I have something in my head... literally

My dearest Sassies,

Please forgive these departures from celebrity smut. I can't help myself. Weird shit is going on and I must share. I'll start from the beginning. Last spring (April 2009), my boyfriend and I were cycling in a park when we came across a very narrow trail with a lot of thick tree branches lining both sides. Of course, we decide to take this trail because we're adventurous like that. At one point, I lost my balance, and a tree branch basically stabbed the back of my left ear. 

Needless to say, it hurt like a bitch but I kept on riding because I'm tough like that. Back at the car, our adventure done, my boyfriend took a closer look at my shanked ear. There wasn't a lot of blood but there seemed to be a pretty big gash. He thought it would be a good idea to go to Emergency and get it looked at. I balked at the idea but caved and ended up going to the hospital.

Once there, we waited, and waited, and waited... Then, we were brought into an exam room, and waited, and waited, and waited. We started playing with some of the equipment, out of sheer boredom, then got kicked out of that exam room and put into another. Finally, a doctor arrived. We explained what happened, he looked at my ear, then said "This is why I don't exercise." He flushed out the wound with water and glued it together (apparently, they use glue now instead of stitches for some minor wounds). 

Over the next year, I sometimes noticed a little bump in the back of my ear and always thought it was the scar from this incident. I never bothered to actually grab a mirror and look behind my ear. Well, this past weekend, my boyfriend took a closer look because, from what he could see, something just didn't seem quite right. After a closer examination, he suspected a piece of wood may still be lodged under the skin behind my ear. You must understand that usually, I don't worry too much about my health. Until someone tells me they think a foreign body is stuck under my skin. Gross.

So, at my boyfriend's suggestion, I went to see my family doctor who looked at it and said "Huh". Her theory: it could very well be a piece of wood or a piece of broken cartilage. She thinks there's definitely something there. Meanwhile, I'm thinking I should start shopping for funeral homes. Sometimes, my reactions are slightly out of proportion with what's actually happening. I had a tearful breakdown in a bathroom stall once when I found out I needed a root canal.

It's a mystery since there doesn't seem to be any kind of infection, there's no pain, and it hasn't really bothered me for over a year. The family doctor decided to refer me to a plastic surgeon, who will ultimately decide my fate, since she concluded her expertise in this area was somewhat limited.

Knowing there's something stuck in my head feels kind of weird. Ignorance really is bliss. Of course, this surgeon may decide not to do anything if it really isn't bothering me and it's not causing any harm, apart from the circus freak aspect of it. Except now it is bothering me, psychologically speaking, because I know it's there, and I don't quite know what it is.

Of course, I'm trying to keep things in perspective and have a sense of humour about this. Yesterday, my boyfriend and I were discussing something having to do with sex and I said: "Hey, now I have wood too!".

Earthquake!

So there I was, minding my own business, sitting at my desk on the 10th floor of an office building, when lo and behold, the building starts to shake. I don't know about you, but the last thing I want a building to do when I'm 10 floors up is rattle around like it's made of jello. This lasted about 20 or 30 seconds, or so we were told later on the news. It felt like an eternity.

There's currently construction going on in the underground parking garage of said building so I initially thought someone on the crew had royally screwed up and the building was comin' down. It's only when we saw crowds of people streaming out of neighboring office buildings that we realized it wasn't just us. Then calls from loved ones came in. Apparently, the whole city felt it. Turns out it was a 5.0 magnitude earthquake.

Seismic activity is not uncommon in the Ottawa area but quakes registering in the "moderate" category are a rare occurrence. It was a frightful experience to say the least. I was strangely immobile as it happened, staring out the window, thinking "This can't be happening. I don't want to die today and certainly not like this." My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. Then it stopped.

My co-workers and I congregated in the hallway, trying to make sense of what just happened, still feeling quite skittish. Being on the 10th floor of a high-rise is not a place you want to be during an earthquake. I just kept wondering how the hell we could get out without getting crushed, even though that concern was unwarranted in this case, since the quake wasn't  severe enough to cause any damage. Thank God.

