Archive for the are you joking me? Category

Dear Megan Fox, Please Stop

Posted in are you joking me? with tags , , , , on June 8, 2009 by thedith
I dont even care that you do photo shoots like this

I'm glad you think you're hot, now please shut up about it

Dear Megan Fox,

Please stop. I wanted to like you, I really did.  So what, that your character in Transformers wasn’t really believable? So what, that it’s been two years since then and you haven’t been in any movies since? Not this girl.  I liked the fact that you were into being an independent chick.  I liked the fact that you were dating my childhood crush, 90210‘s Brian Austen Green. And, okay, he’s kind of old and creepy now, and I’m not really sure what you’re thinking dating him, but I like the fact that you thought it anyway.  I even liked that convoluted story about how you were involved with a female stripper when you were 19. Megan Fox, I liked you. Buuut then you had to go open your big fat mouth, and you blew it.  You blew it like your name is Kenny G. and it’s the 90’s all over again.

Because seriously, if I have to read one more quote from you talking about how hot you are, I’m going to…well…I’m going to do nothing, because, well, I don’t actually know you…but seriously, dude, we get it. You’re hot.  Your plastic surgeon has done great work.

Megan Fox: Before and After

Megan Fox: Before and After

Congratulations, that was money well spent.  Now can you please shut up about how hard-it-is-being-a-sex-symbol-except-I-actually-like-being-preceived-as-promiscuous-and-wild-who-wants-to-be-proper-and-polite-and-bo-ring–not-this-hottie! ?

It’s true, it sucks when people don’t take you seriously and/or assume that you must be a promiscuous whore based on the way you look.  And no, it’s not fair that you have to look a certain way in Hollywood in order to become a “bankable” actress.  Many times people assume that when one puts a lot of time into their appearance, one is not putting in an equal amount of time to develop intellectually stimulating pursuits — and yeah, it’s unfair of people to assume that.  So what, you’ve been in more topless photo shoots than movies?

So what, you’re fond of never closing your mouth in pictures? That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be taken seriously as an actress. We get that.  Thanks for letting us know.  Writing that into my journal now: It’s unfair to be so hot. Great, done.

After my birthday, this is what Im most excited for this summer

After my birthday, this is what I'm most excited for this summer

But you know what’s also unfair?  It’s also unfair that pretty much my entire enjoyment of Transformers 2 is going to be shot to hell if you don’t stop running your mouth off.

I don’t care that you’re hot; I don’t care that you’re too “edgy” to be America’s Sweetheart; I don’t even care that you’re so “wild” and “crazy” you’ll just say anything that pops into your head. I just don’t, okay?  Keep your thoughts to yourself. You like being a “sex symbol?” Great, I enjoy that about you too.  Just shut up and let me look at you.

UPDATE: Actually, I kind of like Megan Fox…

July Cover Star: Megan Fox [British GQ] via [JustJared]

You Have GOT to be Kidding Me

Posted in are you joking me?, rants, really? with tags , on May 21, 2009 by melsanie

I don’t care how skinny your legs are.  Jeans or “jeggings”  (that word is just horrendous) that look like they’re painted onto your legs are WRONG.  This is not a fashion statement, it is just straight up offensive.  If you wear these, you’re essentially saying to the world, “Not only do I love being uncomfortable in these ‘pants’ that are so tight I can’t breathe, but I also want you to feel uncomfortable by looking at me.  Oh also, LOOK AT ME!  LOOK AT ME!  GIVE ME ATTENTION!”  Yeah.  I’m not a fan. VETO.

Whitney wore jeggings to throw out the first pitch at a Dodgers game?  Really?  [eye roll]

omg Whitney, you're so edgy with your paint on jeans

If You Like It, then You Shouldn’t Put a Post-It On It

Posted in are you joking me? with tags , , , , , , , , on May 18, 2009 by thedith

Text messaging, Twitter, Facebook, gchat, etc… have all made it really easy for us to communicate with one another without actually having to talk to one another.  On the one hand, that’s great; there’s nothing worse than an awkward phone conversation.  There are maybe 5 people in the world with whom I can have a non-so…uh… peppered telephone conversation.  On the other hand, what happens when a person gets so used to texting/tweeting/facebook messaging, that they’re entirely unable to verbally communicate with others? I’ll tell you what happens: Assholitus (also known as Passive Aggressive Bitch Syndrome, PABS)

Assholitus is entirely what it sounds like: being an ass hole.  And, guess what? If you use a non-verbal form of communication to tell me something that would probably be more effectively said to my face, you’re probably an asshole.  Definitely a passive-agressive bitch. Entirely inappropriate.

