Archive for October, 2009
uber shy lady?
E! Online is dishing some Foxian dirt saying a previous anonymous letter bashing my lady crush is boo-hooing bull. The newest source is saying that Fox is incredibly shy and awkward, which gawking crew fanboys could interpret as the pretty girl curse, aka being bitchy.
Now, I’m no Megan Fox, but outside of LA I’d probably shore pretty high on the 10 scale. That said, I also happen to be embarassingly awkward and never know how to take a compliment. Case in point? When I briefly sashayed around a fancy bar as a cocktail waitress in my home city of Denver, even the least cute of the bunch would get hit on waaay more than me. Why? Because I’m cagey around people I don’t know and can’t feign interest or attraction to save my life (read: I’d make a terrible lap dancer).
Cleary I’m digressing here, but I’m starting to question my recent dalliances in Hollywood (Emma Stone…). If Ms. Fox is merely a wallflower in foxy (zing!) clothing, did I miss my calling as a terrible actress on the cover of every mag in the land? Hindsight is a bitch!
Like, literally I DIE… Going bananas… Seriously…chic.
Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Bravo reality (Flipping Out, Housewives- NOT New Jersey, Millionaire Matchmaker to name a few), and the Rach’ Zoe project is no exception to the bitchy gay/fab fashion/hot mess vortex that gets me every time.
Haoweverrr (say in Taylor bitch voice), have you noticed that all of the main characters (subjects?) all speak with the same bizarro LA valley girl meet Central PA tween inflection that is making the show borderline unwatchable.
Oh and I hated that leather trenchcoat Rachel forced Brad, but would kill (literallaaay) for the Hermes bracelet RZoe got for Taylor. Bananas!
I AM A DOOOOCHE NOZZLEEEEE!
So, in news you’ve known for the better part of forever, Jon Gosseling supposedly drained over $200,000 from soon to be ex-wife Kate. Hey, Ed Hardy doesn’t come cheap! Kate is filing all sorts of motions to get the cash back, Jon is claiming none of it ever happened… aaaand all of this reminds me of three rules of Hollywood:
1. Never get married
2. Never become famous
3. Never have kids
Could you imagine if your dysfunctional family fought like this on national television, and instead of your drunken grandfather stepping in you see Larry King’s crypt keeper mug? Oh an instead of a sib’ or two, you are a brood of EIGHT? Reminds me of life rule number 23,121,460: Never get invitro… twice. With a man who wears Ed Hardy and diamond studs.