Lying and cheating and texting, oh my!

When a forty-something woman posts pictures of herself in a bikini on Twitter, there's always a reason... and I've found it. 

Is it true? Is it just a rumour? If Demi is posting half naked photos of herself you gotta know there's some truth to it. Here's the conversation I imagine took place between Demi and Ashton that led to her desperate attempt to out-hottie Ashton's 21-year-old mistress:

Demi: So Ash, were you all up in her cooch or what?

Ashton: (pause) Or what?

Demi: Don't be coy.

Ashton: Huh?

Demi: That means... oh, I don't know what it means. Just answer the question. 

Ashton: Babe, why would I do something like that when I have you, fake.... everything and all?

Demi: I don't know, you tell me.

Ashton: Babe, you're acting all crazy. Relax.

Demi: Don't tell me to relax. She's younger than Rumer!

Ashton: She is?

Demi: You asshole!

Ashton: Babe, come on. Why don't we go to a Kabbalah service or something, so you can cool down.

Demi: That shit is just for show! So I could wear a red string around my wrist and be like Madonna.

Ashton: Maybe we should actually try it. I think you need it.

Demi: Don't tell me what I need! What I need is for you to tell me the truth!

Ashton: You can't handle the truth! Huh...huh...huh. Get it?

Demi: I'm going to stick a big, sharp object into one of my fake boobs and deflate it if you don't tell me what really happened.

Ashton: Umm, you've been punk'd?

Demi: Ha, ha, very funny... Really? Seriously? Oh my God, oh my God! Ohhh, you! Wait... where are the TV cameras?

Ashton: Duh, they're hiding... so you couldn't see them. 

Demi: Where are they now?

Ashton: They're gone.

Demi: But they didn't get the big reveal.

Ashton: Ya, they did. They, like, just left.

Demi: (pause) I'm going to prove to you just how hot I am.

Ashton: Cool.

Demi: I'm going to go into our bathroom, put a bikini and some shades on, take pictures of myself and post them on Twitter. That little biznatch ain't got nothin' on me.

Ashton: Cool.

Demi: And, we're going to speak together at a Clinton Global Initiative event to show everyone what a serious, smart couple we are.

Ashton: Cool.

It's a miracle! A Christian miracle!

Oh Universe, you never cease to amaze me. Just a few days after this post, I attended a Power Yoga master class with Bryan Kest. If I had to pick a guru, he would be it. A swearing, burping, no holds barred Californian yogi, he cuts through bullshit like nobody's business. It was the most refreshing and authentic yoga class I've ever taken. Dude, you ROCK.

He also mentioned that ANYTHING in moderation is fine. My bacon eating, wine drinking, reckless spending ways thank you Bryan. I know, I know, moderation is key. I'll try to keep that in mind... 

In other news, we finished watching the final Season of Lost this past weekend. When it was all over, the only word that came to my mind was: Huh? I was not satisfied in the least with the ending. 

Sure, there were many moments that caused me to tear up ever so slightly (masterful emotional manipulation on the part of the writers and director) but so many questions were left unanswered. You can only distract me so long with Hallmark channel-like melodrama. Once that drivel is over with, I will still want answers.

I have to give the creators and writers props for having the courage to delve into some deep, philosophical shit. However, there are gaping holes still shrouded in mystery. I feel like there could have been an additional season, explaining all the things that were just left there, unanswered. 

Ending it in a church, with all those religious overtones; and the whole good vs. evil, Cain and Abel biblical story, etc. that permeated the final season was a bit too... conventional. I expected more from this show, especially after the complexity of the previous seasons.

I'm not sure why they decided to end it after six seasons (too expensive? too intelligent?) but that was a bad call. This show had something, until it went all born again Christian on our ass. If I'm not mistaken, the Republican Party doesn't own ABC. They have Fox. Why so greedy? Can't you give us free-thinking liberals some breathing space? Bastards. When in doubt, I blame the Republicans.

Happy one-year Blogaversary, Sassy!