For example, let’s say you want to remind your roomates to lock the deadbolt on the door when they leave the apartment.  How should you deal with this?

Appropriate answer: take your roomates aside, and remind them in person to lock the door.

Inappropriate answer: leaving identical post-it notes on their doors that say

“Hey – when you leave the apartment the deadbolt MUST [underlined three times] be locked at all times!”

Take it from me, people don’t like being told to do something via post-it note.  No, really, they don’t.

Or, let’s say you’re dating someone who doesn’t even like you.  You like them, but you want to beat them to the chase and dump them before they dump you.  What do you do?

Appropriate answer: When the object of your unrequited affection tells you that she’s not going over to your place at 11 o’clock at night because she’s tired (hey, it’s been a long fucking day!) put an end to the shennanigans right there.

Inappropriate answer: Dump them via text message.

Oh, really? Are we really breaking up with people via text message these days?  The primary function of the phone is for calling people and talking to them…doesn’t that sound like a better way of using it to break up with someone?

Moral of the story: just because non-verbal communication is fast and easy, that doesn’t mean it’s appropriate in every situation. Don’t be a pussy, use your words.

“Is it true that Chris Brown originated the swine flu?”

Posted in are you joking me?, celebrities, really? with tags , , , , , on May 1, 2009 by melsanie
Not even this pig wants to be associated with Chris Brown

Not even this pig wants to be associated with Chris Brown

So much classiness is going on today.  This is what some papparazzo asked Jay-Z and Rihanna today.  Wait, what?  I’ve never actually seen any of these TMZ videos (and I only saw 5 seconds of this one) but man the photogs REALLY get in the faces of celebs.  I can only imagine how hard it must be for someone like Rihanna who is actually trying to get through a tough time.  Anyway, hearing that her ex-boyfriend possibly started the epidemic that’s spreading through America must have caused a laugh.

Jay-Z Laughs at Chris Brown’s Expense [TMZ]

Blame it on the Rain

Posted in are you joking me?, inapropriately long posts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 1, 2009 by thedith

 

Although there are a lot of crazy people in this city, I have yet to see Rosie ODonnell

Although there are a lot of crazy people in this city, I have yet to see Rosie O'Donnell

Riding the bus in San Francisco is like stepping into that movie Riding the Bus With My Sister — you know, the one where Rosie O’Donnell plays a mentally retarded lady who rides around on buses yelling at people?

 

The day started out normally enough. After making myself an awesome breakfast, I set off for an interview for a job that I’m vastly under-qualified for.  The company website politely lists the organization as being located in SoMa (or, South of Market Street); however, I can actually  tell you that this particular company is really located in the Tenderloin – aka, arguably the most dangerous section of the city.  I know you’re assuming that the interview went smashingly well, and that I could barely hear the on-the-spot job offer my interviewer made over the thunderous applause from the other staff members; or perhaps you’re thinking the interview went so badly that I was chased out of the office by a chorus of “boo”s and “kill the witch!”  Well, you’d be wrong in both cases.  The interview happened without a hitch, and there’s really no story there.  But,  when I left the building, I discovered, much to my chagrin, that it was raining.  Don’t worry — I came prepared though.  I pulled a baseball cap out of my bag, popped out my umbrella, and I was good to go.  As I passed by a random homeless man with nothing better to do than sit on a milk crate in front of a check cashing center, heckling people as they walked past, I lowered my baseball hat to prevent unwanted eye-contact.  But, Heckles the Homelessman was two steps ahead of me, and he craned his neck to look under my baseball cap.

“Hey cutie.” He lisped as I hurried past.

Well, now it was mid-day, what could I do? I guess I could have just gone back home, but Roomie Madoff was there, and besides, you can’t make me! So, I decided I’d finally see Monsters vs. Aliens in 3D.  Why? We’ve already been over this: 3 fucking D! THREE D’s!  

