Tales of a Woman Gone Rogue

During Thanksgiving, my father happily brought to my home his new book from Amazon.com. He got his new copy of Going Rogue, by Sarah Palin. His first mark in my home was throwing the book right onto my coffee table, on top of Stephen Colbert's book. I would remove the Sarah Palin-book, and it would find its way back onto my coffee table.

So, one morning, before my dad woke up, I decided to flip through it. Of course, the first 300 pages are incredibly insipid, with very boring details of her life, the history of Alaska, tales of Eiditarods gone bad, and so on. I skipped straight to the juicy Katie Couric-trashing. I was hoping for more claws, but, her ghostwriter kept it disappointingly tame. Though it was mildly entertaining, I quickly felt more contempt and anger. It is difficult for me to associate with her as a fellow-woman, because she fails to meet the standards that we uphold for ourselves. First of all, she cannot call herself a "career woman". She started as a sports anchor, and flirted her way to the governor's mansion in Alaska. She did not have a political background, and cannot utilize her mayorship of Wasilla as a stepping stone. Also, as a mother of five, with one child who has special needs, Sarah Palin could have shared her experiences to inspire other women with children.

It is a mystery why Americans revere her and even tout her as a possible GOP Presidential candidate. She deserted her post as Governor of Alaska after barely completing less than half a term. She exploited her own pregnant teenage daughter, to relate to the "real" Americans in the small towns and rural communities. She, now, is stretching her fifteen minutes of fame well past the time limit. My advice to her, is: now, stay home, be a mother, and provide your children the love and protection they deserve.

The Trials & Tribulations of the Rich, the Blond, and the Skinny

As we spent the Thanksgiving holiday gorging on the never-ending media buffet of Tiger Woods's motor vehicle accident, Black Friday, shopping, and White House party crashers, we must ask ourselves, "WTF?" I remember the headline of "Party Crashers at the State Dinner", trailing in a banner on every cable news channel. Multiple pundits, senior correspondents, anchors, and the like, offered insights and perspectives. Michaele and Tareq Salahi are now household names, spending time at the table on the lips of families during the holiday meal, garnishing their turkey or Tandoori chicken. Frankly, the endless montage of video clips featuring a rather skeletal, blonde lady adorned in a tradition Indian lenga being twirled around by a plump, older gentleman were becoming rather nauseating. Even Michaele Salahi's hairstylist milked her fifteen minutes of fame, discussing the entire process involved in the preparation for making an entrance at such a grand event. She detailed how long the hair took to be flat-ironed, as well as how she dressed in her Indian outfit at the salon. Although a detailed investigation of why the Secret Service failed to provide the appropriate barrier, where was the White House Social secretary, how did they get to shake President Obama's hand, etc., there is a basic breakdown. Obviously, the secret service agent's penis played an important role in who was able to enter the State Dinner without an invitation, and who wasn't. When a skinny, blonde chick flirts, manipulates, and persuades, the penis responds. However, if an Indian woman, like myself, dressed in my best sari, attempted such a feat, I would be in Guantanamo Bay, under investigation by the F.B.I, C.I.A., and Interpol (unfortunately, not the band). It never ceases to amaze me how quickly penises respond to blonde chicks, regardless of how high-pitched the voice may be, how demanding or needy, or even entitled. I would have thought that an overwhelming support for a President who is of different background from the moral majority would change these things. Yet, it's not ever really going to change. . .the skinny, blonde chick will always have power over the penis.

The First Day of the Rest of My Life

I recently began a new job in a different city. Before I started, I took one month off between jobs, to have time to move and get settled into my new home. It was almost like summer vacation, in October. The Sunday night before my first day, I had difficulty sleeping and I even coordinated my clothes and shoes for the next day. Of course, I wore a new outfit with matching boots. I also wore my lucky earrings, lucky necklace, and lucky eye makeup. I arrived promptly before 7:00 am, and of course, I had to wait by the door for twenty minutes until an employee arrived to let me in. My office currently is occupied by the previous resident, so I am sitting at a cubicle, in a painfully quiet portion of the area.

Although I am an adult with some work experience, I still felt as though I entered my first day of high school, where everyone seemed to know each other and I was the new kid, yearning for friends. Later in the morning, I did encounter a friend of mine who also relocated and was on her first day. It was like seeing that one friend from my old school who was also starting my new school. Fortunately, I had someone with whom I could eat lunch, and I wasn't struggling to find a table of seemingly friendly new acquaintances. All in all, I had a pleasant first day and did get to make some new friends. There is some validation that I am not a complete loser.

You're in America, Please Speak English

Public restrooms frighten me. Lord only knows what actually happens in there. I'm sure that someday, there will be a "Caught on Tape" involving lewd acts in these cesspools of filth. Even those spreadsheets that mark how often an employee assesses the level of grossness and do absolutely nothing about it. I will actually suck it up, and venture into one, especially if my bladder is on the verge of exploding within my abdominal cavity.

So today, I was in Target, and, of course, I was on the verge of having an accident. I was tempted by Starbucks, so I needed to empty the tank. I entered, and was greeted by the vision of a woman changing her baby's diaper. Now, I know that baby's diapers need changing every so often. However, they are actually human beings, and this woman was speaking in "goo goo ga ga" language to this infant. Now, on first glance, for that split second, I assumed the kid must be no more than five months old. Therefore, it is prudent to actually speak in a normal, human vernacular, and not this annoying jibberish. When you tell your infant, "No more stinkies in public" multiple times, with the goo's and ga's placed ever so stealthily. I am completely perturbed when parents talk to a baby in this "baby talk". They may smile back at you, but, don't worry, they are actually making fun. Babies need to hear actual words, with proper inflection, and vocal tone. But, when parents do this "boo boo boo" and crap, they are annoyed, as am I.

The Eye of the Beholder

Yesterday, I decided to wear a new dress, which was short, various shades of pink, and a wrap style. I even accessorized with simple jewelry and a pair of black pumps, to add some icing to this sexy look I was attempting It was comfortable and many of my friends complimented me at work and it did look nice. So, in the evening, I was walking to the gym from my parking space, and I happened to walk behind these two women. I would comfortably categorize these women as bimbos, as they wore the tight, revealing gym clothes, with faux booty and breasts bulging out of the synthetic material. Their highlighted hair extensions blew through the wind, and every guy who passed noticed. Literally, men would turn their heads to these two bimbos. I also happened to come across another woman, traveling solo, who had chosen limited attire to cover her various implants.

Honestly, I know that these women are not better looking than me. They are not even more desirable than me. However, what they have that I don't is a blatant neon billboard that says, "I will do you in an alley or public restroom now", "I will give you a blow job now", "You can do it to me in the anus", and/or "My friend can join us, and I will make out with her for your viewing pleasure." For some reason, men fantasize about these chicks, who are caricatures of what real women are, because they represent this wild, sexually free being who will perform on command, especially to make themselves seem desirable. However, these women cannot sustain a meaningful relationship, provide emotional support, be a partner with whom to enjoy life experiences, or raise a family. They can scream and shout in bed and seem really animalistic. But, it is women like me, who carry ourselves with dignity, self-respect, as well as sensuality. We, also, are very, very good at engaging in intimate relations--I can make a guy feel good while taking pleasure in what he has to offer me. In other words, I can totally screw a guy like a porn star, talk with him about politics and religion, cook him a good meal, and make him feel like a man. Those bimbos, they are only good for a disappointing one-night stand and an inevitable STD.

