something amazing I did. Like the premier of THE MOST HILARIOUS SKETCH EVER CREATED.

Today, why not do your job a little different? Ok, off to go rap a Cheerios script to the client.

NAME! THAT! BRAND!
Watch the below viral and see if you can, well, you know. Name the brand.

Hint: YES, I love this brand. Especially their sauce (most of you know the answer by now). And, finally, YES, the canine comical relief toward the middle sealed the deal when it came to posting this for your viewing pleasure.

Click here and see if you have mad ad skillz.