Unfortunately the Metreon only had post-3pm shows, and I did NOT want to be the creepy grown-up sitting in a kid movie surrounded by kids.  And the Powell st. theater wasn’t even showing Aliens vs. Monsters anymore.  Instead, they were showing Wolverine on like, 22 screens, and The Soloist on the remaining 3.  Like, c’mon, seriously?!  I would have stomped out of the movie theater in a huff, except my shoes were killing me.  So instead, I hobbled out in a huff.  But, at least there was a huff.  Oh man, was there a huff.

My huff deflated a bit as I stepped outside, and realized it was one of those days where it’s not only gray and rainy, but it’s also muggy, and kind of hot. The kind of day that leaves you soaked with both rain and sweat. The kind of day you don’t want to get trapped on a bus in.  So, logically, I decided to take the route home that required three different buses.  On the first bus (or, trolly, really) I got sandwiched in between a fat lady who smelled like baby powder and an old man who kept falling asleep.  Two young lesbians planted themselves at the pole in front of me; a nice change from the weirdos to the left and right of me.  Then, as the trolly clanged in to motion, they began aggressively making out — the kind of kissing you don’t see…well, anywhere… 

At my stop, I lurched out of my seat, knocking over the kissing couple, and stepping on the foot of the fat lady.  I didn’t even say sorry, I was just glad to get out of there.  Except now it was cold out, and the wind was whipping, and where the hell was the bus?  At one point, a car roared past the bus stop, spraying everyone with mottled brown water.  Who needed to go to the movies, when life was handing me a bunch of movie cliches, right here, in person?  

THEN the bus came.  Finally.  The lady in front of me tried to push her way onto the bus, nearly knocking the man in front of her over.

“Hey! Show a little respect! He’s BLIND!” The bus driver yelled after her.  The blind man picked up his cane, and groped his way down the aisle.

I finally found a seat next to a man who smelled like bacon and looked like a pedophile, but at least I had a seat.  There was no WAY I was going to stand up, clutching the sweaty bus pole for balance.  Swine flu anyone? Uh, uh, I wasn’t gonna go out like that!

“My father fought terrorists!  Terrorists! He fought ’em!” A loud voice boomed at the front of the bus.  A disheveled black man doing a really good impression of Jamie Foxx in The Soloist was yelling.”My father fought terrorists, and I will shoot a nigga! I will!”  He looked around crazy eyed. “I’ll shoot a nigga!”  

An old white lady in front of me diverted her eyes.

“My father fought terrorists, and you’s a terrorist!” He continued.  Then the bus driver yelled at people to keep moving back.  Apparently today was Pack as Many People onto a Public Bus As You Can Day.  A trail of soaking wet people ambled towards the back of the bus.

“Terrorists!” Jamie Foxx yelled as he stopped at the pole beside me.  I hoped he would keep moving, but he would not.  So, I just decided to ignore him.  just as I made this declaration to myself, I heard a thumping noise above my head.  It was Jamie Foxx.  He was banging a beat on the overhead pole.

“Cin-co de ma-yo! Cin-co de ma-yo!” He was muttering under his breath.

“Cin-co [thump, thump, thump] de ma-yo [thump, thump, thump]!”

I turned the volume on my ipod up all the way to drown him out.

Happy to have escaped that sweaty, crazy, second bus, I climbed aboard my third and final bus — only to totally Elmer Fudd on a banana peel across the entire bus as it lurched into motion.  Luckily I caught myself on a pole and avoided a total wipe out, but a trio of teenage girls cackled at me.  Bitches.

Talk About Poor Timing

Posted in are you joking me?, topical with tags , , , , on April 28, 2009 by melsanie

worldtrip-20051141480080disk_36_081

So I have the flu and no it’s not farm animal related.  It’s just the normal, run of the mill, fever and chills flu, and I just so happend to get it during this awesome epidemic.  My mom immediately panicked when she heard I was sick and read me the symptoms of “swine flu” and hey guess what, they’re the same as the regular flu.  Honestly, I just have really crappy timing.  I have not made out with pigs recently, unless you count the d-bags in Boston as pigs (HEY-O!, kidding, I didn’t even make out with anyone there), nor have I had any contact with anyone who has recently been to Mexico.  And yet, this won’t matter.  I’ll be “pig flu” girl or something.  Ugh, stupid.  Now excuse me, I have to go get a blanket, I’m freezing even though it’s 90 degrees out.  Oh wait, now I’m sweating. FML.

