- couple Y (for yucky) is comprised of a blonde woman wearing a melon-orange checkered shirt that was probably on sale at the GAP for $9.99 in 1995, and some rather unflattering high waisted jeans. while the blonde chick was a walking, talking faux pas because she was over a decade behind any sort of fashion trend (i think the checkered shirt might have been a misguided attempt to cash in on this AMAZING plaid trend (seriously, AMAZING. i am obsessed with plaid!!!), but she was clearly failing miserably), her gf was guilty of an even greater sin: attempting to be "hip" by taking a marginally-popular look and butchering the shit out of it. like by wearing awful bedazzled jeans and an ed hardy wanna-be-style light denim jacket with "JESUS" emblazoned on the back in rhinestones. i don't think i need to explain what was wrong with that outfit.
anywaaaaay, back to samro and lilo. when sammy-sam finally came out to get the set started, all was good! she spun and spun and spun, and KS and i danced and danced and danced (and had a few beers along the way, natch).of course, the throngs of high school girls were pretty damn obnoxious, mainly because there is nothing worse than a teenage girl (don't hate: i used to be one, so i know. expect an upcoming blog expounding upon the horrid-ness of girls between the age of 12-18), but KS and i had a blast.
throughout her set, samro was constantly on her blackberry (as all good performers are, right?), and based on the adorable little "i'm so in love" and smitten-kitten-looking smiles that spread across her face approx every 30 seconds, i think it's a pretty safe assumption to guess that she was texting linds-linds. i'm normally pretty cynical about this whole "love" thing, but i've gotta admit it was pretty cute. AND THEN... guess who waltzes out on stage? LILO, OF COURSE! actually, it really could've been any anonymous blonde as far as i know, because she just came out... and stood there while the crowd went NUTS. at this point, i began to feel a little bad for samro, because linds TOTALLY stole the spotlight, but i imagine she's rather used to that by now.
anyway, samro came back out and continued to not address the crowd, have technical difficulties, spin some sweet jamz, and disappear backstage periodically to "do it" with her lady. it was AWESOME until i became a little whiney because my feet hurt (do not ask me why i thought high heels would be acceptable for this event) and i convinced KS that it was time to go. we walked into the sea of PAPS, still waiting outside, and poured ourselves into a cab while excitedly recapping the evening. IT WAS AWESOME!
moral of the story: ellen and portia may present a respectable, mature, loving lesbian relationship... but lilo and samro's publicity-driven, obsessive-love, drama-drama affair is waaaay more entertaining. even though they still have yet to publicly admit they're dating, i'm glad they've given up on trying to deny it (UM, HELLO... we have EYES), so i hope they sell tix to their wedding, because i am SO there. kisses!
today, i'm still envious of all of the olympians; however, while i was once jealous that these athletes had achieved the height of their sport and earned the opportunity to represent their country, these days, my jealous mainly centers around the fact that these athletes are banging like freaking testosterone-fueled bunnies. seriously! that just sounds like an awesome, awesome orgy. it's like summer camp, but waaaaaaay more fun. it's like boarding school, with waaaaay less supervision. it's like spring break, with waaaaaaay fewer accidental pregnancies and resultant abortions. it's like freshmen at a frat party, with waaaaay less GHB and sorority girls puking in showers. like, OMG sign me up!!!
