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Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
The Universe Will Give You The Correct Life
If you said to me, like five years ago, "Hey , Wendy, someone will actually publish a book you wrote, and you'll do a reading at a Barnes and Noble and shit," I would have been like -- probably not going to happen.
But if you'd said, hey, Wendy, you are going to write a book and do a reading at Barnes and Noble, and they'll put a poster for it in the window beneath a giant advertisement for a book called sTori Telling by Tori Spelling.
Also they will spell your name wrong.
I would have been like, yeah, that sounds about right.
Friday, March 21, 2008
I don't make the world, I just live in it.
Look, today is the day when I GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT.
And what they want, apparently, is people raping each other. FAMOUS people.
According to a little widget that monitors what Google searches bring (5) people to my site, the thing they are most often searching for is "celebrity rape scenes."
Evidence:
88 http://www.google.com.tr/search?hl=tr&q=rape%20scenes%20celebrities&meta=
And so today I am instituting a special feature called:
GIVING THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT
INT. Laundromat
Natalie Portman fishes a last pair of socks from a dryer. She sighs, and turns to go.
In the WIDE SHOT, we see that the laundromat is empty. A single bulb illuminates Natalie's pale, beautiful face. She is wearing a tight tank-top and short, cut-off jean shorts, her muscular legs straining and her breasts heaving as she hauls her heavy basket.
Then, a JINGLE as the door opens and country star BILLY RAY CYRUS enters. He is tall, hulking, manly, powerful.
And then Natalie Portman rapes him.
A rapist will often be seen reading a book, so as to appear less suspicious.
And what they want, apparently, is people raping each other. FAMOUS people.
According to a little widget that monitors what Google searches bring (5) people to my site, the thing they are most often searching for is "celebrity rape scenes."
Evidence:
88 http://www.google.com.tr/search?hl=tr&q=rape%20scenes%20celebrities&meta=
And so today I am instituting a special feature called:
GIVING THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT
INT. Laundromat
Natalie Portman fishes a last pair of socks from a dryer. She sighs, and turns to go.
In the WIDE SHOT, we see that the laundromat is empty. A single bulb illuminates Natalie's pale, beautiful face. She is wearing a tight tank-top and short, cut-off jean shorts, her muscular legs straining and her breasts heaving as she hauls her heavy basket.
Then, a JINGLE as the door opens and country star BILLY RAY CYRUS enters. He is tall, hulking, manly, powerful.
And then Natalie Portman rapes him.
A rapist will often be seen reading a book, so as to appear less suspicious.Thursday, March 20, 2008
Spoiler alert.
Guys, I know who wins the NCAA tournament.
The same person that ALWAYS wins.
Sorry I'm going to win the Yahoo bracket competition with my correct guess.
Better luck next time.
YOUR WINNER:
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Please Meet The Newest Phrase You Hate
So this is the big story for ladies today:
Observer story (via lindsayism )
If you don't feel like clicking (I know, it's hard, you had a LONG DAY), the story is that there is a female equivalent of Metrosexuals, and they wear jeans and are dubbed "Urbane Tomboys."
And everyone's analyzing it in a very intelligent fashion, but my big problem with it is : seriously, URBANE TOMBOYS? As in like, a play on Urban Cowboy? Really? Am I wrong. Is that really it? I mean, it's so COMPLICATED. It's such a stretch.
Judging by the fact that that is the name they picked, here are some other movie-based names they must have passed up:
There Will Be Ladies In Sweatshirts
The Unbearable Dykeness Of Straight Girls
No Dresses For Reasonably Atractive Women
Also, isn't the phenomenon they are talking about just "most women?"
Sorry, I can't finish this post, I have to go have a boxing match with my girlfriends while we wear our Marc Jacobs T Shirts and not be gay. Or something. I'm so confused and cold! Hold me!
Observer story (via lindsayism )
If you don't feel like clicking (I know, it's hard, you had a LONG DAY), the story is that there is a female equivalent of Metrosexuals, and they wear jeans and are dubbed "Urbane Tomboys."
And everyone's analyzing it in a very intelligent fashion, but my big problem with it is : seriously, URBANE TOMBOYS? As in like, a play on Urban Cowboy? Really? Am I wrong. Is that really it? I mean, it's so COMPLICATED. It's such a stretch.
Judging by the fact that that is the name they picked, here are some other movie-based names they must have passed up:
There Will Be Ladies In Sweatshirts
The Unbearable Dykeness Of Straight Girls
No Dresses For Reasonably Atractive Women
Also, isn't the phenomenon they are talking about just "most women?"