If anything, the whole experience was incredibly humbling. It brought into sharp focus the fact that we have no control over external events in our lives. We can only control our reactions. It was also a reminder to savour every single moment because it could all end in one unexpected instant. 

These types of events bring me into my dark places, into the things I fear most. I have a terrible fear of dying. I don't know, maybe everyone does, to varying degrees. Anything that reminds me that waking up in the morning and getting through the day alive is a f*cking miracle kicks me out of my comfort zone, and I don't much care for that. 

On a more humorous note, some Taiwanese tourists were interviewed on the news yesterday evening, and they were asked what they thought of the quake. They weren't perturbed in the least. Apparently, this kind of thing happens two or three times a month in their country. It was a great reminder not to take things too seriously, and that brought me back to my happy place.

Puttin' the kybosh on Bieber fever

I've always loved Harry Potter. I read the books and have seen all the movies to date. I love Daniel Radcliffe even more now, after reading this.

OMFG! I SO called this

Well, well, well. It's finally happened. Frankly, I'm surprised they lasted this long. Jake (the fame whore) Pavelka and Vienna (the crusty-crotch skank) Girardi have split. When I came across this juicy tidbit I felt a moment of sublime elation and wanted to run up and down the hall, alerting my co-workers of this late-breaking news. Then it hit me. I'm probably the only loser here who watches The Bachelor and now The Bachelorette.

This show is 2 for 19 in producing successful matches. 2 for 19. Ouch. Then again, how can you possibly find a life partner when you're courting each other in such unrealistic conditions. I mean, you get to live in a mansion with a bunch of people, and go frolicking in fun, exotic places. You're away from your job, family and friends, therefore freed of your daily obligations and any semblance of reality. It's a world where pillows, candles and wine seem to magically appear in just about every setting.

How are you supposed to "get to know someone" under such false pretenses? I suspect this show continues purely for ratings. It doesn't really matter how successful it is at producing actual, long-term couples as long as suckers like me keep tuning into our weekly dose of asinine drama.

I suppose I feel somewhat vindicated by the short life of Jake and Vienna's relationship because I knew from the start it would never last. If Jake really wanted a long-term, serious relationship, he would have chosen Tenley, the runner-up. Although, I'm glad he didn't. She's too good for him. Since the end of Jake's tenure on The Bachelor, he's revealed the extent of his fame whoring aspirations and Tenley deserves better than that. 

Vienna was a hot piece of ass, and that's about it. Apart from a physical chemistry, Jake and Vienna seemed hardly compatible. Vienna only made it as far as she did because she was a ratings darling, the one everyone loved to hate. Jake knew this, and milked that cow for all she was worth. And now he's done. He's landing acting gigs and no longer needs Vienna to steer his fame train. 

This almost makes up for Bieber fever. Almost.

 On the wings of fame...

Bieber fever. Puke.

I'm away from the gossip all weekend, and all I get on a Monday morning as a headline is this: "Justin Bieber wins three Much Music Video awards". Wow. That is lame. I've heard some of Justin's songs, and if I didn't know of him, I would have sworn a girl was singing. His music also sounds just as generic as the rest of the crappy bubblegum pop that's out there.

Justin f*cking Bieber? Really? I mean, I don't get it. He's not appealing in the least. He looks like a prepubescent girl and his talent is quite ordinary. So why are tweens loosing their shit over this bland she-male? When I was 11, I was lusting after Don Johnson, an adult male. Maybe I had daddy issues. But I digress. 

Bieber fever is something I just can't wrap my head around. And to top it all off, he's an arrogant little f*ck to boot. That really irks me. How does some banal, preteen-looking boy reach international stardom? What kind of world lets that happen? The same world that thinks Kristen Stewart can act. 

 Dude looks like a lady.

Perez > Miley

On the best of days, I do not like Miley Cyrus. On the worst of days, I wanna cut the bitch. Today would be one of the latter. There's big controversy whirling around celebrity gossip blogger Perez Hilton since he posted a  link on his Twitter account to an up-skirt shot of Miley which may or may not display her lady bits. Now, advertisers are pulling their business from his site because of outraged customers, and Perez may be in legal trouble as the photo might fall under child pornography since she's under 18. 