of course, all of this brou-ha-ha over sex in the olympic village is magnified by the RIDICULOUS amount of attention the media has been paying to michael phelps, who's a bigger celebrity than the kardashians these days. i've subjected many, many, many of my friends to recent rants about how sick i am of the phelps phanatacism (haha, get it? aren't i sooooooo clever? feel free to leave comments praising my unending witticism!! k!), and at the risk of seeming unpatriotic, i shall refrain from doing so yet again. all i have to say is: michael phelps is not jesus. he is not luke skywalker. he is not harry potter. he has not cured polio. he has not invented a magic pill that transforms people into the thin, well-read, nice-smelling people they want to be. he is, of course, an incredible athlete, but COME ON. please stop agonizing over whom he's dating, what he's eating, where he's living and what his underwear looks like. because i don't care, and i don't want to hear about it :)
however, there are some athletes i would actually like to applaud: both the USA men's and women's water polo teams totally kicked ass!!!!!! i've had the privilege to know and play against many of these players, and i'm totally proud of their commitment and want to give each of them a big HIGH FIVE. i must take special note of one player in particular, the SPECTACULAR, BRILLIANT and TALENTED BETSEY ARMSTRONG, whose totally badass goaltending helped the women secure a shiny, hard-fought silver medal!!! congrats, bets!! i also hope that all of the water polo players who wanted to cash in on the olympic orgy banged as many dudes or chicks as they wanted to. they deserve it.
ps: you can totally see phelp's teenie weenie in this pic. i'm not impressed.
however, of all the pictures we've recently revisited, one stands out. mainly because i look like a freaking child prostitute in it. "oh, it can't be that bad," you're probably saying, or "that rachel morgan - always telling lies!" well, friends. take a gander at the photo below and pick out the one little girl who looks like she's spent the entire 6 years of her life blowing her classmates during kindergarten naptime (those little blue mats were so conducive towards preventing rugburn!):
if you picked the little lolita front and center, you're right. that mini hooker is none other than your very own rachel morgan!! now, i normally avoid putting photos of myself on my blog (mainly because psycho poppa b would have an aneurysm and claim that some obsessed fan/internet stalker/death row inmate is going to somehow find me and murder me in my sleep), but i just can't resist (and i'm confident that i'm no longer 3 feet tall, have grown teeth and tits, and am wearing enough makeup in this photo to be mistaken for a clown, and am thus, safe from any would-be serial killers). besides, this photo is ridiculously funny. look at all of the other six year olds , smiling with their half-toothed grins, thinking to themselves, "gee, i hope mommy doesn't find out i ate all of that dirt earlier!" (girl on far left) or, "i wonder how my dead bug collection is coming along?" (talking to you, back row on the left), or "i am an AMAZING ballerina!" (smug little bitch on the far right of the middle row).
but me? what does rachel morgan's face say? oooh something along the lines of: "hello there, daaaaahhhling. i've been waiting for you. i just melted some wax. it's warm and sticky... come over here so i can pour it all over your hot, steamy body." i mean, honestly - i think this is the sexiest i've ever looked in a photo! these days, whenever a camera's around i smile and i'm all like, "woohooo !!! i like to party!!" but somehow, when i was six, i was a smoldering temptress, ready to devour any man who crossed my path, and with bedroom eyes that i'd kill for 20 years later! no wonder i'm single! i reached the height of my sexual seduction at the age of 6!!!! check out the sexxxxxy:
although this radiating sexuality obviously came to me naturally, i must admit that the whore makeup doesn't help the situation. what type of sick bastard would let their little girl wear that much makeup, you might ask? only one man would be so foolishly brash: poppa b. moreover, poppa b put that much makeup on me!! ON PURPOSE!!! so, poppa b, count your lucky stars that i'm not some gutter-rat whore today, because, really, if i look this slutty at 6, i could've turned out sooooooooooooooo much worse. instead of being the smart, classy (i use that term loosely, obviously) blogger that i am today, i could have continued along this path and looked like ali lohan by 14 (aka total freaking slutwhorehookerface), lindsay lohan by 21 (coked-out vagina flasher), and dina lohan by the time i reach 40 (fake from head to toe and getting kicked out of parties for being belligerently wasted and giving hand jobs in exchange for drugs and publicity). phew! really dodged a bullet with that one!!