I am Officially a . . .Cougar?

I have always been open to dating men who are younger than me. When I go out, I usually only meet men who are in their 20's, because they are the ones who are actually out. Most men in their 30's are married with children or would rather sleep with 20-year-old bimbos. I recently began dating a guy who is cute, funny, nice, intelligent, and sweet. . .and, is also ten years younger than me.

The generational difference is rather striking. After all, I am one who prefers to have an actual spoken conversation. He is a big texter/emailer. In fact, I think I have perfected my text-flirting skills. We have had multiple conversations over the texting, and I may need to update my plan a little to accommodate that. Also, he has the capacity to stay awake and alert past midnight. I, on the other hand, require a certain amount of sleep to be functional the following day. However, he is the most attentive, appreciative man I have ever dated. For someone in his mid-20's, he has confidence, character, and a sense of humor beyond his years. So, for all single ladies in their 30's-40's, I highly recommend dating someone who is younger. The ego, insecurity, and lack of personality is absent, and frankly, if men can do it, why can't we?

BEST. . .CONCERT. . .EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My friend and I made the trek to Austin, Texas to fulfill my Nine Inch Nails-Groupie requirement for the month.  The closest show to where I live was here, which was a two-hour drive.  I ditched work, put on my skinny jeans, and we left.  When we arrived in Austin, there was parking right in front of the venue.  The meters didn't work, and my friend was quite anxious about getting a parking ticket.  I personally could have cared less, so I left the car, and left her to walk to CVS by herself to get her earplugs, while I went inside and sat with the other presale ticket holders.  I wanted to be at the stage again for the Nine Inch Nails/Jane's Addiction concert.  

Street Sweeper Social Club, consisting of Tom Morrello from Rage Against the Machine/Audioslave/Nightwatchman and Boots Riley, along with a couple of white guys, opened the show with a rocking set.  They played many songs that have been previewed for us.  They also busted out a riveting cover of M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes".  SSSC's set was only 30 minutes, and frankly, I would have loved to see more of them.  They were so energetic and a great choice for an opening act.  Then, Nine Inch Nails exploded into "Mr. Self Destruct", with thunderous vocals, percussion, and bass.  Of course, Nine Inch Nails rocked.  Their set was very The Downward Spiral-heavy, an homage to the old folks, like myself.  TDS is my favorite of their albums, and every song is repeatable, for multiple plays.  They also played "Dead Souls", a Joy Division cover from The Crow soundtrack, which was such a pleasant surprise.  Interestingly, there were no tracks from the most recent album, The Slip.  I think the newest song was "Survivalism", from Year Zero.  Trent, Robin, Ilan, and Justin all looked fantastic, and they played their asses off.  I would see them again, and again, and again, and again, times infinity.  It was an amazing show, and I loved being in the pit, close to the stage again.

After about ten-fifteen minutes, the beginning chords of "Three Days" resonated through the air, the curtains dropped, and Jane's Addiction appeared.  Dave Navarro's Barbie doll also made her appearance, from Twitter update fame.  Since Jane's hasn't released any new music in like, twenty years, they banged out hit after hit, with "Mountain Song", "Ocean Size", "Been Caught Stealing", etc., taking me back to high school/college.  The '90's kick ass, as proven tonight.  By this time, the young folk who came for Nine Inch Nails left, and I was able to move closer to the stage.  I was stationed immediately in front of Eric Avery and right next to Pee Wee Herman and his multi-ethnic harem.  PW had several non-Caucasian women with him, hanging on the rail.  Now, that I think about it, they probably had no idea why they were at a NIN/JA concert.  But, PW needed his harem around, I suppose.  Anyway, I must say, Dave Navarro is a beautiful man.  I am all about the tattoos, piercings, and tight, designer jeans that accented the contour of his shapely ass.  Very, very nice.  However, towards the end, some dumbass pushed his way up to the front, and proceeded to hang on me, with his crotch on my ass.  I wasn't sure what to do, but, the visual of Dave Navarro helped distract me.

Would you Like Fries with your Genitalia?

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I have to appreciate their honesty. These McDonald's employees are so committed to serving their customers with honor, dignity, and a hint of genitalia. I wonder if they Super Size it?

OMG Is This Really Necessary?????

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

I don't even know what to say about this. After all, though this is not actually news, considering there is a pending pandemic and financial crisis. However, it is news, because we live in a really simple society.

I Heart Guy on Guy Fight Scenes

After watching the Twilight movie a couple of times in the last 24 hours, I discovered my favorite part.  I was completely entranced by the scene when Edward Cullen, played by a very beautiful Rob Pattinson was in an intense fight seen with the antagonist, James (played by a rather handsome Cam Gigandet).  Sure, there was the usual throwing each other across the room and knocking each other's teeth out.  But, they played vampires, so biting was involved.  They had to bite each other, and, frankly, that totally turns me on.  Seeing two beautiful guys bite each other is rather hot.  In fact, it induces fantasies of wanting to be in between the biting.  Their facial expressions were rather passionate and almost sexual, very nice.  

I am also a sucker for Ultimate Fighting.  I do watch UFC every so often on television.  Some of those guys are pretty hot, and when they are tattooed, muscular, and sweating, it increases the level of hotness.  There is also a lot of rolling on the ground on top of each other involved--definitely not as enticing as vampires biting each other.

Hot Guys and Cold Booze--Nothing Better!

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Okay, I am totally loving this guy, with the clever message T-shirt. He has wormed his way into my heart, and it doesn't even bother me that he will get laid and I won't. I am not annoyed that he will have more sex in one month than I have had in my entire lifetime. It reminds me of "Superbad" a little, when the ambition of the nerdy, loser guys was to be mistake sex for some hot chick.

When Idiots Grade a President

Today marked the first 100 days of the Obama Administration. Life was already better when President Obama won in November, as just knowing that we were never going to have to deal with the Bush Administration was a wonderful and joyous occasion.  Now, we have this landmark anniversary of President Obama's time in office.  He, unfortunately, walked right into a colossal disaster, which was left by his predecessor.  After an eloquent and informative press conference today, I am confident that we have one of the best Presidents in our nation's history.

So, WTF is all this crap about "grading" the President's first 100 days?  We VOTED for the man, for crying out loud!  Isn't that enough of a "grade" or positive support?  I find this cable news assault infuriating, and essentially insulting, as a human being with functional brain activity.  President Obama is accomplishing more in 100 days of his presidency than many previous leaders.  He is focused, thoughtful, passionate, about rebuilding the morale of the American people.  He appeals to Americans of all ethnicities, genders, and ages.  People can criticize to their heart's content.  After all, this is the U.S.A., where our forefathers fought for freedom of speech, happiness, health, and so on.  I don't remember ever "grading" a President before.  President GW Bush never really got that scrutinized early in office, and he turned out to be one of the worst Presidents in history.  

Damn that Bret Michaels!