Well kids, today is my one-year blogaversary. That's right, Sassy Stylings is one year old today. And what better way to celebrate than by getting my brain bark removed. It did indeed turn out to be a small piece of wood that was lodged behind my left ear, for like, a year and a half. Gross. 

Anyway, it's out now which means I may suddenly regain a vast amount of intelligence or become as dumb as a post. Who knows what happens when there's a foreign object stuck in your head for months?

And now, some reflections on blogging, after a year in the trenches:

1) Some days, you feel like your latest post is a masterpiece of comedic genius, one that even made you laugh as you wrote it. No one comments, and you're deeply hurt that not one person has recognized your amazingness.

2) Some days, you feel as if your writing is shit, and you won't amount to anything. You get many comments, feel the love of your fellow bloggers, and all is right with the world again.

3) Gaining a new follower never gets less exciting.

4) The only time I feel that my blog just doesn't measure up is when I compare it to others, instead of simply enjoying other blogs, and appreciating that each and every one is unique, including my own.

5) When I start to obsess about how many followers and readers I have is when the joy of blogging slips away. I have to regularly remind myself that I started this blog for me, as a place to keep my writing skills sharp for my playwriting. If I gain an audience along the way, it's a bonus, not a requirement.

6) My blog is in constant evolution. From the day I started it, its appearance has vastly changed, and the subject matter is subtly evolving as I find my own voice and revel in expressing it. It's always a work in progress.

7) If you do really want readers (and frankly, who doesn't - I want the bonus dammit!) than you have to do some online networking, find fellow bloggers, read other blogs, and comment on others' posts that inspire you. It's really a supportive community. So if you want to be supported, offer your support.You'll also find some super awesome blogs along the way.

8) Developing an audience takes time and patience. In our "insta-world", not becoming a blogging sensation after your first post seems like a foreign concept. However, with perseverance and dedication to creating great content, an audience you will have. If you write it, they will come. 

9) I'm much more techno-savvy than I originally thought, in my pre-blogging days.

10) If this post feels uncharacteristically sentimental for this blog, then too bad bitches! Suck it up!

Not to worry my Sassies, I can only be sappy for a very limited period of time. And.... I'm done.

Bad yogini!

As a yoga teacher and avid practitioner, I read a lot on the subject of yoga and holistic living, etc... However, the more I read, the more I realize I'm a bad yogini, or maybe I'm a bad-ass yogini. Is there a difference? (Yogini = female who is on the yogic path, or in my case, female who is at the starting gate of the yogic path, having a smoke).

If you're not familiar with yoga, it's not only a physical activity per se, it's a whole lifestyle of meditation, vegetarianism, eco-consciousness and loving-kindness. Now, I cherish the planet and do what I can to reduce my ecological footprint but there are some yogic concepts I'm failing to embrace. Perhaps this seals my fate as forever damned, destined to burn in the fires of hell or remain in the continuous cycles of birth and death until I stop eating meat.

Reasons why I'm a bad yogini:

1 - A life lived without consuming bacon on a regular basis is a life not worth living.

2 - Generally speaking, I hate other people, most of the time. They're rude and irritating and get in my way.

3 - I drink coffee. I've tried to give it up but I simply can't. Yes, it's a stimulant and probably clouds my potentially meditative mind. However, I'm used to being confused. Clarity may traumatize me.

4 - I drink alcohol. I shudder at the very idea of what life would be like without booze. 

5 - Chocolate. Anyone who tells me to give up chocolate should be hung by their toenails.

6 - I can be a rabid consumer. On occasion, my need to acquire things is equal to that of a crack whore scoring her next high. 

7 - At times, I am so totally engrossed in obsessing about my appearance that I momentarily forget I have a soul.

8 - I never meditate. Barreling down a ski hill on a mountain bike towards what I perceived as certain death succeeded in temporarily wiping out those ever intrusive thoughts. Why do I need to sit still?

9 - I would gladly give up my first born to HBO, if they asked, and if I had a first born.

10 - I gossip. This trash-talkin' mouth should be regularly washed out with soap. 