To which I say: what a crock of shit. In his first interview on the subject, Perez hits the nail on the head. Here's an excerpt from an article on Popeater: 

"I didn't pick it for her to look like she wasn't wearing underwear. The point of me choosing that one photo is because it was showing Miley getting out of the car in an unladylike fashion. And I just thought that was funny and in keeping with her shocking behavior of late, because she was very well aware that she was in a public place at a -- at a video shoot and that there were paparazzi present."

Notice the highlighted text. I'm assuming those who are "outraged" by the whole incident are God-fearing, bible-thumping, crazy right-wing Christians who secretly hump farm animals. Any reasonable person can see that Miley is a big 'ol ho. That's right. Don't give me this "she's just 17" bullshit. For more on her skanky behaviour, click here. 

When did underwear go out of fashion? 'Cause I didn't get the memo. If you're climbing out of a car, in a skirt, surrounded by paparrazzi, wear some f*cking underpants! Is that too much to ask? This girl Miley, she'll never get past her white trash lineage. 

I read Perez Hilton's blog and it's awesome. I don't know him personally but I think I can say with a certain amount of confidence that he does not push child pornography nor does he have any interest in doing so. He called Miley on her shit, and kudos to him for having the balls to do it. 

 You rock dude. Keep your chin up.

Do as I say to you, not as I say in an interview

I've never been a fan of Jennifer Love Hewitt. Now, I think she's even more of a douchebag after reading this. The title pretty much says it all: "Jennifer Love Hewitt loves her body, wants a different one". First, she shares her infinite wisdom with young girls, telling them to love themselves as they are right now. Then, she goes on to say she would rather have a body like supermodel Gisele Bundchen.

WTF? This does not help, you fecking hypocrite! Either stand behind your statements to young, impressionable girls or admit that you hate your body and want another one. If Jennifer really loved her body, she wouldn't wish to have someone else's. She'd be perfectly happy with what she's got. 

I'm the first to admit that I don't love my body. I wish I did. It performs very well for me, and still looks quite youthful. People often assume I'm younger than I actually am. But a part of me simply cannot let go of the self-loathing. Maybe it's because I've never really known how else to be for the past 20 years. I was a pretty scrawny kid up until about 15. Then, things changed. Suddenly, what and how much I ate mattered. I started to put on some weight, and the body issues began. Looking at women's magazines made me want to jump off a bridge. They still do, sort of.

I remember leafing through a fashion mag once and it had an article on anorexia followed by an ad with a rail-thin model. That ad basically negated everything in the article. It was blatant hypocrisy. Eating disorders are bad but we only use models who look like they eat once a week. 

If we were serious about addressing body image issues, we would demand that models bear a much bigger resemblance to the average person and do away with these impossible ideals. We would also demand that Photoshop not be used whatsoever in fashion photography. I mean, let's get real.

The fashion industry would probably posit this rebuttal: but fashion is about fantasy and play, it's not about real people. To which I would reply: who is buying your shit?! Do you just make clothes for models to wear on runways and at photo shoots? I think not. If that were the case, you would be making far less money and the whole fashion industry would be relegated to some underground freakshow for clothes fetishists.

The power lies with us, the consumer, and right now, we're asleep at the wheel. We're simply accepting standards we didn't choose, driven by a money-hungry, consumption-obsessed culture. If we universally boycotted all fashion magazines until they changed their policies and views on who can and cannot model, you would see changes faster than John Mayer finding his next lay.

Just sayin'.

 Yeah, that's hot.

TV induced sloth

Dreams really do come true! On last night's Season 3 premiere of True Blood, we basically got to see all of Alexander Skarsgard, a.k.a. Eric the vampire, minus the full frontal. There is a God.

Disturbingly, my weekend consisted of pure TV sloth, interspersed with a pedicure and a trip to the grocery store to ward off starvation. My step-daughter and I watched hours of One Tree Hill (we're already at Season 6!), last week's episode of The Bachelorette, since we missed it and had to get caught up for tonight's new episode, and True Blood.