I didn't want to do it, but, I did, and I am so ashamed.  I watched "Daisy of Love" on Vh1.  Partially, I was curious to see how Daisy, one of Bret Michael's sloppy seconds, could get her own television show.  She is on a mission to promote herself and hopefully, for her, hook up in the process.  She has followed the tradition of giving nicknames to all of the guys, with the assistance of host, Riki Rachtman.  In fact, he basically produced the nicknames for her.  He obviously has more functional brain cells than Daisy, and therefore, was able to provide some clever pseudonyms, such as "Fox", for a Chris Cornell wannabe, whom she finds hot.  Also, there is "Flex", a guy who manages a gym.  As with many reality-ish shows, a former member of a few casts, "12-pack" resurfaced and claims to be attracted to Daisy.  He made a point that he was not present for the pomp and circumstance, but, to win Daisy's heart.  However, my favorites were these Swedish triplets, who couldn't have been older than 18.  They resembled one of those prototype European androgynous "rock" bands, kind of like Germany's Tokio Hotel.  Each triplet was nicknames, "84", "85", and "86", as Rachtman felt these were the years in which they seemed to be stuck.  So, with their heavily teased, hairsprayed, and sculpted hair, they admitted with thick Swedish accents that they were hoping to partake of free booze and food, and maybe hook up in the process.  Daisy is another story, however,  as she is a well made-up, Pamela Anderson wannabe, and she claims to sing and be a musician.  There is no attempt to make her seem semi-intelligent.  I truly think Rachtman's presence is to provide compensatory brain function.  

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He's a Keeper, and I've Already Seen him Naked (NSFW)

So, it is really I'm at a loss, because this guy embodies all these amazing qualities that make him a desirable man.  First of all, he is at Coachella, which means he must love music like I do.  He has the ponytail, which is usually maintained by men who are artistic or adventurous.  He had this flattering wizard ensemble on, and I am afraid that when he was naked, if he is single, I can see how.  However, I was drawn to this man, as he seemed to have a sense of individuality and confidence, since he was wearing a wizard robe and, then, was able to be before many strangers without the physical protection of his robe.  He bravely battled the police officers, and withstood the tasering.  His strength and confidence are admirable, as I wonder how it is not fair that people like him get to go to Coachella and I don't. Hmmm
Naked Wizard Tased By Reality from Tracy Anderson on Vimeo.

If You Talk to Larry King or Dr. Phil. . .

Being the sucker for a good old-fashioned Baby Mama Drama, I got to spend my Saturday night watching Bristol Palin's baby daddy and ex-fiance, Levi Johnston on "Larry King Live".  He was joined by his mother and sister, who offered their moral support and expressed their love for baby Tripp.  In Levi's mind, he is probably sharing his saga with various media junkets to drum up some sympathy for himself.  He shares this sad story of a young man, who longs to have a relationship with his infant son, and is prevented from doing so by the megalomaniac Alaskan governor, Sarah Palin.  Governor Palin is the evil queen, keeping the prince away from the princess.  Levi has the love of his mother and sister on his side, his strongest weapons against the powerful Governor Palin.  I am always fascinated with Caucasian folks who run to Larry King, Greta Van Sustern, and Nancy Grace, as if these people are the golden tickets to prolonging their fifteen minutes.  Larry grilled Levi on every intimate detail of his relationship with Bristol, including where they had sex, how many times, favorite sexual positions, etc.  Larry wanted to know if everyone's parents were aware, how they reacted to being notified of the pregnancy, and the gory details of the current Palin vs Johnston feud.  Levi's sister, Mercede, also revealed that she wants a relationship with the baby and she was not allowed to talk to Levi, her brother/BFF, because Bristol didn't like her.  This kind of drama is better than soap operas or the craziest novella on Univision.  I noticed that the Johnston family had some very odd facial expressions and delayed responses to questions.  I heard Larry King is rather flatulent during interviews, so I wonder how that impacted this whole event.

The Legend that is my Dad

Most immigrant fathers are a little weird, maybe slightly crazy.  My East Indian dad is completely insane.  I don't even think that there is a clinical description in the DSM-4 of a psychiatric disorder which properly describes the level of mental instability my dad has.  I am not sure where to begin, as he is quite a distinct entity.  As many men do, he has a incurable habit of blurting out what comes to mind, without exercising impulse control.  As his frontal lobe is not providing a good shield, he tends to do things without thinking, as well.  I remember, as a kid, I would hear from my mom how inappropriate he was.  However, as I am now the adult woman in the family, I realize just what a pill my dad is.  One of the most recent memorable experiences occurred at a wedding of one of his friends.  The groom happened to be a Marine, and used his uniform sword to cut the wedding cake.  During the dancing portion of the reception, my dad had this brilliant idea.  I had my back turned to the stage, and noticed people pointing to the front.  When I turned around slowly, I was greeted with the vision of my dad, dancing with the Marine's sword.  Noone could wrestle the sword away, and after about 20 minutes of dancing on the stage with a Marine's sword, he finally stopped.  I was mortified, and I really wasn't sure how to continue that evening.  

Recently, my dad has been using Christianity and various Christian facts/issues about which he knows absolutely nothing.  His current favorite phrase is "God made Adam", then, he will continue with his thought.  Recently, he purchased a pair of women's pajama pants.  He continues to happily wear them, and I think that he even enjoys it.  He has been taking a cooking class, and is convinced that he is still an expert at making soup, in spite of having an actual instructor.  He pulls the usual craziness of asking dumb questions of restaurant servers, retail check-out people, and any one else who comes in his path.  Strangely, he can actually turn on the charm and behave like a normal human being.  But, those occasions are few and far between the public farting, burping, and verbal outbursts.

Oooooh-kaaaaay. . .

In a momentary lapse of reason, probably while I was eating and needing something to do, I started watching yet, another reality dating program, called "Tough Love" on VH1.  I am convinced that VH1 bought some mansion in the Hollywood Hills, and in order to pay the mortgage, needs to occupy it with some of the craziest people in the universe under the guise of a "reality" dating show.  So, some dude who claims he and his mother have matched millions of couples, decided to take on the task of helping a group of perpetually single women find true love by changing how they think and behave in a social setting.  One lady in particular, whom is nicknamed, "The Princess", wears a wedding ring.  She informs the matchmaker-dude, "I married myself.  I made a commitment to love and cherish myself."  Now, is it just me, or does she sound completely out of her mind?  I am perpetually single, but, I don't feel the need to marry myself.  I am not really attracted to myself, nor do I want to spend the rest of my life with, myself.  A very dear friend of mine shared with me that she will get dressed up and go out by herself regularly.  She told me how she would go to the ballet and the symphony by herself.  She justified this by saying that she enjoyed her own company.  She also proceeded to tell me that she would get dressed up and go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner--by herself.  She basically told me the same thing as "The Princess"--which is, "I have to love myself and treat myself like a queen.  I have to pamper myself, because no one else is going to do that for me."  Now, I am all about pampering oneself, with a nice massage, a new outfit, cooking a nice meal, etc.  But, I actually enjoy the company of others, and I prefer to go out with other people, like my friends, family, or, a date.  This whole idea of "loving yourself" just seems like a symptom of a psychiatric illness.  Frankly, I bore myself.  If I am alone, there is no way I am getting dressed up to sit by myself in some high end restaurant.  I would rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating a Hot Pocket, or something.  All in all, it is the self-loving woman who may not be loved by any lucky guy.

Follow Me, Follow You

This Twitter thing has completely taken over my life.  I find myself checking it at least five times daily, and I update pretty much every time.  Now, I tend to be verbose, and I have a little difficulty with the 140 character limit.  But, I follow all of these famous people, like some of my favorite artists, television programs, and writers.  I also follow my favorite President, Barrack Obama.  Now, to give my ego a false boost, President Obama follow me, too!  Of course, I follow Starbucks AND Dunkin Donuts (hope they don't find out ;)).  To my thrill, they both follow me, too.  Now, I'm hoping that Trent Reznor will come around. . .