Sorry, I can't finish this post, I have to go have a boxing match with my girlfriends while we wear our Marc Jacobs T Shirts and not be gay. Or something. I'm so confused and cold! Hold me!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Funnee
For some reason I can't link to the thing on Funny or Die that you should be watching, but go over there and put Brookdale Mayoral Debate into the search. Enjoy!
Stop and smell the unicorns.
As I have noted here before, I have a site for a short I made with some friends a while ago @ unicornbaby.com. On this site, my friend Kate wrote that unicorns are racist because they are white. Every once in a while, I get one of these awesome emails.:
From: [redacted]
Subject: I find what you have written insulting to all unicorn lovers
Date: March 13, 2008 6:58:11 PM PDT
To: unicornbaby@mac.com
you might wanna check your facts before you post lies.try looking around. unicorns are not just white. they are black, pink purple, blue and many other colors. I should know I have a collection of several THOUSAND piecesand pictures!!!
I love that she got so excited at the end and ran her words together. I love that she wants me to "look around" at all the unicorns. I am pretty sure I am leaving my husband for this email. I want to be together with this email forever.
From: [redacted]
Subject: I find what you have written insulting to all unicorn lovers
Date: March 13, 2008 6:58:11 PM PDT
To: unicornbaby@mac.com
you might wanna check your facts before you post lies.try looking around. unicorns are not just white. they are black, pink purple, blue and many other colors. I should know I have a collection of several THOUSAND piecesand pictures!!!
I love that she got so excited at the end and ran her words together. I love that she wants me to "look around" at all the unicorns. I am pretty sure I am leaving my husband for this email. I want to be together with this email forever.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Lady-blogging.
Usually, I like to make the ha-has. Or at least the rueful smirk. Or at the very least the eyeroll and the click away to another site.
But this whole Silda Spitzer thing, which seems to be garnering as much attention as the whole prostitute thing, has gotten me thinking. And by "Silda Spitzer thing," I mean her decision to go to the press conferences and stay with her husband and not imbed the heel of a shoe into that crazy fuck of a husband's face. And what a face it is. Scrunched up, gleaming with pleasure at his own cleverness, bobbing on that lanky body like the dot on an upside-down exclamation point. He looks harmless, law-abiding, do gooder-ish. No one that looks like Don Knotts zipped inside a Paul Scheer suit could possibly be so, well, gross.
And maybe it is his look that reminds me most of my own cheating-boyfriend-past. Mine was also tall and lanky. He was baby-faced and kind-looking. His face was scrunched, although handsomer because he was, after all, an aspiring actor.
And I was shocked to find out that he had slept around on me -- not because our relationship was good. It was broken from the start, we split up every three or four weeks. I had the feeling he was embarrassed to have me meet his friends, and then that feeling was replaced by the creepier notion that perhaps he essentially had no friends.
And the brokenness was also my fault. I was young. I had low self-esteem. In the reverse of Alvy Singer, I wanted to belong to ANY club that would take me as a member. I instructed my partners in the ways they could be cruel to me. "You don't really like me but you want to sleep with me? Okay! I am so cool with that."
The only thing surprising about the fact that this guy cheated on me was that I was surprised by it. But whenever we hit a rocky patch, he would say something like, "I know we're having trouble, but I haven't even held hands with another girl since we started dating."
I took that at face value because, you know, why not?
And then, and here's the part where I finally get to the point, after finding out about the cheating with numerous girls, including friend-ish types, I stayed with him. For three months. And here's as close as I can get to an explanation. I think I wanted to stick around to see him sweat, to see him grovel, to see him squirm. I thought the cheating was a reflection of me, and I wanted that image to go away. I wanted it to be replaced by something else. I wanted him to tell me what I was worth. I wanted him to say he made a terrible mistake. And he said it over and over. And you know what? That really did make me kinda feel better. Later in life, I would learn how to do that myself --but not yet. And I hadn't had that ah-hah moment where you realize guys like that are just guys like that.
The light started peeking through when I asked him, on another long night of harangues and tears, why he had really broken up with the girl before me. Having lately learned the art of confession, he said that he had cheated on her too.
And then I could see sweeping behind him a long chain of pretty and serviceable girls, each tossed aside for the next, each to him the same -- perfectly okay but not quite perfect. He was like a kid walking down a beach collecting shells. Selecting and abandoning them on a whim when his hands got too full.
We broke up for good one afternoon. I had told him I thought we oughta split. He begged me to reconsider. And I mean begged. I finally said fine, come over and we can talk about it.
I was met with a long silence and then, "Well, I can't right now. The Laker game is coming on."