I don't recommend watching this much TV. When we had to go out into the real world to get food, my fine motor skills were slower than usual. There should be warnings about operating motorized vehicles after prolonged exposure to television watching. They could totally do a remake of that anti-drug commercial for TV: this is your brain / this is your brain on TV, and your TV brain would be covered in corporate logos and Cheetos. 

I have long tried to understand my television addiction but to no avail. It started out at a young age, with Sesame Street and Polka Dot Door. By age 8, I was hooked on The Dukes of Hazzard and Days of our Lives. I even tried to sneak in Dallas but my mother would catch me and send me off to bed 'cause Dallas was on past my bedtime. 

When I was 11, I dropped out of a film class that was given on Saturday mornings because I had to watch Miami Vice on Friday nights at 10 pm, and was too tired to get up the next morning. I had a major crush on Don Johnson at the time. Yes, that is how I rationalize it.

Then came Another World and Young and the Restless. I remember once, when I was about 13, one of my friends came over and tried to convince me to come out with her (it was a beautiful summer day) but I was terribly conflicted because I would miss one of my soap operas (I believe it was Another World). Sad, I know.

I can't even begin to list the litany of TV programs I've since been addicted to. Some good, some bad, some downright embarrassing. Of course, my addiction flourished and evolved as new technologies allowed us to capture what we might miss on TV while seemingly leading normal lives, like the VCR (remember that? Sure, I can go out! I'll just tape my show!), and now DVDs, PVRs, the Internet, and the newest "i" gadget. It's like sticking the needle right into my TV-starved vein. 

Fangtastic news!

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the Season 3 premiere of True Blood this Sunday at 9 pm on HBO. My loins are quivering in anticipation. To prepare, I've started watching Season 2 again. This was a good idea. There are a lot of details I'd forgotten about so everything will be fresh in my mind for the debut of the new season.

I love this show. Frankly, anything that Alan Ball is involved with always kicks ass (American Beauty, Six Feet Under, etc...). And this particular show feeds my vampire fetish. I can't explain it. I've always had it, and have always been drawn to shows that explore it: Dark Shadows, with Ben Cross (God, I was so hot for him); Buffy the Vampire Slayer (first, major crush on Angel, then loin quivers for Spike); Bram Stoker's Dracula (I wanted Gary Oldman to sneak into my bedroom too); Fright Night (Chris Sarandon as a vampire = HAWT) and now, True Blood (Vampire Bill gave me chills - the good kind - now Eric is lookin' mighty fine).

I imagine it's pretty commonplace these days to have a vampire fetish what with all the Twilight insanity but I was ahead of the curve, way before this mass blood sucker hysteria.

I would be a vampire's ideal victim. Why? Because I'm so easily seduced. I would gladly expose my neck and give up my first born if some hot vampire dude stared at me long enough. Except Edward Cullen. I don't know if the production budget fell short for Twilight but the makeup in the first movie was so heinously bad, even I couldn't buy the fake pale skin. Also, Robert Pattinson's portrayal of the brooding angst that characterizes most vampires just made me want to slap him, unlike other performers delving into the vampire genre who make me think lewd and lascivious thoughts.

Perhaps it's the promise of immortality (despite having to become an evil, murderous being), or really hot, somewhat violent sex (what with the biting and drinking of blood) that draws me to this mythical creature. 

 I wanna see more of you in Season 3. Yum.

"I don’t know what you’ve done to me,
But I know this much is true:
I wanna do bad things with you."

                                   Bad Things by Jace Everett (True Blood theme song)

Hand Job

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Today I'm a crusty bitch - part deux

Kristen Stewart is publicly apologizing for likening fame to rape, calling it an "enormous mistake". No shit Sherlock. Comparing an incredibly successful career (despite her lack of talent) to an unimaginably violent act is to belittle victims of actual rape. Having a camera shoved in your face is not the same as being forced to have sex with someone, or something, for that matter. 