Now, there is this whole Twitter-etiquette thing.  If someone follows me, then, I feel obligated to follow them.  Many of these folks have some quirky Twitters.  Some people have these inspirational messages they send to their followers.  Anderson Cooper just gives a link to his show's website.  Many people have Twitpics, which is kind of fun.  However, it's surprising how many Twitterers just share their usual daily routine, like, "I just took a huge crap, and it was awesome".  I use Tweetie, for the iPhone, which is pretty cool.  I can update and photograph crazy stuff I see in the world.  It was $2.99 well-spent.  Yesterday, I was reading Rolling Stone online while I was shoving my lunch in my face, and I saw a few stories about Trent Reznor's Twitter review of the new Chris Cornell album, and Chris Cornell's possible retort, which probably wasn't a retort at all.  Since I follow them both, I was on the front line of this breaking story.  Pretty cool. . .

This Can't be Happening

An Open Letter to Chris Cornell:

Now, Chris, I have admired you since my teen years.  When you led Soundgarden in the best era for music, your voice and your lyrics floated through the air, each note hanging to oxygen molecules.  "Outshined" provided me the insight and validation that led me through some rough times in college.  "Slaves and Bulldogs" guided me to build an emotional foundation for surviving moments of difficulty with boyfriends, friends, etc.  Moving on to Superunknown, you and the gentlemen from Soundgarden gave us anthems, like the epic "Black Hole Sun", and the tribute to "Spoonman".  With Down on the Upside being the final chapter in the Soundgarden story, you gave us the classic ballad of despair, "Blow up the Outside World". My personal favorite, "Burden in my Hand", provides a blues-rock fusion with a story of eliminating one's lover.   You gave us Euphoria Morning, which highlighted your songwriting and your musical range.  Oh, and "Seasons", from the Singles soundtrack--that is my favorite song and it has been on repeat a lot lately, as many of your songs are. Lest we forget, the genius of Temple of the Dog. . .

Moving on to the next era of your career with Audioslave, the supergroup with members of Rage Against the Machine, which was the mastermind of Rick Rubin.  "Like a Stone" told the story of the spiritual aspirant, with lyrics and melodies mirroring U2's The Joshua Tree.  The remaining two albums were also excellent, with the musical mosh of RATM and you.  You all were the first American band to play in Cuba, to adoring fans.  I had the opportunity to see you perform in Houston.  It was amazing, and I didn't sit down the whole time.  I felt a sense of disappointment when I heard that you left the band, but, I know that you are a talented musician, singer, and songwriter.  I purchased Carry On, and I must say, I was shocked.  Although it wasn't bad, and I really liked the cover of "Billie Jean", the album reminded me a little of, well, John Mayer.  I didn't hear the Chris Cornell that I have known and loyally loved for so long.  But, it was okay, just an experiment.  

I have been hearing of this collaboration with Timbaland for some time now, and I didn't want to believe it.  There is a place for Timbaland and Justin Timberlake, as they make some catchy pop songs together.  However, their place is on a secret playlist, buried in the vault of my iPod, where noone knows where it is.  They emerge when I run on the treadmill or use the elliptical trainer.  However, their place is not in a recording studio with you.  You are an icon in music, and you, along with many others, led a generation (known as X) through some confusing, dark, and frustrating times in our lives.  I completely understand the tradition of risk-taking and going outside one's comfort zone, so I wanted to give it a try.  I wanted to keep an open mind.  But, I am sorry, it was one of the most difficult things to hear.  I was hearing one of my favorite singers amazing vocal talent completely maimed by overproduced, synthesized beats, with the repetitive catch phrases.  If I remember correctly, the chorus of the first song was ,"This b---h ain't a part of me", and I felt like I was in some Twilight Zone, because you are a soulful singer, uttering the lyrics of some Lil Wayne-wannabe.  

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you are better than this.  You don't have to sell out, so that my teenage cousins will download the Timbaland-produced catchy pop tunes off iTunes.  We love you, your voice, your music, your lyrics, etc.  You don't have to share a stage with the Pussycat Dolls.  You don't have to have Justin Timberlake sing background vocals.  You definitely don't need the hiccough-like grunt of Timbaland to ruin a song for you.  Please, play the music we all know and love from you.

Why Won't They Leave me Alone?

I really do love children.  I work with them for a living and it is tremendously rewarding.  I also hope to have children of my own someday.  Children are our future; they are innocent, pure, and sincere.  They have nothing but love in their hearts.  However, when I feel like listening to my iPod and reading, they annoy the crap out of me.  For some reason I have a tendency to welcome the likes of attention-starved children.  While sitting in a waiting room, a hyperactive child kept approaching me, with a desire to show me every object from her mother's purse.  She slowly, stealthily creeped over to me, like a hunter sneaking upon its prey.  Then, if I looked up, she stared for a moment, shocked, and then proceeded to identify all of her mother's personal items.  If I am waiting in a grocery store line, and there is one sitting in the cart in front or behind me, they are constantly staring, smiling, and waving.  I was recently sitting on a plane, again, just trying to read a book, listen to my iPod, and essentially mind my own business.  A little girl in front of me persisted in poking her head through the partition between the seats, smiling.  When I attempted to just ignore her, she had the audacity to tap on my tray table.  Of course, I had to respond, in a smiling, sing-songy voice and comment on her Tinkerbell shirt and her Disney Princess shoes.  

Many times, when parents are bright enough to bring their other children along to an appointment for a child for whom they are concerned, the siblings do everything in their power to get my approval.  I can convince the siblings to do anything, like throw away trash, pick up the blocks that their brother/sister threw across the room, and even provide a medical history.  After I have evaluated their brother/sister, these poor kids will actually follow me out of the room (although I'm the doctor, I am actually a stranger), and tell me many private details of the home situation and their lives.  At the end, when it's time to say goodbye, these poor kids don't want to leave.  When I finally convince them that I can't be their mother and that their family may actually prefer that they return home, the kids are pretty adamant about kissing, hugging, etc.  I have a rule that I don't really like to touch other people's children, without some blood relation or need for a medical examination.  Many of my patients like deep pressure on their mouths, and are very aggressive about climbing on me, hugging me, and pressing their dirty little mouths against my face.  Being the obsessive-compulsive germaphobe I am, there are times when I have to leave the room so I can stop hyperventilating from the anxiety.

Battle of the Moms of Many

As Octomom is thrust into my life by Larry King, Dr. Phil, Nancy Grace, Entertainment Tonight, and, yes, even Papa Bear Bill O'Reilly, I am beginning to experience a deja vu.  Sarah Barracuda (Palin) revisits my memory, and a few similarities strike me as odd:

                            SARAH PALIN                          NADYA SULEMAN

1. Number of kids   5, + 1 grandbaby                  6, + octopulets
2. Exclusive interview  Charlie Gibson (ABC)       Someone (ABC)
3. Acquisitions            $150,000 Wardrobe                   $168,000 Disability
4. Desired jobs                 President, err, Vice Pres            Actress, err, Porn star
5. 15 minutes   Speech at GOP convention     Fight with Mom on TV news show
6. Media whoring Lugging children everywhere    Constant filming of her kissing kids
7. Reality strikes     V.P debate                 Father questions mental situation
8. World crashes   McCain/Palin lose election        Home about to be foreclosed
9. Comeback strategy  Interview re: media mistreatment      Intervention by Dr. Phil
10. Dumb nickname  Lipstick-wearing pitbull              Octomom

In a Twilight Zone moment, this all seems very eerie.   Why are we fascinated with crazy chicks that have a bunch of kids?  In a ploy to receive good publicity, we are bombarded of images of adorable children, tiny babies in the neonatal ICU, these women struggle to epitomize the strong, yet tender woman.  They aspire to be the ultimate woman, with the maternal instinct of the Virgin Mary, sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe, and intellect of Marie Curie.  However, superheroes are meant to be in film adaptations of graphic novels.  These ladies are far from being heroes and inspirations to women.