*****please note that all references to "harry potter" or any such similar language herein refers ONLY to the literary version of the aforementioned character and his fictional universe. the movies are all pretty much craptastic, particuarlary HPATOTP, which was painfully bad and made me want to sue david yates for intentional infliction of emotional distress. this is why i went to law school for a whole year, bitches. to throw around really impressive legal terms.
anyway, here are 5 reasons to love harry potter
1. he's got the magic stick. and no, ladies, i'm not talking about that 11 inch holly and phoenix feather wand of his. i'm talking about that other stick. the one that rhymes with "benis." how do i know, you might ask?!? well, a lady never kisses and tells (OMG i totally did harry potter!!), but i think hp's impressive "swish and flick" motion is pretty apparent from the quality of ass HP pulls. first, there's pavarti, who is like super pretty. then there's cho, who is obviously hot, since she dated the hottest hufflepuff ever, dead ceddy-ced. finally, harry snags ginny, who is like GRADE-A meat, and obviously knows her way around a "benis" after dating like 16 dudes and letting them into her "chamber of secrets" (it is no coincidence that ginny opens the chamber of secrets and lets a gigantic snake in and out of that thing like, ALL THE TIME!). harry, baby, ditch those witches and come ride my broom.
2. he's totally THE chosen one. ok, so this may seem unoriginal to those of you familiar with the "chosen one" formula (hero, frequently an orphan, has to face off against an evil force that he is somehow connected to and must ultimately choose good over evil in order to save the world, yadda yadda yadda), but let's face it: skywalker, neo, frodo, ender (ender's game. orson scott card. read it, yo) and jesus have NOTHING on harry potter. harry totally whomps on voldemort, and voldemort makes darth vadar look like a husky-voiced, one-balled albino with penis envy (um, ever notice how phallic that light sabre is? and the death star clearly represents the gigantic testicle he wishes he had to replace the one ewan mcgregor sliced off withsome serious jedi shit??). and satan with this whole 40 days and nights of temptation in the desert?? LAME. voldemort would turn both of those fools into horcruxes or some crap, and harry would still be able to smash those wussy fuckers and save the world!!
3. he's a master at defense against the dark arts. i'm not gonna lie. that's super hot. although its obviously pretty sexxxxy that he got an O on his DADA OWL, let's face it: he's good at everything. but what realllly makes hp's mad skillz in the DADA arena so impressive is that it allows him to play hard-to-get. i mean, naturally, i'm kinda an evil witch, and have had to resort to dark magic to entice harry. but every time i try to give him a love potion or put him under the imperius curse and have my way with him, dude blocks me with a shield charm or some other lame non-violent spell, and is all like, "no, rachel morgan, i will not bang you!" UGH! it's maddening, hp!! but, hp, you know i like a little game of cat-and-mouse (or should i say crookshanks-and-scabbers? ok that's maybe not funny, but whatevs!), and that i'm not easily discouraged. watch out, harry. momma's coming to get ya.
4. he's like, invisible, yo. ok, well he's not REALLY invisible. but he does have the most kickass thing ever, an invisibility cloak!!! and the coolest thing about the invisibility cloak is that it totally allows him to be a rebel badass. he's always climbing out of bed in that thing, wandering hogwarts allllllll night long (you can come explore my dungeons, baby), sneaking into places he's not supposed to be (i'll let you in to the restricted section of my librabry, sugar), and seeing things he's not supposed to (you can look deep into my mirror of erised, hotstuff). better still, there's room for 2 under that invisibility cloak. you know what that means - late night trips to the astronomy tower... secret trysts in the forbidden fodrest... doing the dirty in the room of requirement... HOT, harry. hot.
