Is this love that I'm feeling?

As you may recall, I was considering upgrading my cellphone to a Blackberry after some very savvy marketing on the part of my cell provider (Damn you big, evil corporation trying to sell me cool stuff!).

After some reflection and online research, I decided that if I was going to upgrade, I would go all the way, I would not only drink the kool-aid, I would jump into a giant vat of it, and immerse myself completely. 

So I got an iPhone 4. 

Oh holy Moses. You must understand, I'm relatively new to the world of Apple. My closest brush with it pre-iPhone was a hand-me-down, 5-year-old iPod, with music from my CD collection downloaded onto it by my generous stepdaughter.

This iPhone 4 thingy is like crack-cocaine. While shopping for iPhone accessories at the Apple store, a staff member asked when we got the phone. Yesterday, I replied. "Is it your first iPhone?" Yes. "Ha! Good luck trying to put it down!" NO SHIT.

I'm overwhelmed with giddiness and curiosity as I cautiously navigate this new, virtual world. My stepdaughter's already workin' the thing like a seasoned pro. I watch her in awe as I awkwardly explore the device like a baby learning to walk.

I downloaded my first songs from iTunes all by myself, like a big girl, and felt mighty proud. The training wheels are slowly coming off. Now the challenge is to find a balance between being actively engaged in my life, and being completely zoned out while playing with my new toy. 

On the upside, my iPhone won't sit around like my last cellphone, collecting dust. I think that's why I chose to go this route - most of the time, I forget it's also a phone since it does all this other cool stuff. 'Cause, so far, I have two contacts, my boyfriend and my stepdaughter. Yeah, I'm cool like that. My friends and I just don't communicate via cellphone or texting. We're e-mailers and land line callers. Must be a generational thing.

But now that my cellphone is also my calendar, my iPod, my go-to place to check the weather, surf the Net, and sift through thousands of yet undiscovered apps, I don't feel it's a waste. 

I think I shied away from iPods in the past because it sounded so complicated - you needed the iPod, and a computer, then you had to download stuff from your computer to your iPod, blah, blah, blah. 

The iPhone 4 really appeals to my sloth-like nature. It's a one-stop shop. iTunes is right on there and your songs are downloaded onto the same device. No mess, no fuss, very little effort. I'm all about taking the path of least resistance; always on the lookout for what will allow me to maximize my innate laziness.

I used to gladly lend my cellphone to my boyfriend, who doesn't have or want one, when he goes on road trips for business. He's away for a couple days next week, and I don't want him going out on the open road without a means of communication, in case of emergency. This will require that I lend him my iPhone. I'm dying inside, just a little bit.

Fun with CNN Souvenirs - Episode 4

Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3

**These episodes are solely a product of my own imagination. Any resemblance whatsoever to actual events is purely coincidental.

Soledad: You were a real hit out there today, Sassy.

Me: Ahhh, thank you Soledad. You are too kind.

Soledad: No, I mean it. That outfit is really cutting edge, and you walked that runway like nobody's business.

Me: It pays to be the winner on America's Next Top Model. It's how you get noticed, you know? Now I get to do has-been celebrity charity fashion shows wearing my own clothes.

Soledad: Obviously, it's done wonders for you. You seem, happy.

Me: Was there ever any doubt?

Soledad: Well, rumour had it you were depressed for quite some time.

Me: That must have been all it was, a rumour. As you can see, I'm just fine.

Soledad: Whatever you say. How are you and Anderson doing?

Me: Never better.

Soledad: Really.

Me: Does that surprise you?

Soledad: Why should it?

Me: You sound unconvinced.

Soledad: Well, you know how nasty rumours can spread.

Me: Uh-huh. Tell me something. How would you feel if you found out you walked the runway in a fake label.

Soledad: What? What are you talking about?

Me: Maybe you should check your outfit. There's something not quite right about it. And I'm sure everyone picked up on it. This crowd could smell a fake from a mile away.

Soledad (realizing her outfit is a fake): You bitch! You switched my outfits! I was supposed to be wearing vintage Chanel!

Me: Yeah... now you're wearing vintage chenille.

Soledad: Oh my God... You know that I know.

Me: Of course I know that you know. I knew before any of you thought I did.

Soledad: Does Anderson know that you know?

Me: Yes, he knows that I know, and he knows that I know that you know and that you've been blackmailing him all this time.

Soledad: Why would you knowingly wear impostor designer clothing? Why would you let Anderson do that to you?

Me: I have my reasons. But there's no excuse for what you did. Holding that over his head to get information from Sanjay.

Soledad: You know about that too?

Me: Of course I do. Sanjay told me all about it.

