Couldn’t resist posting this . . .
. . . crazy picture of my fave person (Mrs. Russell Simmons) at the Vibe Awards. Fresh lifted it from Getty Images, and I couldn’t believe it. WTF?
Archive for November, 2005
Happy Monday
I had a pretty decent weekend. As usual, it was jam-packed with activity, but I managed to get some chill time in.
I saw “Derailed,” which was actually pretty disappointing. This wasn’t really a “breakthrough” role for Jennifer Aniston. She was still herself — only about 3 degrees off her character in Friends. The real star was Clive Owen. He’s hot. He’s REALLY hot. Sizzling. Five-alarm fire. In an untraditionally attractive sort of way. Enough about that.
I spent some time doing Christmas crafts on Saturday. I’m trying to get into more constructive do-it-yourself activities. At least by day. That night, I did an unconstructive activity, which was go to a couple of parties and revisit my 20s.
I was picked up by one of my buddies — a good male friend (no, we’re not dating, for those who are curious). We went to a birthday party where they were serving frozen rum punch.
As an aside, there are things to know about frozen drinks. One — if they’re slushy, they have a high alcohol content, because liquor has no freezing point. Two — they should be enjoyed slowly, because you don’t know how drunk you are until your stomach defrosts. Several cocktails at Fat Tuesday’s — a now defunct bar that was once on North Pier terminal that specialized in lethal frozen drinks.
My friend (who’s about 6′1″, and about 190 lbs) and I went drink for drink, so we had about 5 cups of punch each. He thinks we had more, but I sincerely hope we didn’t. By the end of the party, I began to notice that his sense of humor had changed, as did his walking stability. I was bone sober, somehow.
He wanted to go to the after-party, and two of our friends (male — and nope . . . not dating either one of them either)decided to join us. I wrangled the keys from my buddy, and drove us all to the seedy underground “club.”
It was like something out of a movie. We had to knock hard to gain entrance. From the outside, it looked like a regular door to a shady building, but inside there was a huge dance floor, DJ booth, and outdoor “patio” (I’m being kind).
My overserved friend went directly to the “patio” to get some air. I danced for a while, and then decided to go look for him. There he was. Sitting in chair with his head in his hands, insisting that he would be okay.
I went in for another 20 minutes, and as I was going back out to check on him, another guy was supporting him, bringing him into the club. So . . . designated driver once more, I drove him home in his car. This was somewhat tricky because his driver’s side view mirror had been knocked off (happened several months ago), and was dangling by a cord. I rely so heavily on that mirror when I’m driving, that I didn’t trust myself to be as reckless and speedy as normal, opting instead for the slower scenic route, hoping that he didn’t get car sick.
I still can’t figure out how he got so drunk. How old are we?
Let’s discuss Desperate Housewives for a moment. I don’t like how they’re making Gabrielle so sensitive after having a visit with her vapid model friends. Like, all of a sudden she went from a card-carrying member of the childless to one who carries her sonogram picture next to her heart. WTF?
I predict that she’ll lose the baby as a result of her tumble down the stairs, and subsequently try to get pregnant again once Carlos gets out of jail.
They’re really screwing up this season.
New Red Eye Column today
Okay, Chicagoans . . . grab a Weekend Edition of Red Eye, and read the latest installment of The Gina Spot, where I’m talking about how online dating sites have become the latest singles ghettos.
Almost there!
Only one more day ’til Friday, and I can barely contain myself. I don’t know why I feel like I need a weekend so badly. Probably because I spent the last weekend stressing about the Pampered Chef thing. This weekend will be only slightly less hectic. I’ve got two movies, a dinner party, and a party-party. Should be fun.
Did anyone happen to catch Oprah yesterday? It was good. So good that I’m allocating a precious hour of TiVo space to its permanence. The embittered Terry McMillan and her gay husband were on, and, the thing I can say about Terry is that she doesn’t mince words. She says exactly what’s on her mind no matter what. A girl after my own heart. This isn’t a new argument. She’s pissed because a relationship that once made her so happy has now made her the talk of many towns. I can’t say that I wouldn’t feel the same way if the details of any of my breakups were plastered all over the media. I wouldn’t like it one bit.
I’ve heard ridiculous grumblings about the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes media torture that we’re forced to endure. Supposedly, Katie Holmes is claiming that she was a virgin until she met Tom — even though she was previously engaged and in very public serious relationships. WTF? Is she supposed to be the ultimate symbol of purity? (We see where that got Mrs. K-Fed)
The biggest problem I’m having with their charade is that they assume that the average person is an idiot. After typing that last sentence, I realize that the average American IS an idiot. But seriously, what’s the freakin’ point????