5. he's loaded. ok, so blah blah blah, harry's parents died, then the closest thing he had to a parent died, but WHATEVER. they all left him a crapload of money, and now he's super loaded! harry's so rich he didn't even keep is winnings from the triwizard tournament, and feigned being all bummed over cedric's death so he could just GIVE it away! like, omg, hp! i mean, i know i said all of these nice things about other reasons to love you, but i kinda like that you're a veritable cash cow. besides, you're totally SET FOR LIFE after killing voldemort - you probably have a toilet made entirely of galleons!!!! so stop being all charitable and think of me for once. and buy me some stuff, k? it's really the only reason i keep you around.
in case anyone was wondering, yes, i am fully aware that this is probably the dorkiest blog i could ever have posted.
obviously, i'm fine (thanks for asking, jerks), lulu is fine (i rushed home to check on her ASAP, natch), my apt is fine (sadly, i can't blame it's current state of disarray on the 'quake. instead, i'll blame it on a band of gypsies that recently came through and rustled everything i own, threw 10 pairs of my shoes in a pile by the stairs and left dirty dishes in the sink after whipping up a delicious meal of pad thai and wine. DAMN YOU, you high-class gypsies!!), and all seems to have returned to normal relatively quickly.
however, i must say that (aside from the obviously unexpected freaking EARTHQUAKE) the biggest surprise of my day was the variety of responses i got from my out-of-state friends upon hearing about the earthquake. i was 11 the last time LA had a big earthquake and didn't have any out-of-state friends at the time (is that normal or was i just super uncool when i was a pre-teen? did you all have buddies all over the USA when you were kids? omg, you totally did. damn, i wish i were popular! momma b, it's all your fault for not letting me have more pairs of DOC martins! i could've been sooooo much cooler!), so this was the first time i've talked to non-SOCAL people about the earthquake, and the first time i've heard responses from those who had never felt one before. here are the two most common reactions i got (to protect the innocent, i will not name names. you know who you are. especially one person WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED, but lives in chicago and has brown hair and whose name starts with E and made both comments... caaallled out, beyotch!):
- "omg! i want to feel an earthquake!"OK. seriously? people, let me assure you: you do not want to feel an earthquake. you don't even want to feel a little one. hell, if you're that desperate for excitement, go to six flags, close your eyes on some scary ride, and pretend that you're riding the san andreas fault. wooohooo! ride 'em, cowgirl!
- "what does an earthquake feel like?" this is a difficult question to answer, mainly because i've never felt anything similar to the entire world around you shaking all over the place. however, in the name of SCIENCE (which we all know i hold dear to my heart), i will do my best to explain. imagine that you're sitting at home, minding your own business, watching 2 girls 1 cup (side note: 2 girls 1 cup is only the second most disgusting thing i've ever seen. you wanna reaalllly gross yourself out? watch 2 girls 1 FINGER. it's some freaky asian girls doing the most foul and unladylike things one could ever imagine, and you will likely want to douse yourself in syrup and throw yourself, naked, into a pool of fire ants in order to refocus the pain elsewhere afterwards.), when all of a sudden, the ground beneath you starts to move. then, it gets really loud and everything around you starts to move too: nudie-picture books fall out of bookcases, empty bottles of booze roll off counter tops and shatter, and even your sexy bits shake (boobies and balls get all jiggly with that seismic action). if you're not on the ground floor of a building (which, of course, i was not), you get the added benefit of an awesome swaying motion so that everything around you goes up and down AND side to side! YAY! the best part is that all of this goes on for like 45 seconds!!!!! it's like the gift that keeps on giving!!!!!!! i know what i'm going to ask SANTA to put under my jew tree this jewfest!!!!
anyway, that's alllll about the earthquake. if you want more details or are still hankering to experience your very own tectonic thrust (hehehe... thrust! that sounds dirty! i'm gonna thrust my tectonics right on top of your plates, baby!!!), i suggest just shaking your head vigorously for about 15 minutes, making sure your brains get extra-addled. that ought to help the sitch!!!
stay safe, and remember: duck and cover, kiddies!
kevin connoly: i didn't actually see adrian's entourage costar, but i imagine this was due to the fact that he is a midget and was likely crushed by the next "celebrity" as she made her way into the bar, crushing bouncers like bugs and leaving only a trail of hors d'oeuvres crumbs behind her...