Um, What?

Posted in are you joking me?, television with tags , , , , on April 14, 2009 by melsanie

84136d1214438231-i-got-t-v-s-put-my-headerests-guidosHow is someone who isn’t even famous yet…”famous”?  Granted, People is known for making headlines out of such fascinating insights like, “Carrie Underwood Grocery Shops in Sweats” but come on, really?  Real Housewives of New Jersey (which I refuse to watch…New York is painful enough as it is) isn’t even on the air yet, save for the 30 minute “special” Bravo showed last week.  Ugh.  I hate reality shows.  They make me cringe and hide in my sweatshirt.  I’ll stick to my scripted shows of awesomeness, thank you very much.

Real Housewives Star is Pregnant [People]

Ummm, I beg to differ.

Posted in are you joking me? with tags , , , , , on April 14, 2009 by melsanie
If this is manly, you don't even want to imagine what I look like in a jumper.

If this is manly, you don't even want to imagine what I look like in a jumper.

“I feel like a tranny a lot of the time. I don’t know, I’m … large? They put me in six-inch heels, and I tower over every man. I’ve got this long hair and lots of clothes and makeup on … I just feel really big a lot of the time, and I’m surrounded by a lot of tiny people. I feel like a man sometimes.”

Uhhh, what Blake?  Ok, I get that you’re tall.  But a man?  You’re, like, super skinny and GORGEOUS.  Ugh. I will still like you because I think that you and Dan make an adorable couple, but come on.  Let’s put a kibosh on the complaining.  ALSO, on the show they showcase your boobs all.the.time. As Diablo Cody said via TwitterPretty actresses saying “I look like a tranny” is the new “I’m sooo fat.”

Ps. Blake, on the cover of Allure, you don’t look like a tranny, you look like a prostitute who got lost in the Wet-n-Wild section of Walgreens and had a three year old apply your eye liner.  You need to apply some make up remover STAT.  My eyes hurt just looking at that mess.

“I feel like a tranny a lot of time time.” [Us Weekly via NYMag]

TIGHTS ARE NOT PANTS

Posted in are you joking me? with tags , , , , , on April 14, 2009 by melsanie

Seriously. I don’t care if you have the legs to carry it off (I’m looking at you Lindsay Lohan and Olsen Twins). TIGHTS ARE NOT PANTS.

Oh em gee.  Congrats.  You have skinng legs. I don't care.  These are NOT pants.  I don't want to see your business jiggling about.  Cover that up.

Oh em gee. Congrats. You have skinny legs. I don't care. These are NOT pants. I don't want to see your business jiggling about. Cover that up.

Or you could learn the hard way:

kate: in first grade my mom sent me to school in thick tights and told me they were pants and i realized they were see-through at recess and cried

And I’m glad there is a website dedicated to this cause. [Tights Are Not Pants]

UPDATELeggings are the same as tights. [Leggings Are Not Pants]

To Catch a Cheat

Posted in are you joking me? with tags , , , on April 7, 2009 by thedith

In a previous post, I referenced my thieving roomate, Roomie Madoff.  In case she comes up in other posts, I better explain myself….So, I just found out that one of my roomates, Rachel*, has been swindling me.  Her name’s on the lease, so she figured it was totally legal, but homegirl’s an idiot and didn’t read up on her San Francisco Tenant Laws, because it turns out, it’s not.  She has the biggest room in the apartment, yet she pays the least. Approximately half — that’s right, HALF of what I pay. She’s got huuuge windows that overlook the Golden Gate bridge.  Meanwhile, I have a tiny slit pretending to be a window that has a lovely view of the back of our refrigerator. My other roomate, Caitlin, told me all of this a few weeks ago. Caitlin has the smallest room, yet for many months she was paying TWICE the amount Rachel was paying. Their old roomate moved out of my room because she found out what Rachel was doing when the apartment above ours went up for rent. She now lives happily upstairs with her friends. When confronted about the money laundering,  Roomie Madoff responded,  “sorry, I know it sucks, but I’m saving up money to travel around South America.” I know! After Caitlin found out, she confronted our roomate (complete with printed out copies of the law ol Fuckface was violating) so she lowered Caitlin’s rent some, increased her own by a little, and still continued to bleed me for money. The funny part is, earlier last month when I paid my rent, Rachel was like,