Soledad: He's having an affair with Anderson, you know.

Me: I'm aware of that.

Soledad: And you don't care?

Me: That's between me and my husband.

Soledad: Whatever. Don't think this is over, you conniving bitch. I will never forgive you for this. I'll be trashed all over the pages of Vogue!

Me: I know, isn't it delicious?

Soledad: You will pay for this.

Me: I'm shaking in my boots. Oh, by the way, Sanjay shared his secret with me. I've already lost 5 pounds eating a whole box of Sanjay's chocolates, for breakfast.

Soledad: If I were you, I'd sleep with a knife under your pillow. You'll need it. (Soledad briskly walks out of the backstage dressing room at the Arachnophobia charity fashion show).

Have I forgiven Anderson for his affair with Sanjay? Are he and Sanjay still seeing each other? Find out on the next episode of Fun with CNN Souvenirs.

Reasons why this will be a great weekend

Well... I got nothin'. My muse has apparently settled in for a nice, long nap. 

The only celebrity gossip that raised my ire recently was finding out that Katie no-talent, zero-charisma Holmes was cast for some TV miniseries as Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, one of the MOST CHARISMATIC AND UNFORGETTABLE figures of the 20th Century. When is Hollywood gonna clue in that Katie cannot act, nor dance, nor sing to any degree that should be showcased in front of an audience. People suck.

 

Anyway... in the absence of inspiration, I thought I'd make a list of why this is going to be a great weekend, based on the assumption that if I lay it all out there, it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Reasons why this will be a great weekend:

1 - Boyfriend is out tonight which means I can watch Three's Company on DVD while getting smashed on Vodka shots.

2 - Get to sleep in on Saturday morning until I jolt upright in bed, realize I should go to kickboxing class, decide not to go, then toss and turn as I shame myself over my innate laziness and lack of ambition. 

3 - Have meeting with theatre colleagues on Saturday afternoon to prep for upcoming awards ceremony. 

4 - Get home in time for dinner intoxicated from drinking beer at local pub during said meeting with theatre colleagues. 

5 - Contribute to my further intoxication by sharing a bottle of wine with boyfriend while watching 127 Hours, getting philosophical in my inebriated state and wondering: If an arm is cut off in the wilderness, does anybody hear?

6 - Get up at some ungodly hour on Sunday morning to go use up the last of our ski passes at Mont Tremblant.

7 - Sit in car on the way to Tremblant, semi-comatose, wondering where I am.

8 - Miraculously bounce back from hangover upon arrival at ski hill and proceed to have totally awesome day on the slopes.

9 - Chillax in outdoor hot tub and sauna following said awesome day on the slopes. 

10 - Get home, totally high on fresh air and sunshine, and proceed to medicate myself so as to forget that the following day will be a Bachelor-less Monday.

The one where I discover I'm America's Next Top Model

Hey bitches and bros! So I'm back from Jamaica where I discovered I have what it takes to be America's Next Top Model. Case in point: one evening, about mid-week, while getting ready for dinner, I noticed my hair:

Umm, Gisele Bündchen much? I mean, it's so obvious. Look at that perfect beach hair with those natural waves and ZERO product, unless you count the salty ocean breeze that shaped this look. It's all the more miraculous since my hair is naturally straight, and I mean lifeless, limp, no body whatsoever straight. It was a sign. If I could achieve Gisele hair, what ELSE was I capable of? It was then that I decided to put together a portfolio for ANTM. And since I watch the show, I know exactly what Tyra's looking for...

It's important for a model to work with the set she's placed in, whether it's with live bees, underwater, or humping a tree. You can't just stand there and look pretty. You gotta be FIERCE, like you and the tree are ONE. Don't you want to buy those awesome Gap three quarter length cargo pants now? Sure you do. 'Cause it'll get you a tree of your very own.

A model must always presume she's in the spotlight 24/7 and act accordingly, i.e. assume she's entitled to be the center of attention due to her plentiful pulchritude.  Even in Jamaica, the spotlight was following ME. And I was ready.

A model must never forget the camera - look at it, work it and SMIZE (smile with your eyes). Obviously, I'm a pro. I'm looking straight into the camera, my neck is long (so many contestants do not elongate their necks: amateurs!) and I'm smizing but not in an overt way. I'm aware of the placement of my body and am displaying clothing and jewelry products nicely. Notice how all the merchandise is clearly visible?

I am SO ready for Cycle 17. Bring it.

It's all going to pot

I'm in Jamaica... odds are... 

Vacation re-post #3: Bad yogini!

I'm drunk on papaya daiquiris, how about you?