yes, i could only be talking about everyone's favorite non-celebrity "celebrity" giant, khloe kardashian! let's just say that she's large and in charge. my coworker and i were standing behind her "VIP" booth and were told to move - i can only imagine that khloe's completely unfounded and delusional sense of entitlement (stemming from having a marginally famous father and step-father, a marginally famous step-brother and a sister with a big ass) had something to do with our brusque treatment, but i'm getting her back now by telling y'all that she is really as unappealing in person as she seems on that train-wreck of a TV show. ugh.
soccer superstar christian renaldo arrived with a posse of totally euro-looking dudes, and he spent pretty much the entire night sitting down while beautiful women flocked to him and brought him drinks. i know this because my coworker and i camped ourselves down right in front of him as my darling P attempted to grab her balls and talk to him. by the end of the night, she'd worked her way close enough to his exclusive cabana and befriend the posse, but, alas, didn't get a chance to meet the practically-purple hottie (seriously. sunscreen. i know you're all "mediterranean" or something, christian, but i don't think humans are supposed to look like barney the friendly dino.).
michael vartan, eliza dushku, terrell ownes, jaime pressly, brittany snow, kelis, lauren conrad and lo bosworth were all there too, but i really don't care enough about them to post photos or comment. (please note that this whole "not caring" thing is mainly targeted towards LC and LO, who i really wish would just fall of the face of the planet and spend 50 years orbiting the earth before being deflected by a meteor and sent directly into the center of the sun, which will immediately spit them out in disgust, saying, "you call that a reality show? you make me sick, you phonies!").
brittny gastineau (some sort of heiress/slutwhore), caroline d'amore (an alleged "actress," but her IMDB page is pretty pathetic. sheesh, get some better roles before you come to parties next time, dumbass), shane west (a has-been actor), evan ross (an actor who can thank his mommy diana (yes, as in DIANA ROSS) for any sort of fame he might achieve) and james loney (a baseball player. EW. BASEBALL. does it really get any more boring and d-list than that?!? i'm no sports buff, but at least i'd heard of terrell owens, you loser!) rounded out the impressive guest list. i had never heard of any of these people until i read their names on the press release afterwards, soooooooooooooo i really cannot comment (um, except for all of those nasty things i said in parentheses before. sorry, celebs!! xoxo!).
overall, i had a blast rubbing elbows with all of my favorite celebs. i missed not seeing paris, nicole, linds (and samro, her lesbian lover!!!! omg will you two stop playing games and just like finally make out on a red carpet or something? i'm mean... it's the worst-kept secret i've seen since attempting to hide my own scandalous sapphic affair! sheesh!!!) or BRITNEY, but it's always fun to spend time with the "little people."******
until the next hollywood extravaganza, celebrity reporter rachel morgan, signing off!! xox!
****** please note that the term "little people" excludes khloe kardashian. although i must admit, i hope she never sees this blog, as i'm a little bit afraid of her. xo, khloe!
i think it's a pretty well-established fact that i love you. i love how you help me stalk people, i love how many fun and sassy bumper stickers you provide that i can give to my friends (whether they like it or not, but, people!!! stop taking down my bumper stickers!) and i loooooove posting 100008973240 photos of my favorite subject: me!
however, facebook, you've sunk to new lows in order to keep drawing me in. yes, i'm talking about your "compare people" application. through this delightful little thingy, i can compare my friends on a variety of topics - everything from whom i would rather kiss to most likely to succeed!!! OMG!!!! finally, an application comes along that allows me to openly judge my friends rather than making internalized comments regarding whose hair is the cutest (it's TOTALLY yours, btw. you're so cute, you!!).
but this is where is gets complicated, facebook. you see, with this incredible gift, you opened a pandora's box for me, because i can now see how people compare ME, too! lucky for my friends, i can't see who votes for me in which categories, but, facebook, you are kind enough to tabulate the votes i receive in each category for me! THANKS!! now, here are the categories in which my friends, when given the option between me and someone else, have consistently voted for me!!!