Really, honestly, as far as break-up stories go, you have to admit that's a heck of a great exit line.
I hung up, and stopped taking his calls and emails. About a month later I was driving inland on the 10. I had started dating a guy who lived outside the city. My phone rang, and there was the ex, wanting to hash it all out again. I told him that I was on my way to an appointment and I had to go.
"I love you," he said hopefully. And I could have said a bunch of stuff about how false that was, but instead I grinned and just said what he wanted to hear.
Oh sure, uh huh, "I love you too," I said.
And then, from him, "I think, you know, in a couple of years it will work out between us."
I can't remember what I said, just something to pacify him. And then I hung up and kept on going.
I didn't give it much thought after that. I was already on my way to somewhere else.
But this whole Silda Spitzer thing, which seems to be garnering as much attention as the whole prostitute thing, has gotten me thinking. And by "Silda Spitzer thing," I mean her decision to go to the press conferences and stay with her husband and not imbed the heel of a shoe into that crazy fuck of a husband's face. And what a face it is. Scrunched up, gleaming with pleasure at his own cleverness, bobbing on that lanky body like the dot on an upside-down exclamation point. He looks harmless, law-abiding, do gooder-ish. No one that looks like Don Knotts zipped inside a Paul Scheer suit could possibly be so, well, gross.
And maybe it is his look that reminds me most of my own cheating-boyfriend-past. Mine was also tall and lanky. He was baby-faced and kind-looking. His face was scrunched, although handsomer because he was, after all, an aspiring actor.
And I was shocked to find out that he had slept around on me -- not because our relationship was good. It was broken from the start, we split up every three or four weeks. I had the feeling he was embarrassed to have me meet his friends, and then that feeling was replaced by the creepier notion that perhaps he essentially had no friends.
And the brokenness was also my fault. I was young. I had low self-esteem. In the reverse of Alvy Singer, I wanted to belong to ANY club that would take me as a member. I instructed my partners in the ways they could be cruel to me. "You don't really like me but you want to sleep with me? Okay! I am so cool with that."
The only thing surprising about the fact that this guy cheated on me was that I was surprised by it. But whenever we hit a rocky patch, he would say something like, "I know we're having trouble, but I haven't even held hands with another girl since we started dating."
I took that at face value because, you know, why not?
And then, and here's the part where I finally get to the point, after finding out about the cheating with numerous girls, including friend-ish types, I stayed with him. For three months. And here's as close as I can get to an explanation. I think I wanted to stick around to see him sweat, to see him grovel, to see him squirm. I thought the cheating was a reflection of me, and I wanted that image to go away. I wanted it to be replaced by something else. I wanted him to tell me what I was worth. I wanted him to say he made a terrible mistake. And he said it over and over. And you know what? That really did make me kinda feel better. Later in life, I would learn how to do that myself --but not yet. And I hadn't had that ah-hah moment where you realize guys like that are just guys like that.
The light started peeking through when I asked him, on another long night of harangues and tears, why he had really broken up with the girl before me. Having lately learned the art of confession, he said that he had cheated on her too.
And then I could see sweeping behind him a long chain of pretty and serviceable girls, each tossed aside for the next, each to him the same -- perfectly okay but not quite perfect. He was like a kid walking down a beach collecting shells. Selecting and abandoning them on a whim when his hands got too full.
We broke up for good one afternoon. I had told him I thought we oughta split. He begged me to reconsider. And I mean begged. I finally said fine, come over and we can talk about it.
I was met with a long silence and then, "Well, I can't right now. The Laker game is coming on."
Really, honestly, as far as break-up stories go, you have to admit that's a heck of a great exit line.
I hung up, and stopped taking his calls and emails. About a month later I was driving inland on the 10. I had started dating a guy who lived outside the city. My phone rang, and there was the ex, wanting to hash it all out again. I told him that I was on my way to an appointment and I had to go.
"I love you," he said hopefully. And I could have said a bunch of stuff about how false that was, but instead I grinned and just said what he wanted to hear.
Oh sure, uh huh, "I love you too," I said.
And then, from him, "I think, you know, in a couple of years it will work out between us."
I can't remember what I said, just something to pacify him. And then I hung up and kept on going.
I didn't give it much thought after that. I was already on my way to somewhere else.
The Conversation In The Spitzers' Car On The Way Home From The Press Conference
FROM CNN:
'Deeply sorry' Spitzer resigns
New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer said today he is "deeply sorry" that he did not live up to what was expected of him. Spitzer resigned, effective Monday, amid allegations of involvement in a prostitution ring. developing story
INT: LINCOLN TOWN CAR
Eliot Spitzer drives. His wife, Silda, checks her Blackberry.