Songs on Repeat

Today, U2 drops their new album, No Line in the Horizon, and will hopefully sell more copies than Taylor Swift, Fall Out Boy, etc. combined.  Five star reviews and a week-long promotional appearance on Letterman will hopefully lead to . . .gasp. . . a tour. . .  But, in the tradition of the catchy iTunes-commercial song, I have had to download and keep "Get on Your Boots" on repeat for the last few days.  It starts my day, helps me keep my pace on the treadmill, etc.  The song actually inspired me to wear "sexy boots" to work.

Now, for the embarrassing part.  I am totally addicted to this dumb song, "Burning Up", by, yes, the Jonas Brothers.  I finally had to download it, after I watched them perform it (I was with my younger, teenage cousins).  I love all two minutes and 57 seconds of this song.  As a woman, I want nothing more than for some guy, to sing in that whiny, lovesick voice that I make him "burn up" for me.  I don't know their names, and frankly, they are not the best singers.  However, this is really a great pop song, with a sweet innocence reminiscent of the early Beatles or Elvis Presley songs.  

Where Have all the Real Men Gone?

In a world that is inundated by dating reality shows, dating websites, speed dating, mixers, and social networking websites, I have come to the realization that there is no romance anymore.  Where is that guy, from whose perspective Frank Sinatra croons, "Strangers in the night, exchanging glances, wandering in the night, what were the chances, we'd be sharing love, before the night is through. . ."  We all want a quick fix, that physical gratification.  We want all of our senses to be simultaneously pleasured to the maximum force.  

Dating websites grown like weeds, taking over the internet and sucking up all of the resources.  All of them claim to have the secret to finding us the loves of our lives.  They seem so generic and superficial.  We list all of our physical speculations and requirements, kind of like a resume.  If you meet the standards based on how hot you look in your picture and how catchy your subject line is, you may get a match or two.  Frankly, it reminds me of going to a bar, where people let their guards down with a sense of anonymity.  People put these professional glamour shots, which depicts an aspiring actress/actor/model type.  In bars, the lighting is a little off and people visually impaired by their alcohol consumption.  They wind up with someone who is ready and willing, only to find out that the person really looks like crap in the morning.  

Reality dating shows are just a reflection of the downgrading of humanity as we know it.  Television producers visit the shallowest of gene pools to find the participants for their trash orgy, known as "The Bachelor" or "Rock of Love" or "Flavor of Love".  Of course, I find these things a source of entertainment and self-prophecy.  Most of the actual seekers of love are seekers of attention and self-promotion.  They get to live in a posh mansion filled with unlimited, flowing booze and a house requirement that one must cover less than 10% of her body with clothing.  Of course, where alcohol flows, silicon implants show, with some of these women having superhuman mammary glands, probably nuclear fembots in disguise.  

The art of romance, wooing a potential partner, and really appreciating someone is completely extinct.  Men don't want to work very hard to impress a lady, and ladies are very rare.  Chicks, on the other hand, are rampant, and require no effort.  Everyone looks for the easiest conquest, who requires little conquering.  Unfortunately, there are endangered species, such as myself, who still yearn for passion, romance, and true love. 

The Perfect Man, Not Necessarily Made of Gingerbread

Single women are always forced to ponder upon why we are single, what is wrong with us, and why men don't want to date us.  I usually try to justify that if a guy is not that in to me, then, I probably wouldn't be that into him.  However, I find myself attracted to different qualities in men that are really striking, more than just a hot body and beautiful eyes (although those two things aren't bad, either).  

I recently was running, and noticed a guy with his dog, getting ready to begin his run.  His dog was getting a little agitated by another dog that was running by with its owner.  This guy was cute, but, when I noticed how gentle he was with his dog, it made him that much hotter.  He was petting his dog, really consoling him/her, and it was the nicest, sweetest thing I have ever seen.  One day, at the gym, I noticed a guy who was blond, and nice-looking. When I was leaving, I saw him talking to a little girl, and listening to her very intently.  He actually appeared to be having a back and forth conversation with her at her level.  He seemed so sweet and nice, or else he's a pedophile. There is a guy who has some beautiful tattoos, with one entire very defined shoulder covered in a multicolored image that seems both celestial and demonic.  Nice.  I am a bit of a sucker for guys with curly hair, red hair, and muscles--decorated with tattoos, of course.  

Now, speaking of the perfect man, he is both men in this photo.  I would love to be the center of this Uh-Oh Oreo!  This tour is going to kick some a--, and I can't wait to be in the mosh pit again.  Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction in a co-headlining tour is like a dream--it takes me back to high school/college.  

What's in a Name. . .

One of my favorite books I've recently read is Freakonomics, A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything, by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner.  I think the chapter that stands out the most is the last chapter, "Would a Roshanda by any Other Name Smell as Sweet?" I am always curious as to the reasoning behind the names chosen for one's child.  Many of my friends who have children chose names that are beautiful and meaningful.  A cousin of mine named their youngest daughter, Ruby, after his wife's grandmother.  Working with children, I have seen my share of crazy names.  One of my favorite is Floyd Boyd, and this poor child was a "the fourth".  So, there were 3 generations of "Floyd Boyd's" prior to him, and there may be more generations to come.  Working in West Virginia for three years in my training, I was introduced to many Destiny's, Charity's, and Cheyenne's.  However, the best were two sisters, named Egypt and Stormy.  I had a couple of patients named "Stormy".  Recently, I have encountered a child named, Ecstasy.  Yes, kids, this 12-year-old girl's name is Ecstasy.  She is destined for a life in the adult film industry, so, kudos to her parents.  Since she has a sister named, Diamond, they can have a nice stake in the adult entertainment world, with one porn star, and one stripper.  Today, a little boy came in to my clinic, and his name is, "Book".  He actually goes by this name, as well.  I always wonder what inspires people to give such stupid names to their children.  I think if you are going to name your child "Book", it is part of your unconscious desire to be Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin, who named their daughter, Apple.  It's like opening the dictionary, closing ones eyes, and and picking a word, and then deciding to name their child the first thing that their finger touches.  Of course, there are the clever parents who name their children things like, "Vagina", "Chlamydia", "Gonorrhea", and I recently saw, "Anesthesia".  The last one is the best--that person is destined to having no personality whatsoever.