“oh, so I was thinking, when you move out in May [ed note: oh yes, when i signed the sub-lease i learned that her younger sister is graduating from college in May and moving into my room in June — great time to let me know, right?] I’ll reimburse you a little bit, and then it will be like you paid $100 dollars less per each month.”

“Oh, thank you! that’s so nice of you!” I gushed. Ha. Nice my ass, Captain Crook.

When I found out about this Ponzi scheme to fund Rachel’s trip around South America, I wanted to confront her, but she was conveniently away for the weekend; skiing in Tahoe — probably on slopes of cash made out of my money.  After a two-week long email exchange, where she tried to tell me that I couldn’t see our lease because her “agreement with the landlord is private”.  She finally consented to talk about matters face to face.  Again, she tried to slither out of telling me the total rent of the place (something that Judge Judy would yell at me for not asking about up-front, but like, it was my first subletting experience, and I’m an HONEST person and didn’t expect to be living with a psycho who likes to rape my savings so that way she can buy expensive high-tech sleeping bags from REI).  Eventually she cracked, and I found out I’m paying like 2/3 of the rent which is hilarious in a sick, twisted way.

“Uh, wow.” Was all I said.  “That’s not only unfair, but totally illegal.”  I pushed myself away from the table to collect my thoughts.

“Well, that’s what I put the ad out for, and you accepted.” McSwindler hissed through pursed lips.

“Um, okay, but you know there are laws about how to set up a sublease right? Like, you can’t just go around making up any price you want. ”

“Well, Caitlin and I have been here the longest, so, we’re paying less.”

Youuu liar, you two are paying less because you were only paying $400 dollars, and Caitlin caught you. I wanted to say.  But instead I settled for, “Okay, that’s nice.  But the law says if we don’t split the rent down the middle, it’s determined by room size, and I’m sorry, you have the biggest room — by far.”

“My room’s not really that big –” she started to protest.  To which I should have said, are you kidding me? You have a bike, a tv + tv stand, a table, a fucking corner NOOK with a table and a chair, and an outrageous view of the city! But instead I said, “Rachel, that’s not true.” Then I laughed.  Because that’s what you do when faced with ridiculous people: you laugh at them.

“Listen, you’re room is bigger.  By a lot, we can solve this by measuring it. ”

“I’m sorry [ed note: no you’re not, whore!] but you agreed to pay that much.”

“Yes, but I’m paying disproportionately more, which means by law, the amount that I agreed to pay is null in void.”

“What? So you can just make up a price for your rent?” Her beady eyes darted about in confusion.

No, moron, what do you think laws are for? “No, it needs to be determined based off of room square footage.” I repeated through gritted teeth.”

“Okay, look, I don’t want to remeasure rooms…” She started.  Then she offered me a deal which I realized the next day is STILL a rip-off, and I’m STILL carrying the bulk of the rent, but I was tired and over it.

Until today.

I discovered a nice little passive-aggressive sheet of paper lying on the kitchen table.  It was a piece of paper, breaking up how much money Caitlin and I “owe” in utilities.  Thanks, Mom, for breaking that down for us!  You know who’s name was NOT on the paper? If you guessed “Rachel” then you’re smarter than she is.  Like, seriously, c’mon now.  You think I’m just going to blindly accept that Caitlin and I each owe $20 dollars for gas/electricity for the month of February, and you owe…what? $20 dollars? Really? Our gas bill for one month in 60-degree-weather San Francisco is $60 dollars? I uh, don’t think so.  So Caitlin and I talked about it today, but basically, it takes a whole lot of strength to not just like, push her out her big fucking window overlooking the Golden Gate bridge.

*Name has NOT been changed