ELIOT: So, that went okay, I think?
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I mean, considering.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: Hey, how about Britney being on 'How I Met Your Mother?' That oughta be a trainwreck.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I wonder if she and Barney will have a 'slap bet.' That would be funny. Hey, maybe I'll write for TV now. Do a couple of specs. See if I can get an agent. Heh heh.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I'm joking.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I mean, unless you think that's a good idea.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: Did you see those coupons we got for Domino's Pizza? We should get pizza tonight.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I like pizza.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: So. I guess you're still mad about the hookers.
SILDA: ...
SILDA: ...
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I wonder when CSI will have new episodes.
'Deeply sorry' Spitzer resigns
New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer said today he is "deeply sorry" that he did not live up to what was expected of him. Spitzer resigned, effective Monday, amid allegations of involvement in a prostitution ring. developing story
INT: LINCOLN TOWN CAR
Eliot Spitzer drives. His wife, Silda, checks her Blackberry.
ELIOT: So, that went okay, I think?
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I mean, considering.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: Hey, how about Britney being on 'How I Met Your Mother?' That oughta be a trainwreck.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I wonder if she and Barney will have a 'slap bet.' That would be funny. Hey, maybe I'll write for TV now. Do a couple of specs. See if I can get an agent. Heh heh.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I'm joking.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I mean, unless you think that's a good idea.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: Did you see those coupons we got for Domino's Pizza? We should get pizza tonight.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I like pizza.
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: So. I guess you're still mad about the hookers.
SILDA: ...
SILDA: ...
SILDA: ...
ELIOT: I wonder when CSI will have new episodes.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
This is what happens when I go back to having a dayjob. Are you happy now?
Latest News:
Ticker: Exit polls show big racial divide
Will prostitution-linked governor quit?
Experts, colleagues weigh in on Spitzer
Fallon quits as Centcom chief
Gangster held in killing of teen athlete
CNNMoney: Dow soars 417 points
I didn't even know Jimmy Fallon was the Centcom Chief. I bet he got fired for laughing in the middle of war strategy sessions just to draw focus from other officers in the meetings, and they just said he quit.
Ticker: Exit polls show big racial divide
Will prostitution-linked governor quit?
Experts, colleagues weigh in on Spitzer
Fallon quits as Centcom chief
Gangster held in killing of teen athlete
CNNMoney: Dow soars 417 points
I didn't even know Jimmy Fallon was the Centcom Chief. I bet he got fired for laughing in the middle of war strategy sessions just to draw focus from other officers in the meetings, and they just said he quit.
Great Ideas
I have decided to make a pamphlet about menstruation for young girls called "There Will Be Blood." This is a good idea, right?
Also, um, you know what I don't care about? Having a satin-y tampon. Oh my god, I feel classy when I'm using a Tampax Satin. What is the thread count of this tampon? Oh, really? I think I'll give these to my maid then.
But my instructional pamphlet is still a great idea. Also, there will be a companion video where Daniel Day Lewis tells you about your body.
Shallow Thought Of The Day
I was just thinking about people who work on gossip blogs, and how it must be hard to decide whether to run items and all that. And then I thought about how that would make me nervous, and then I thought something like, "Well, I'm not a gossip blogger for the same reason I'm not a doctor. I just don't really want to make decisions that affect other people's lives."
Sometimes, I out-dumb myself.
That said, I hope this is who gives me an emergency appendectomy:
He'd just draw a doodle on it that said WHORE or something, and then draw some white dots coming out of my nose and sew me back up.
Sometimes, I out-dumb myself.
That said, I hope this is who gives me an emergency appendectomy:
He'd just draw a doodle on it that said WHORE or something, and then draw some white dots coming out of my nose and sew me back up.
This is a neat site, and I'm not just saying that because they excerpted my book, I'm saying that because I'm a shallow, self-promoting lady.
Hipster Book Club
Really, though, if you like to read, you might find some neat books to buy. Like mine. HA HA. Just kidding. Why can't I stop? Buy my book. What? Who said that? Okay, no more self-promotion. I love me! And books I write! Ok, seriously, I have to go make posters of myself and then have sex with them.
Hipster Book Club
Really, though, if you like to read, you might find some neat books to buy. Like mine. HA HA. Just kidding. Why can't I stop? Buy my book. What? Who said that? Okay, no more self-promotion. I love me! And books I write! Ok, seriously, I have to go make posters of myself and then have sex with them.
Monday, March 10, 2008
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