Single Awareness Day and the Tale of the Bird Whisperer

So, I survived another annual Single Awareness Day, on February 14.  I feel irritated with how utterly commercial and stupid the whole Valentine's thing is.  My fondest memories are from elementary school, when we made those dumb boxes, had Valentine Cards for all of our classmates, and had a little party where we collected sugary, processed sweets.  Now, I am attacked by television advertisements, consumer specials, and annoying couples. . .everywhere.  Since I am trying to turn over a new leaf and be more open to meeting people in less traditional methods, I decided to take the eHarmony personality inventory.  Every other commercial on the television was showing how these actors are pretending to be people who were "matched" and had been "communicating" for the last 5 years.  So, I thought, why not?  I will see who my matches are for free.  This personality test consists of about 1,000 questions.   Supposedly, these questions are designed to find the real person inside and match everyone appropriately.  However, the questions are the dumbest questions I have ever seen.  It was to the level of, "If you were to be a tree, which would you be and why?"  Then, after you answer that question, there are these follow up questions, like: "I would allow a dog to pee on my trunk, often-sometimes-never", to ellicit one's true personality.  I lost interest when it was time to upload a picture.  I didn't have time, and didn't feel like having some weird dude look at my picture and do who knows what with it.  Since that day, a week ago, I have gotten no less than 30 emails a day, with subject lines like, "It's time for you to meet your match David" and "Don't you want to know what you and Dhiraj have in common?"  Obviously, my answer is no.  Today, they sent me the best email subject line: "Are you a skeptic?"  Yes, folks, I am.  I don't believe that the love of my life is going to be pinpointed on some dating website that uses hot people in commercials who would never need to be on a dating website, because they're hot and everyone wants to date them. So, I may just decide to upload a photo and try it out, who knows.

Nonetheless, I hosted the 2nd annual Single Awareness Day party for a few of my fellow independent, unattached friends, with fried food and wine.  One of my friends, I will call the "Bird Whisperer".  The Bird Whisperer had a family of blue jays who built a nest on her patio.  She closely watched the mother bird constructing a nest, which was a very precise and detailed process.  Bird Whisperer then watched the eggs hatch, the baby birds grow, and eventually, leave the nest.  She became obsessed with these birds, and even photographed every stage of their lives.  She told us a story about one day, when she was going to her mailbox.  All of a sudden, she heard the frantic, distressed cries of a group of blue jays, who had all come together to help the couple.  She looked at the blue jays, and then noticed that one of the youngsters was trying very hard to escape from a neighborhood stray cat.  My friend dropped her mail and ran to the rescue of the young blue jay, by shooing away the cat (who missed his meal for the day), and safely placing the young bird into the tree.  Therefore, she has now reached the ranks of Cesar Milan, with her ability to communicate and understand the cries of the blue jays.  Her sister just calls her a crazy bird lady.

When Crackberries Control Your Life

When people bring their kids to see me because of some issue with their development or behavior, they don't usually maintain the social norms that many of us have.  They have waited a year or more to air their grievances about their child's developmental problems and behavior difficulties.  Most of these people are compelled to remain in the clinic for a minimum of two hours.  They can come up with the most irrelevant questions, and, even when you do answer them, they ask the same question again, worded differently.  So, many of the concerned parties are mothers.  Half of these concerned mothers can convince their husband to excuse himself from work to join the party in my clinic.  However, these men are so committed to something, and it is not their wives and children.  They are not even that committed to their work.  They are joined umbilically to their Blackberries.  Now, I have an iPhone, so I understand attachment to a gadget that contains every tiresome detail of my life.  However, when the husbands don't want to listen to advice or feel that nothing is wrong with their children, the Blackberry appears.  The men are anxiously scrolling the dial on the side, like a wheel on a slot machine.  My favorite men are the ones who actually text/email while I am actually asking questions and giving advice.  In fact, they will go as far as to check the thing for texts/emails/instant messages while I am giving my impressions and recommendations.  It's like the Blackberry has taken over the male need for masturbation, or something.  Even in an airplane or at the gym, dudes are tapping away on their Blackberries, with those flashing Bluetooth earpieces/mind-control devices.  I suspect they are really looking at porn or sports, disguised as important business.  Obviously, there is some false sense of importance in the world, when one is constantly checking a non-vibrating Blackberry or typing utter nonsense on that QWERTY keyboard, to seem busy.  

I had every intention of showing one of my favorite Grammy moments, despite the fact that I actually hate the Grammy's and don't usually watch it.  However, the Grammy Copyright Police have removed all videos of "Swagga Like Us" from You Tube--weasels!!!!!!!!!   I watched this dreadful display of music industry mayhem for 3, no, 4 reasons: U2, Dave Grohl/Paul McCartney, Swagga Like Us, and Radiohead.  I can't understand the logic behind the spectrum of nominees, but, the winners are always the old people, like Bob Dylan or Robert Plant.  If I could only have my own music awards show. . .I would allow downloadable videos of performances.

A Glimpse into the Future. . .

Since I am a single woman in my 30's, many of my social outings involve little kids' birthday parties.  I spend many a weekend cavorting with toddlers and preschoolers, sharing thoughts on Spiderman, Thomas the Tank Engine, and cookies.  So, this particular weekend, I was able to experience the Flip-n-Out party.  Flip-n-Out is the magical land of moonwalks.  Each separate moonwalk has a various theme from some Disney movie, with a Sesame Street bouncer designed for brave toddlers.  I entered a very loud area, greeted first by a giant, orange dinosaur.  Many of the children appeared to be afraid of this thing, and stayed away from this particular moonwalk-bouncer.  Children were running amok, and frankly, I don't think I saw the same child pass by twice.  A bouncer inspired by the movie, Cars contained various slides, which inevitably resulted in a crash.  My godson, the 4-year-old birthday boy, was attacked by some crazy 8-year-old.  The Disney Princess castle Bouncer was very popular with the girls, and there were several Princess-wannabes running around.  Many of the kids seemed to lack direction and sort of run aimlessly.  Others appeared to be on some sort of weird high/adrenaline rush from the repeated bouncing on body parts other than their feet.  When it's party time, someone with a bullhorn beckons all involved into a tiny room for pizza and cake.  With stomachs full of partially eaten pizza and various types of cake with sugary frosting, they are back at it in the moonwalks.  God knows how much vomit gets cleaned off of those things--thankfully, they are rubber/plastic.  The 1-year-olds toddle around, searching for Elmo, then crying for their parents while they are actually in the Elmo-domain.  They then get swept either by a random older child or random adult.  Of course, each parent and grandparent is attempting to catch a photograph of each child while in action sliding or bouncing.  With the advent of digital photography, their respective child/grandchild transforms into a blob.  Of course, I had sights on the dude in the Kangaroo costume trying to win the hearts of children with his disturbing costume.  I've always liked a healthy amount of body hair on men, but, when it crosses into species confusion, that is a problem

Jesus Fixed my Hot Rod

I arrive this morning, after a run in the park, to find my rear mirror had been smashed out and my gym bag and cellphone were stolen.  So, some freak can use my deodorant, sweaty towel, socks, and ponytail holder--many of which are soaked in my sweat.  Fortunately, I left my wallet at home, so that was safe.  A kind police officer held a stakeout waiting for me to make the report, after he helped a tow company tug an Infinity G35 out of a ditch.  I discovered that my phone was taken, and was comforted that I had a security code, so all my information was safe.

Luckily, I was able to locate a glass repair company who could fix my window today, which would save the inconvenience of taking off a day from work.  When I got the phone call to inform me he was on the way, I on my caller voice ID thing, "Call from Gonzalez Jesus (Jee-sus)".  It made me so happy to know that Jesus was fixing my car today.  He arrived and fixed it in 45 minutes.  