Vacation re-post #2: Whatever happened to Chanel no. 1 through 4?

Historical facts, according to me...

I'm not here but I am

My dearest Sassies,

I'm actually away this week (ah, the wonders of modern technology - it feels like I'm here, doesn't it?). Anyhoo, in my absence, I thought I'd provide links to my all-time favorite posts. 

For my newer readers, you will revel in delight at my writing prowess. For those who have followed this blog for a longer period of time, and may have already read these, you will, once again, revel in delight at my writing prowess.

Vacation re-post #1: The Adventures of Abercrumbie and Futch.

You're welcome.

I'm gonna drink the kool-aid...

So here's me, deciding that in 2011, I don't want to define "success" by outward accomplishments (psh!) and status symbols (lame!). I want to cultivate inner acceptance, a true and lasting source of self-esteem not dependent on outward circumstances... Uh-huh. What are we today? March 9th? Yeah, well, that plan isn't workin' out so good. 

I had vowed not to be one of those "keepin' up with the Jones' " kind of people, just "having to have" the latest version or the newest tech toy. I kept telling myself: "No, I'm happy with my seldomly used LG Rumor cellphone. Perfectly content. Don't need anything else." 

Yesterday, I got a letter in the mail from our cellphone service provider. "You are now eligible for a phone upgrade. You can choose a new phone OR why not one of our new Blackberry smartphones?" Waaaaaaaahhhhh? Of course, they included a pamphlet with photos and info on the very latest Blackberry models. Of course...

Oooooohhhhhh.... aaaahhhhhhh. Pretty. Shiny. Blackberry. Must have one. No, dammit, no! I will not be a victim of sales gimmicks! Shut up voice of reason! I want one! But you barely use the phone you have now! You vowed never to be a "Crackberry" user! I don't care! I want one! 

I was like a diabetic kid in a candy store, like a sex addict in a porn shop; the want so intense and overpowering, it eclipsed any sense of restraint. Who am I kidding? Trying to be all noble and shit, all anti-consumerism. I am failing miserably at this task. 

After being given a second-hand iPod, "Apple want" ignited within me. If we happened to be in an electronics store, I felt obliged to peruse the new iPod products, and the joy I felt at the prospect of owning one of these toys was akin to still believing in Santa Claus.

Before I had an iPod, I couldn't have cared less about them. I had no interest in owning one and didn't know the first thing about how they worked. I was not perturbed by this in the least. But then, like Adam enticed by Eve to take a bite of the apple, I did, and brought rabid desire upon my earnest attempts at moderation.

It's humbling to be actively aware of my status as a hapless peon on the wheel of consumption. Maybe I should do more yoga or meditate or something to mitigate the irrational beliefs programmed into my average brain by clever marketers about what I "need". Ooohhh, that might require a trip to Lululemon.... never mind.

Why the Hef is my hero

Over the weekend I had the privilege of watching a documentary on the Hef's life titled: Hugh Hefner: Playboy, Activist and Rebel. This film goes far beyond portraying Hugh as simply the founder of Playboy, the masturbatory companion of choice for countless men. It also delves into the aspects of Hefner's life that may be lesser known such as his commitment to equal rights and progressive politics.

Not only is Hef the most enviable heterosexual male around, he is a maverick, not fearing to tread where others dared not. Back in the '50s, he hosted a television show that included white, black and Jewish performers alike, at a time when this was unheard of or at the very least, sneered at with derision. 

A few token "feminists" were included in the documentary, criticizing Hugh for portraying females as merely sexual objects. To which he replied, and I'm paraphrasing from memory: "They are sexual objects. This ensures the propagation of the species. But they are also so much more." He championed women's reproductive rights and the repealing of abortion laws, and brought to the forefront the idea that it's ok for women to like sex, and that "nice girls" like it too.

The Hef has been criticized time and again for his "questionable" morality. The documentary aptly portrays a man who is nothing but honest about his intentions, has never led any of his female companions astray with false expectations and lays his cards on the table. Even during his eight-year marriage to Kimberly Conrad, he remained faithful to her. If anything, Hugh Hefner is a very moral man. Much more so than the hypocritical Christian fanatics who are among his loudest critics.

While Ronald Reagan was selling out his fellow artists to the FBI during the McCarthyan Inquisition of the '40s and '50s, Hugh Hefner chose not to judge his neighbours based on political views but rather accepted differing ideas with an open mind. The Hef was also involved in freeing a man from a 15-year jail sentence for having received a blow job from another man, following a letter sent by the inmate to Playboy magazine describing his situation.