Both Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson have this sickening habit of portraying themselves as misunderstood "artistes" who just hate the limelight because it's so traumatic. Like I mentioned in my previous post, if it's so difficult, get out of the spotlight or stop complaining about it. I suspect they secretly love it because deep down they're incredibly insecure and all the attention pumps up their fragile egos.

I've also noticed that it's usually the most talented actors who purposely stay out of the public eye because it's about the work, not their image. Sure, they reappear every once in a while to promote a film but that's about it. 

The ones who tend to constantly be fodder for gossip rags are usually reality TV fame whores or talentless hacks posing as actors who happen to be in schloppy movies that are only popular because of an insane fan base, such as the Twilight franchise. I mean, let's face it, these movies suck. Mostly because they're based on books that equally sucked. Yes, I read all four books so I can say that. 

An apology is nice and all, but acting like some ungrateful, spoiled brat when you're raking in the dough while two thirds of the world is starving smacks of bad taste. It reflects this sense of entitlement so endemic to this new generation. 

Go to some impoverished corner of the world for a while and see how the other half lives. Maybe a camera in the face won't seem so bad after you've witnessed abject poverty. 

Suck it up princess.

Today I'm a crusty bitch

John Mayer has had to cancel the rest of his European tour due to an "unnamed illness". Well John, here are a few questions that may help you narrow down the list of possible ailments:

1) have you been acting like a two dollar hooker on payday?

2) does it burn when you pee?

3) is it really itchy "down there"?

4) are there any red, swollen craters forming on your manly instrument?

If you answered yes to one or more of the above questions, you probably have an STD. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Your doctor will give you a prescription and it should go away. Unless you've got the herp. The herp stays with you forever, like an "accident" you didn't want to abort. (Oooh, over the line? Nah.) 

Speaking of over the line, Kristen Stewart, in an interview with Elle UK, states that "fame is like rape". Wait... wait... I think I just threw up in my mouth. Dear Kristen: cry me a f*cking river. If you didn't like the international fame and insane Twilophile adulation brought on by the first Twilight movie, you didn't have to sign up for the rest of 'em. You could have walked away and they would have recast Bella, as they did Victoria, and maybe they would have replaced you with someone who can act. 

I have no pity for celebrities who put themselves in the limelight, then complain that the glare of fame is too hot. Go do some regional theatre if it bothers you that much.

Real women in bikinis, Ali dating and Gordon's return

This makes me happy. The French version of Marie-Claire featured "plus-size", in other words, average women, in their latest swimsuit spread. And this past February, the Australian version of the same magazine went completely airbrush-free. Is it possible? Is the fashion industry returning to reasonable ideals of beauty? 

The women featured in this spread are gorgeous and, OMG!, they have curves. They don't look like prepubescent boys on crack. And they're probably actual adult women, not 12-year-olds made up to look like they're 20. They also look like they have real boobs too, not the fake "torpedo tits". 

Kudos to Perez Hilton for highlighting this story. It's not often I come across articles in the gossipsphere that give me the warm fuzzies.

Speaking of warm fuzzies (no pun intended), the second episode of The Bachelorette aired last night. I was actually impressed with Ali. She seemed to have a clear head and called some of the guys on their shit. 

Unfortunately, one of them was a fellow Canadian.  But I can't blame her. He had the crazy eyes, like Michelle on the last season of The Bachelor. And he didn't seem too interested in Ali. Dude was giving Canadian boys a bad name. Although, one Canadian remains and he seems to be the source of future controversy. Boys, represent! You're shaming your fellow Canucks!

Ali's first date was with nerdy but totally hot Frank. I approve. Her next date was with sweet and hunky small-town boy Jesse. I approve. It's also obvious she has a real hankering for smoldering but sensitive Roberto. I approve. Next week's previews looked pretty juicy with Justin, the Canadian pro wrestler, causing some waves. You know I'm counting down the hours. Is that wrong? 

Ohhh!!! And a new season of Hell's Kitchen starts tonight! Damn, that Gordon Ramsay. He ain't pretty but he's hot. And the show is good too. 

 I don't really know how to cook but I'm willing to let you teach me.