Since these guys took my original iPhone, it was now time to upgrade to a 3G iPhone.  My big issue is that I have to buy and whole new stand.  Pretty annoying.  But, although I miss my silverback, I am warming up to the new phone.

A Bromantic Evening

As much as I detest it, I love the show "Bromance".  Brody Jenner is a waste-of-oxygen looking for his true bro to party with him, pick up chicks, go to red carpet events, etc.  He is disillusioned by the superficiality of Hollywood, and is searching for the friend that loves him for his true being.  Tonight's challenge entailed a fake promotion of the "Brody Jenner" special designer jeans.  Brody made five dudes where these hideously beadazzled, tight jeans following a painful body-waxing session at "Le Spa".  There wasn't much room for movement, and likely, these guys' sperm count may have decreased significantly (we can only hope).  He finally picks the craziest one, Femi, whose life is inspired by various animal metaphors.  Brody then brings in one of his Playmate Bunny former girlfriends to pick a dude.  These chicks pick Chris, who is a self-proclaimed computer nerd.  However, there is this racial divide, with the remaining white guys sort of joined at the hip.  Eventually, it is Luke that remains, with his thick Boston accent, and the boys eat sushi, with Samurai head bands in tow.

Bromance - MTV Shows

Sarah Palin's new Spring Fashion Accessory

Like everyone else, I have been scouring the websites of my favorite stores, looking for an extra bargain on a sweater or pair of pants, and I realized, that I have completely missed the trend train. I have always regarded national fashion icons as Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Audrey Hepburn, Heidi Klum from Project Runway, etc. But, I underestimated the Power of Palin. I found the pink blazers, stylish boots, shiny business suits, and red pumps very inspiring. I even got a new pair of glasses frames, inspired solely by Governor Palin. Now, her corsage offers another option for adding a "pop of color", per Stacy and Clinton, to the corporate, government official look.  The prom chaperone-chic look will slowly seep through the runways of New York's Olympus Fashion Week.  Hopefully, it will be as quick a hideous fashion trend as booties and high-wasted jeans.  

I am actually experimenting with Bluefly.  The clothes are cute and they have the label-designer stuff that most people wish they could afford.   Along with the accessible BCBG and Theory, there is also the occasional piece from Hermes, Prada, Vera Wang, etc.  For those who live on their credit cards, are obsessed with emulating celebrity fashion, and have a psychiatric disorder, this is a great website.

More than Just a Free Day Off

As I was able to go for a short run this morning, on a beautiful day, and really have some time to reflect.  Tomorrow is monumental day in the history of our country.  The whole world will be watching the Inauguration of our new President, Barack Obama.  We have made a mark in history by electing not just the first African American President, but, electing a leader who represents the practical idealism that makes us American.  

A friend of my father's sent an email to all of us, saying that on November 5, he had not felt so proud since India had gained independence in 1945 from the British, as he had when Barack Obama was elected President.  I was in tears and I sent that email to all my friends, who sent it to their other friends, who sent it to radio programs, etc.  

On my iPod, I find myself repeating the song "Wake Up", by Rage Against the Machine.  It was on their first album and then on the Matrix soundtrack.  I have decided that it is officially my favorite RATM song.  The lyrics are powerful and flow poetically.  Zack de la Rocha's voice passionately echoes the sentiments and frustrations with the conspiracies undertaken by the facade known as government.  My favorite lyrics are: "Through counterintelligence, it should be possible to pinpoint potential trouble makers and neutralize them. . .", which he repeats twice.  He has a difficult alliteration with the "p's" and handles it beautifully, probably showering all in his path with saliva.  Another song on repeat is "Just Dance", by this Lady Gaga-chick.  She is basically whining about getting trashed, being promiscuous, and trying to redeem herself by continuing to just dance, as though nothing happened.  I feel that this song is just an metaphor for life.  Even though our lives suck, we can't get a date, and our boss is a neo-Nazi, if you "just dance", it all gets better!

I Waisted 30 minutes on The Real Housewives, and this is What I Missed

(this is a week late--sorry!) Our resident media dinosaur, Larry King, was deemed the distinct privilege of spending a televised 45 minutes with the exiting First Couple, President George W. and First Lady Laura Bush.  The piece was heartfelt, yet entertaining; I laughed, I cried, I simultaneously laughed and cried.  I felt like I was at my best friend's wedding and I am still the single bridesmaid.  As we are so indoctrinated by President Bush's blatant lack of intelligence and social etiquette, that we may forget just how fun he really is.  President Bush is the quintessential frat-boy.  He used to be a big partier, boozing it up regularly with his buddies.  My mind is wrought with the mental image of President Bush high-fiving all his frat brothers and jocks.  I think I am actually going to miss him.  President-Elect Obama is so articulate, intelligent, and poised.  As Chris Rock has already declared, there is nothing to mock or make fun of.  President Bush, he's a walking joke.  He is so entertaining.  I think that if he gives a speaking engagement, I would gladly pay money to hear his Bushisms.  Although, we all need our helmets to dodge flying shoes, hats, food, etc.

Mi Familia Loca

Rockstargirlfriend's Favorite Things, 2008

As we embark upon this new year, filled with a new President, new Cabinet, new economy, and some new clothes, I reflected for a while on the things that made 2008 bearable. I decided since every idiot celebrity and quasi-expert decided to share their lists, I figured I should do the same.

Favorite Songs

1.  "Discipline"--Nine Inch Nails

2.  "Wild International"--One Day as a Lion

3.  "Sex on Fire"--Kings of Leon

4.  "Electric Feel"--MGMT

5.  "Reckoner"--Radiohead

6.  "Salute your Solution"--Raconteurs

7.  "Dancing Choose"--TV on the Radio

8.  "Hot and Cold"--Katy Perry

9.  "Leavin"--Jessie McCartney

10.  "Shake It"--Metro Station

Favorite Books

1.  Freakonomics 

2.  Look Me in the Eye--John Elder Robison

3.  Being and Nothingness--Sartre (still reading this one)

Favorite Television Shows

1.  The Daily Show with Jon Stewart

2.  The Colbert Report

3.  Lil Bush

4.  Project Runway

5.  Top Chef

6.  Rock of Love with Bret Michaels

7.  The Rachel Zoe Project

Favorite Films

1.  Slumdog Millionaire (I actually haven't seen it, but, I know it will be good because it's about Indian people)

Favorite Historical Moments

1.  Barack Obama becoming the 44th President of the United States

2.  Nancy Pelosi becoming the first woman to be Speaker of the House

3.  The Democratic Presidential debates between Obama and Clinton

4.  Sarah Palin--need I say more?

Favorite New Restaurants

1.  Veranda Greek Taverna--Atlanta, Ga.

2.  Vinoteca di Monica--Boston, Ma. 

3.  Sibling Rivalry--Boston, Ma.

Favorite Food I Ate

1.  Bread pudding, with chocolate glaze, served with cinnamon gelato (Houston Mill Restaurant, Atlanta, Ga)

2.  Power Protein breakfast--Starbucks

3.  Hush Puppies, French Fries, and Funnel cake with M&M's, Houston Rodeo and Livestock Show

Favorite Concerts

1.  Nine Inch Nails

2.  Foo Fighters

3.  Lollapalooza (wasn't there, but, my favorite bands were, therefore, I choose to assume)

4.  Radiohead--didn't go, had a ticket, know it rocked

Favorite New Shopping Obsessions

1.  Filene's Basement

2.  Barney's New York Outlet

3.  Kate Spade Outlet

4.  Apple Store

Favorite New Gadgets

1. iPhone (got it Christmas, 2007)

2.  New 120G iPod Classic--it rocks!

Well, there are enough fave lists to make Oprah nauseous.  In a few months, after I transition into 2009, I will come up with some follow up lists.  Actually, I feel that people who come up with these lists, like, "Top 100 Hottest Chicks" and "Top 100 Hottest Maxim Chicks" need to get a life.  Or maybe, I should eat my own words.