- can drink more: 100% votes (unsubstantiated claim, i think)
- more athletic: 100% votes (after all, i DID play a D1 sport in college, bitches)
- cuter: 100% votes (DAMN SKIPPY)
- more outgoing: 100% votes (ok, ok, so i'll talk to preeeetttty much anyone)
- more jealous of: 100% votes (this does not surprise me. if you don't hate me for being fabulous, you want to BE me, in all of my fabuslousness)
- braver: 100% (this actually really surprises me. i'm guessing whoever voted for me in this category has never seen me cry after getting off a roller coaster, freak out at the sight of a spider or cover my eyes for the majority of a scary movie. thanks, anyway!!)
- rather hang out with for the day: 100% (rachel morgan's availability fills up fast. if you'd like to schedule an appointment, please leave a comment and we'll try to fit you in.)
WOW!!! i mean, i always knew people liked me, but i wasn't quite so certain of my awesomeness until i saw those staggering statistics! BUT, FRIENDS, this is where the shit hits the fan. although you have kindly compared me to others in the above categories, it seems that even rachel morgan is not infallible. here are the categories in which i seem to be struggling:
- better at science: 0% (ok, ok. this is a fair assessment. i'm not sure i know the difference between DNA and RNA, but then again, i don't really care)
- more well-mannered: 0% (WTF?! ima cut you, burp in your face, wipe mud all over your carpet and never say "thank you," you stupid motherfers!)
- more likely to skip class: 0% (this is some serious BS, man. i skipped class all the time!! i'm a rebel! without a cause! i used to skip class all the time to do really bad things like write graffiti on bathroom walls and smoke cloves behind the teacher's lounge! total badass!!!)
- more fashionable: 0% (this is obviously a case of jealousy gone rampant. just because YOU can't pull together an entirely pink and purple outfit and make it match and look good, you don't gotta hate.)
- more trustworthy: 0% (OUCH, yo!)
- better hair: 0% ( i can only assume that this category was voted on by my college teammates, who knew that i considered being in the pool a suitable substitute for showering/hair washing)
- smarter: 0% (OK. SERIOUSLY. people actually voted someone else smarter than me - THREE TIMES?? it is a well-established fact that i'm smarter than most people. my teachers even wanted me to skip the 3rd grade!!! and that was an important year with like cursive and times tables and shizz! if that's not an indicator of my brilliance, i don't know what is.)
so, facebook and freinds, i want to thank you for pointing out my shortcomings! your honesty and bravery in the face of the wrath of rachel morgan truly indicates that you want to help me help myself. however, your truthful opinion demands an uncensored response:
screw you. i'm perfect.
isn't she super?! and like SO pretty?! and, as you can tell, she's a teacher, which means she's like uber smart! AND we can share fishnets!! it's like we were MFEO (that's "made for each other," for those of you who haven't seen sleepless in seattle enough times to know that).
ok, i can understand that this announcement may come as somewhat of a shock to those of you who didn't even know i was dating someone, so perhaps i ought to explain. while trolling the internet late one night, i came across this website (on a serious tip, don't click this link if you're at work, school, your gf's, or anywhere else you might be mortified if someone caught you looking at a website full of plastic vaginas), and as soon as i saw her face, it was love. i had to have her. $6,500 later, all of my dreams have come true!! i've found the PERFECT WOMAN!
i know that some of you might look at tyffanie and judge me, or some of you might think i've lost my mind, but i know that most of you are jeeeaaallloooousss of me and my hot babe. while you're sitting at home, listening to your gf ramble on and on and on and ON about like lipgloss, i'm laying in bed with that goddess, watching whatever i want on TV!! while YOU'RE being dragged to some swahili (no subtitles) black and white film noir at a crappy indie theater in the ghetto, I'M cruising around with tyffanie while everyone we pass stares enviously at her long, shiny legs and gigantic plastic boobies. sigh... it's love!!