I already admired the Hef but after watching this documentary, my respect for him has only deepened. He is an intelligent, caring, courageous, generous man. Hugh Hefner is who he says he is, and his actions are not discordant with his words. He has done far more to advance black, gay and women's rights than he is given credit for, especially during periods of American history when it was incredibly risky to do so.

Hugh is indeed a rebel, but with a cause. He asked a simple question in his youth, when still following in his elders' footsteps, before founding Playboy: "Is this all there is?" It was his yearning for more, his desire to go beyond what was perceived as possible that indelibly changed the American cultural landscape forever. 

The day I got face raped

They'll look great once the swelling goes down! Wait, let's go back to the beginning.

It all started a week ago... Sometimes, I have whims, whims that I must indulge. I sensed this was one of my creative whims so obviously, as an artist, I had to address it. It's part of my creative process. I decided, after five or six years of going makeup free, that I wanted to be a girl again. I wanted to wear makeup.

So I mosied on down to this fabulous makeup store a few blocks away, shared my dilemma with the friendly staff (I haven't worn makeup in like, forever, please help me!) and a short time later I left with a bag full of loot and a makeover.

But, being me, I wasn't completely satisfied with just the new goods, no, I had to complete this mission by booking a brow shaping appointment so that my eyebrows would match my new, polished look.

A few days later, I showed up to said fabulous makeup store once again, brimming with enthusiasm at my pending brow shaping. After this, I would look effing good. Between the perfect brows and the new makeup, I could do no wrong. 

The esthetician guided me to my seat where I happily entrusted my brows and flawless skin to her. The actual waxing wasn't too bad, some very short-lived discomfort for a lot of gain. That's how I saw it anyway. She also suggested I get my upper lip waxed which I agreed to after a flashback of that photo where I look like I have a mustache. 

Once the deed was done, she applied some liquid foundation to the now red areas of freshly waxed skin. I admired my new brows in a mirror and was on my way. Success! The rest of the day went as planned until I got home and washed my face.

Oh holy Moses. Not only were the waxed areas red but numerous welts were forming on my face! My face people! My moneymaker! I've had waxing done before but didn't remember it being so hard on my skin. I figured I'd put some moisturizer on, go to bed and everything would be ok in the morning.

WRONG. I awoke to the same red, welty wilderness I had had the night before. Shit. I looked like a freak and my tinted moisturizer could not quite contain the scarlet tint of the raped zones. What had I done? I'd become a slave to superficial beauty, voluntarily submitting myself to painful procedures in the name of vanity.

And now I was paying the price. My skin was itchy and tight, and I felt overwhelmed with self-consciousness. I was monitoring the progression of this ailment in my compact mirror every few minutes to see if there had been any advancement in my healing process.

A couple days later, while sharing my tale of woe with some friends, one of them indicated that I'd probably had such a bad reaction because of the foundation applied to the affected areas immediately after waxing and that all that chemical shit basically seeped into my open, sensitive pores. 

Ah HA! Mystery solved. My face is still healing although it looks much better than it did a couple days ago. I'm on the road to recovery and everyone's prayers and well wishes are deeply appreciated.

Of course I'm going to go back. They'll look great once the swelling goes down!

An ode to Charlie Sheen

Since EVERYBODY is talking about Charlie Sheen and his very public implosion, I thought I'd put my two cents in, 'cause I'm down with the homies, if ya know what I mean. Actually, I don't even know what I mean. It just sounded cool. Anyway... here's a poem, for Charlie. 

N.B.: This little ditty is a combination of fact and fiction. In other words, some of it is true, and some of it is made up so the lines would rhyme. 'Cause I'm cool like that.

An ode to Charlie Sheen

You were born Carlos Irwin Estevez

Such a shy and quiet boy

Loving toy race cars and Pez

The simple things brought you joy

You were a high school baseball star

Making Super-8 films in your car

Then you got kicked out for bad attendance

And swore you'd become an actor as vengeance

You went on to work on Wall Street

And even City Hall

Replacing Michael J. Fox 

Then CBS gave you a call

Cast as Charlie Harper

A character loosely based on you

Two and a Half Men was born

And to you it would be true

Until the day you slammed its creator

When it was evident you were losing your shit

So they canceled the show and called you a traitor

And you resorted to your quick wit

In the meantime you fathered five children

And married all of three times

Now you're living with porn stars, and that's bitchin'

But they took your kids away for alleged crimes

You've trashed hotel rooms and partied hard

And were arrested on Christmas Day

Now the police say you've got to stay in your yard

Via a restraining order, come what may

What happened to you Charlie Sheen

So handsome and so lean

You sniffed too much white powder, got louder and louder

And on self-destruction you are keen