Joe the Porner

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Why does this guy even make the news?  I actually watched some VH1 or E! special on Joe Francis, why, I'll never know.  This guy has billions of dollars thanks to the skankiness of various drunken-idiot sorority sisters on Spring Breaks and Girls' nights out.  Of course, these chicks have their 15 seconds of glory, showing their boobs and what-not while making out with each other.  Joe the Porner actually lives in a beautiful hacienda overlooking the crystal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean near Cabo/Cozumel, etc.  My favorite bimbos, the Kardashian sisters are apparently his BFF's and got a girls' weekend at his place, so they could do some photo shoot.  The guy was on the phone, crying about how horrible jail was.  I am sure he could have made some deal with the prison guards and let them have some inside role in his whole "Girls Gone Wild" empire.  He could have given his guards and cellmates free DVD's, and I am sure that he would have had a much better time.  Apparently, he lost some hair, had a bad rash, and got pretty bad parasitic diarrhea.  Karma is a bitch.

Living Strong with a Stanky Legg

Since we are entering the end of the first decade of the new millennium, I thought I would make my life a little more interesting by changing up my exercise routine.  I resumed taking a Spinning class at the gym.  Now, Spinning classes are these intense, cardiovascular, aerobic workouts, promoting extensive calorie burning.  Although I am an avid runner/exerciser, Spinning kicks my ass.  In the class, they try to emulate a mock bicycle race, with hills, flat surfaces, and such.  They make you increase your intensity to simulate riding the bike up a hill and tell you to "sprint" down this imaginary hill as you pedal your ass off.  The best part about these classes are the other people who take them.  It seems very much like a cult.  These people are in amazing physical shape and hardly sweat during the class.  I actually sweat a few gallons in the 55 minutes.  But, the others, however, act as though they are training for the Tour de France.  They wear the biker short-tight things and strap various equipment to them.  They also all wear special shoes during the class, and proceed to change their shoes in front of all of us.  Also, everyone seems to know each other, and they all greet each other, shake hands, and say, "Peace be with you" before the class even starts.  Now, I actually find the class boring, even though I am struggling to catch my breath most of the time.  The music usually sucks, as well.  I would prefer a Spinning class featuring the hits of Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against the Machine, Joy Division, and, of course, closing out with Lollipop, by Lil Wayne. Please enjoy the following--my favorite video on You Tube at this time

A Great Start to my Year of Crappy Television

Today was possibly one of the best days of my year.  I didn't even call my family, whom I needed to call.  The television was filled with sinful, apalling, yet, entertaining fun.  VH1 is going to be my savior for the next few weeks.  The "Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels" took off today.  This is by far the most disturbing and fascinating program on television this season.  There are now 15 women who will be residing for the duration of his concert tour on tour busses, living in very compact spaces that are well-stocked with alcohol.  In fact, there is likely no running water, but, there is plenty of booze, which flows like Niagara Falls in this program.  The blinding bleach blondness and fake-boobedness is the hallmark quality that gives the "Rock of Love Bus" it's charm.  The alcohol intake and subsequent intoxication occurs very quickly.  There is a Brazilian chick who downs tequila like it's water and chases it with energy drinks.  In fact, the catfight count was around five in a 90-minute period.  Drinks splashed and glasses flew faster than I could say, "Speedy Gonzalez".  One of my personal favorites was this chick who was one of the most plastic women I had ever seen.  She did not have any actual flesh--everything was collagen, silicone, or saline.  This chick said she was a DJ and tried to rap for Bret, which was absolutely hilarious.  The chicks quickly formed alliances, with one known as the "Blondtourage" (not bad for chicks with limited intellectual capacity).  These women drank, made out with each other, and got pretty downright gross.  Superplastic Chick actually took a shot out of another crazy chick's va-jay-jay at a bar in front of Bret, the other women, God, and who knows who else.  Also, this particular cast is graced with a former porn chick, with whom Bret was actually familiar.  After watching a History Channel program on Lust and Envy, this show is a likely representation of the second level of Dante's Inferno.

I am really loving "Confessions of a Teen Idol".  I must admit, a couple of the guys are still pretty hot.  The guy who played Hobie on Baywatch is definitely eye candy, as well as some other dude from Baywatch.  The guy from the Blue Lagoon is still pretty hot in his old age.  However, noone beats Eric, from MTV's "The Grind".  He is hot in a new age, hippy-wannabe kind of way.  He apparently is trying to persuade his costars to begin using whatever concoctions he takes daily, as part of some body and soul cleansing process.  He appears to participate in some form of yoga/tai chi/or something, with these strange contraptions that are similar to those in Space Camp.  Yes, I got to visit Space Camp and I even have the T-shirt to prove it.  Goodtimes. . . 

Adventures in Claiming Baggage

In this delightful beginning of the New Year, my holiday has officially ended.  I am thrust back into the hot, humid stench known as Houston, Texas.  For most travelers, there is a  slight anxiety regarding checking in luggage.  Many airlines charge a monetary fee for checking in a bag, with additional charges for exceeding the weight limit.  Today, was not an exception, as I paid a grand total of $65.00 for checking in my 54.5 lb suitcase.  Upon finally arriving in Houston, I made the trek to the baggage claim.  There is usually a crowd surrounding the exact location where the luggage actually falls onto the carousel.  Husbands, boyfriends, and sons guard the slide, to be the first to catch the suitcases that are sent down by the baggage handlers.  There are many occasions when I have waited up to 30 minutes for my baggage to arrive.  On a few occasions, I have been tempted to climb up the slide thing myself, to assure that the handler-guys are actually doing their job and not jacking off.  However, most of those fellows likely spend more time jacking each other off than actually properly handling luggage.  

Luggage is significant to each person in a unique way. Many of us use luggage as a receptacle for their most prized possessions, including new shoes and clothes.  My luggage contained several new clothing purchases, and with great difficulty and effort, I was able to actually close the suitcase.  While we wait at the baggage claim, tension invades our usual contentment, as there is the pervasive fear that our baggage will not arrive.  Passengers stare with great focus and hope at the slide on which the baggage is sent.  All eyes are on the slide.  When one is able to identify and obtain his/her suitcase, car seat, or small piece of furniture, it is the best feeling.  I always notice when people get their luggage, how they strut with those smug expressions, the "Yeah, I got my suitcase and you didn't, sucker!".  Some of the suitcases look alike, and when you see one that you think is yours and it's not, it is the biggest let down.  Of course, being that I flew USAir, my suitcase did not arrive.  They happily charge money for these things, but, fail in executing their actual responsibility.  So, somewhere, my finds from Filene's Basement and H&M are floating in either Washington or Charlotte and hopefully not on the bodies of some airport employees who think that it is still Christmas.