It’s hump day!
It would be SO nice if it were Friday. This week seems to be dragging. My clients are very in-your-face this week, and I think I could stand about four days of me-time.
There seems to be a surge of my single friends trying to find activities specifically designed for meeting other singles. I think the issue is that men don’t turn out for these events. One of my friends looked into “Eight at Eight,” which is a service that sets up 8 dinners over the course of year (?), and there are supposed to be four men/four women. She signed up, and then was told that they didn’t have enough men, but that they would let her know when they did. I’m sure those will be great guys . . . the ones they get by unearthing every rock in existence.
The thing is that it seems (from my biased female perspective) that there are more women looking for men than vice versa. Thoughts?
And on a more frivolous, ridiculous note, here is a sample of the lyrical stylings of Kevin Federline, alias Mr. Spears, alias K-Fed, alias Daddy. Pure genius:
“I should be saying keep my damn name outcha mouth
but y’all people keep increasing my change amount
So, go ahead and say whatcha wanna,
I’m gonna sell bout two mill, fool, then I’m a-gonna
I know you wish you was in my position
cuz I keep getting into situations that you wish you wuz in, cousin
I’m not your brother, not your uncle, I’m daddy, dude
Steppin’ in this game and y’all ain’t got a clue
My prediction is that y’all gonna hate on the style we create, straight 2008
But I know that you really can’t wait ‘
cause people are always askin’ me when’s the release date?
Well maybe baby you can wait and see
Until then, all these Pavarottis following me
Gettin’ anxious, go take a peek, I’m starring in your magazine now every day of the week
Back, then, they call me K-Fed, but you can call me Daddy instead…”
I guess he has to find some way to contribute to the double-wide, right?
Stuff
Okay, so the Pampered Chef party is over. It was fun, successful, and I didn’t freak out about having so many people over at once.
My thing is that I’m not a party-thrower. I’m too non-committal. I would prefer not to be the person accountable for the details, and when I want to leave, I like the option. I prefer dinner parties. It’s a small group of people, and those tend to be quiet, and not so messy.
Although there were a lot of people, it was contained and had a purpose. It’ll probably take me another 6 years to have anything else like it.
Being the inexperienced party-thrower, I realized that there were a lot of people that I forgot to invite, so if you’re reading this and weren’t invited and felt you should have been. Don’t hold it against me. I’m the perennial scatterbrain.
Funny . . .
The column topic in Red Eye this week is about how to avoid expressing opinions about the sig. other of a friend. In the first paragraph, I say: “I don’t always care for my friends’ significant others.” And then I go on to talk about how it’s better to keep your negative opinion to yourself because it will backfire.
The funny part about this is that 4 of my friends have asked if I really like their girl/boyfriends. Fortunately, I do. However, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold my tongue when talking to friends whose sig. others I don’t like. I never volunteer that information unless asked, but if asked, there’s no telling what will come out of my mouth.
New Red Eye Column!
I can’t believe I almost forgot to mention that the new column released today in Red Eye. Chicagoans, if you’re interested, the topic is Opinions, and how it might best to keep your opinions to yourself when it comes to your friends’ significant others.
Grab it. It’s free and easy to find.
Long time . . .
no blog. It’s been a crazy few days.
Lots to blog about. First of all, my friend Simone sent me this little tidbit. WTF?
“Laila Ali and her husband/manager’s divorce is final. The two have
been separated since January and their divorce became final November
1st. She briefly mentioned it on the red carpet of BET’s 25
Anniversary show last night. A close friend of the boxing champ tells
Atlanta Gossip, (AG) that Laila has finally come to grips with her
true sexuality and is happy with her new found freedom and is dating
Grammy nominated actress, rapper, singer, Queen Latifah.”
Not that the sexual orientation is a shocker. I just find it interesting that they hooked up.
More later. Duty calls, unfortunately.
Halloween Aftermath
First — the online column released yesterday. (Go to my site, and click “Read the G-Spot.”
Second — kids were trick-or-treating LATE last night — and in the rain. I was visiting a friend last night, and doorbell didn’t stop ringing until about 9:30. Some of those trick-or-treaters had a bit too much bass in their voices. I think they were about 30 or 40 years old.