SO, suckaaasss, save the date: 06.06.09!! of course, we're getting married on my birthday, since tyffanie thinks that it's the most magical day of the year and that only a day as blessed as the one of my birth (she maaaaayyyybe thinks i'm the messiah. maaaaaayyybbbe because i told her that...) would befit a relationship as special as ours. let me know if you want to be invited - none of tyffanie's friends or family can make it to the wedding since they live in tunisia - and, please, address all presents directly to me, as tyffanie gets uncomfortable when given gifts. she's perfect!!!
ANYWAY, the endless complaints from my devoted readers have finally shamed me into making a return to the world of blogging, and i promise that i shall be more attentive in the future. it's summer, k?! LAY OFF OF ME!
moving on. the topic of today's discussion is simple:
yes, peeps; i'm talkin about dinosaurs here. why, you might ask? WHY NOT?! i feel like, far too often, adults get caught up in the day-to-day of their lives, rather than taking a moment to stop and think about the WORLD around us. and by that, i don't mean wondering how many starbucks are within a 5 mile radius of you at all times (um i'm like practically sitting on a latte every time i leave my house, you know!??). rather, i mean: when was the last time you walked outside, looked at a tree, and imagined seeing the long graceful neck of a brontosarus gently pluck some leaves from the tallest trees? how often do you walk through a park, hear a rustle in the bushes, and instantly fear that a ferocious velocoraptor was hiding in there ready to tear you to shreds and squeeze your heart with his gigantic talons, enjoying watching the blood squirt from every aorta?!?! not nearly often enough, i say.
ok, ok. i know it's been a while since i last motivated myself to spend my online hours being productive rather than creating self-aggrandizing photo album after self-aggrandizing photo album on facebook (what can i say? i really am quite possibly the most vain little bitch to roam the 818), but honestly, i think the silence has stemmed from the following interior dialogue:
rachel morgan: holy cow, i'm old now
rachel morgan: ugh, i totally know!
rachel morgan: shit, do you think it's time to like "mature?"
rachel mogan: what does that mean? like shopping at chicos instead of forever 21?
rachel morgan: ew, no way! i'll be rocking the forever 21 slutware till my tits are knocking around my knees!
rachel morgan: double ew! anyway, i was talking about the blog. like, do you think its time to write about like, serious issues?
rachel morgan: like darfur?
rachel morgan: ooooohhh.... that's maybe a little too depressing for a blog. how about "grown up" topics? politics? societal trends and changes?
rachel morgan: does sex count as a societall trend? that's fun to talk about!
rachel morgan: yeah! i think sex does count!
rachel morgan: sweeeeeet! let's do it! get it? do it? ha. ha. get it? like people having sex "do it?"
rachel morgan: you're lame.
rachel morgan: sigh. i know.
anywaaaaay, now that i've sorted out how to begin writing in my SECOND QUARTER CENTURY of life, i'll get to it. this past weekend, momma b and i went cherry picking about an hour north of LA. it's pretty much momma b's favorite past time (she's a simple woman, with simple needs apparently), and she goes every year. this year's trip happened to coincide with the LEONA VALLEY CHERRY PARADE!!! like, OMG!!! i had gone to the LA pride parade the weekend before, and i knew that the cherry parade probably wouldn't have a bondage demonstration during which clothing was cut off with a huge bowie knife, and i knew that there probably wouldn't be a man walking around in a tight black rubbery urinal suit (seriously. urinal man. he actually said, "this way i get to know what it feels like to be a urinal."), but i figured the cherry parade might have some super cool glittery cherry floats or something of that sort. basically, i was hoping for glitter.