So... you can probably find me in the Universe's heap of rejects. We'll be having a drink.

Post True Blood blues

Perhaps it's the grief caused by the end of True Blood's third season that made me do it. I don't know. But I've reached new lows in my TV watching habits. 

Last night, I was laughing my ass off watching Wipeout - a quality program that showcases people on giant, padded obstacle courses situated over a body of water. The comedy comes from watching these folks get pelted into the water by some giant swinging thingy or losing their footing and smacking themselves against something on their way down. 

I think my eldest stepdaughter was trying to stage an intervention when she bought me the first season of Parks and Recreation for my birthday. My suspicion is that she was attempting to counteract the effects of Bachelor Pad. Oh yes, I watched that gem of a show diligently until the season finale last Monday night. The next season of The Bachelor starts in January. It's sad that I know that and am looking forward to it. 

In my defense, we are making our way through the last season of Lost on DVD. The further in we get, the more interesting it's becoming. And dammit, I want answers! I did not come this far for nothing! And I have every intention of watching Parks and Recreation which is approved programming by my stepdaughter. 

The good news is that Season 5 of Dexter premieres on September 26. Thank God. With the end of True Blood's latest season, and a long wait until the next one, I'm feeling a dark chasm, a deep void. Of course, I can always watch it again on our On-Demand service. But it's not quite the same as new material.

Although, watching reality TV is really research for me. I have to watch it. Because I blog about it. It's an anthropological study of contemporary social mores. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And it makes me sound really smart... or something.

Will I be pretty?

This is dedicated to Demi Moore whose recent Twitter bikini spread compelled me to post this.

My new "iLife"

I'd like to think I'm hip, you know, down with the homies, up on the latest trend. But sometimes, it becomes painfully obvious that I'm a dinosaur, so to speak. Back in the days when the Internet was "new" and all the rage, I resisted. 

I still went to the library and took out those things called "books" to do research for my university essays. I scoffed at the World Wide Web. Until one day, I caved, installed a browser and got hooked up with an e-mail account. It was the greatest thing since sliced bread. And let's face it: me against the Internet? Not a chance. 

Last spring, my stepdaughter got a new iPod touch so she generously gave me her "old" iPod. I thought "Wow, that's great!" Then she went to camp for the summer and it sat on my dresser for two months, collecting dust. I'd never downloaded a song in my life, like ever. Then my stepdaughter returned from the wilderness and, for my birthday, loaded a bunch of tunes from my CD collection onto this device.

The next morning, for the first time ever, I plunked in my ear buds, turned the thing on, and started listening to my playlist. It was at this moment that I knew... it was the dawn of a new era for me. 

This tiny contraption, that I could bring anywhere with me, playing a vast array of my favorite music, was my new best friend. How had I denied myself for so long? Now I can be totally oblivious of my surroundings most of the time. Not that I wasn't before but now I have a legitimate excuse. 

Having to acknowledge others in public areas? Ha! I'm listening to my iPod, leave me alone! Noisy traffic irritating me? Ha! Drowned out by my super cool music.  Getting bored while waiting for the bus? Ha! I can play games on my iPod. Having to deal with reality? Ha! I've got my new virtual reality now.

I still haven't downloaded a song and I don't really know how iTunes works but I love the results. Maybe it's because I didn't do any of the work. It was just handed to me, fully loaded, with music I had hand picked. 

Perhaps I'll offer to pay my stepdaughter to be my music pusher. It's a win-win situation. She makes money and I don't have to learn new technology to reap its benefits. 

Oh, iPod, I'm sorry I kept you at bay for so long. Can you ever forgive the error of my ways?

Come to momma...

Bite me, Revlon

There are rare moments, when I catch a glimpse of something on TV, and say to myself: "I did NOT just see that!". I recently had one of those moments when I spotted a commercial for lip gloss. Oh sorry, a lip "stain" and "balm" from a Revlon line called Just bitten. One of the shades is called Twilight.

Are you f*cking kidding me? The depths to which capitalism will sink never cease to amaze me. Apparently, the makeup industry has seized on the current obsession with vampire-related literature, films and television. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I love the vampire thing, and loved it way before it went all tween mainstream. But even I can't wrap my head around launching a line of lip products based on being a blood buffet. 

The last nail in this vampire coffin? The spokesperson is Jessica Biel, uttering the words "Have you ever been bitten?" Puke. Here's the commercial, for your viewing pleasure:

Dear Revlon: Really? REALLY? You morons were so desperate for ideas that you came up with this? A line of makeup products insinuating that the violent removal of blood from one's body is something to be saught after? WTF? 

Now, you may be thinking to yourself: "Maybe it's a metaphor for being bitten by love. There's nothing wrong with that." It's not. Don't kid yourself. These bastards know exactly who they're targeting and what that tagline refers to.

 

You may think I'm being extreme but put yourself in a twelve-year-old's shoes. You want to fit in. You want to be cool. Next thing you know, we'll be hearing about the latest teen craze of "death by biting". Don't think it can't happen - they were into choking themselves for a while. 

Bite this, Revlon.

Like, oh my God, I'm like, so hot

Nothing reeks of desperation to remain relevant like an auto-portrait of yourself in a bikini in your bathroom. Exhibit A: Demi Moore showing off her "hot bikini bod" in photos posted on Twitter:

Dude, seriously? I can't say I'm surprised. Being Mrs. Kutcher is really the only thing that's kept her in the limelight these past few years. So you're a hot chick in your late forties. What else you got? 'Cause hot will only get you so far. 

Demi is obviously aware that her celebrity status is tenuous, at best, if she feels the need to post photos like these on Twitter. 

"My career's in the shitter but oh! look at these photos of me in a skimpy bikini! Aren't I HAWT?"

 

Women's lib has just regressed about 50 years. Note to Demi: you're not doing us ladies any favours with this narcissistic display. Go do some charity work or something that actually matters. You're pretty, we get it. Moving on...

A total eclipse of the brain

Before you start reading this and think to yourself: "Does she not know this movie came out two months ago?", I am indeed aware of this fact but, being steeped in narcissism, I truly believe my opinion on the subject is of the utmost importance, and it would be a crime to withhold it from you. 

The other night, along with my stepdaughters, I saw Eclipse, the third installment in the Twilight saga. I know they're probably going to read this so I will preface with this: Dear M. and D., please forgive me for what I'm about to write. 

I don't know how to say this without being cruel... the only reason this movie was even remotely entertaining is because it was SO bad. At times, I thought I was actually watching the spoof Vampires Suck. I had to remind myself I was viewing the real thing. 

Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while know that I have about as high an opinion of Kristen Stewart's acting skills as I do of, let's say, poo. She did not redeem herself in this movie but only solidified my belief that she cannot act. Robert Pattinson was no better. Watching the two of them was painful, and not in a good way.

The only thing that saved Taylor Lautner's bacon was his bare chest, which appeared often. The acting was awkward and the production values in the shitter. I think Summit Entertainment spent more money on promoting this drivel than on making the actual film. 

The wigs were bad, the makeup equally atrocious, punctuated by a heinously fake blustery mountain top, and good actors like Peter Facinelli seemed to stoop to the lowest common denominator. Even Bryce Dallas Howard disappointed as Victoria. Of course, she's no Rachelle Lefevre. Memo to dumbass executives at Summit who fired Lefevre over "scheduling conflicts": you suck.

Although, I would be remiss if I didn't mention some cool special effects sequences with werewolves. I will begrudgingly give them that.

This movie was the biggest, baddest, stinkiest hunk of cheese I've seen in a while. Probably since New Moon. Of course, I'll have to see the last two installments out of curiosity. There's (spoiler alert!) violent sex, an even more violent birth and Bella becomes a vampire. Thank God. Maybe she'll stop whining. (Yes, I read the books. And that's all I'm going to say about that.)

The best part of our evening at the cinema was some guy in the audience who kept laughing out loud at totally random moments. We suspected he was high. Lucky him.