anywaaay, as we pulled off the freeway, we were in a tiny crappy, all-american town and followed the road towards beckoning cherry orchards. suddenly, we realized that this country road was the parade route! we joined the DOZENS of cherry enthusiasts who had lined up to watch the parade, and reveled as AT LEAST 7 cars drove by slowly, each toting beauty queens ranging in age from 4-18. "junior miss quartz hill!!! OMG!!! she's stunning!" "wow! miss teen lenore valley!! look at that tiara!!" there was also a baton twirling team, full of really, reeeeeeaally, reeeeeeeeeaaalllly terrible baton girls, a pair of 12 year-old cowgirls, an honorary mayor, boy scouts, and a topless guy sitting on his tractor/mailbox, drinking a beer. the entire situation was really just suuuuch a throwback to traditional 1950s-beaver-cleaver-black-and-white-hell-on-earth-americana, something we don't see a whole lot of in LA.
and, honestly, thank god. call me a bitch, call me narrow-minded, call me what you will, but i am a city slicker, ladies and gents. i like nature from a respectable distance and a 4 star hotel. i like desert sunset enjoyed from an air conditioned bar. i like to see the middle of america (aka anything outside of a major city) from one place and one place only: the inside of a car. and honestly, do you blame me? in cities like LA, we have waaay cooler parades. and that's pretty important in the long run. this blog has no point. sorry about that!
we left the grotto and began to explore the mansion's bathrooms, which are each equipped with showers and very clearly intended for the animals' mating purposes (honestly, there might as well have been a lube dispenser, condom rack and birth control pez mounted to the wall). we then stumbled across the mansion's gym (remember that episode where holly redecorates the gym? you wannna know why? because this entire part of the mansion looks like it has not been updated since disco was king and people went blind for 10 years and decided that orange, green and brown looked really attractive together. ummm yeah, totally heinous.) as we stood at the top of the spiral staircase leading to the gym, we were greeted by the sweet sweet sounds of animalistic passion. we decided not to interrupt the mating ceremony going on (seriously, i think someone was d-o-i-n-g-i-t, y'all!!!), but based on the noises we heard, i estimated that there was at least one peacock (cock! hahah!!!), two yellowis monkeyis, and three bunnyous playboyica making sweet sweet love beneath our feet.
it was then that i noticed the DJ bunnyous playboyica, who had shed her trenchcoat in favor of something a little more.... comfortable(? ridiculous? insane? sexxxxxxxy? idiotic? who the hell knows, all i want to know is where did she get that??? i need to get me one!!):
shortly thereafter, my senses were assaulted by the most unusal creature i've ever seen. i couldn't tell - was she a bunny? was she an alien inexplicably drawn to the mansion by the mating calls it continually eminates?? was she an undercover police officer trying to infiltrate a drug ring run by the monkeys and peacocks, who are clearly hardcore speedballers trying to make a buck by dealing to the neighbors' llamas and 6 year-olds????? as i studied her outfit (a black "dress" that showed enough skin to make jenna jameson blush and shoes that could only be described as disco whoreslut shoes), a fellow scientist came up to me and whispered, "is she a starrus pornographica?" by golly!! she sure was!!! as thrilled as i was to see one of her species, my excitement quadrupled (at the very least!) when she approached the two bunnyous playboyica! it was like seeing the loch ness monster give a fatty BJ to sasquatch!!! it was amazing:
after the sun set and the peacocks, monkeys and bunnyous playboyica retreated to the safety of trees, cages and rabbit holes (or other holes, maybe, in the case of the bunnies. i think any orafice would've suited them, frankly,) we listed to the smooth, smooth jamzzzzzzzzz provided by kevin eubanks (apparently he's on one of those latenight shows i don't watch. but lets start a rumor that he's a porn star and has a 6 foot long penis! that's waaaaay more fun!!) and headed to the grotto, where lolo and i had the pleasure of catching the starrus pornographica initiate her mating ritual! we entered the grotto silently, and although the starrus noticed our entry, she seemed not to mind, and continued with her ritual (ritual = free porn!!!! people normally have to PAY for this shizz, and this beyotch was giving it away for FREE!!! how sweet is that?!?!), photographing herself making out with her soon-to-be-mate. as another observer entered thr grotto, the starrus' natural instincts kicked in, and she stood, walked to the center of the grotto, and began posing for the two men taking photos. it was (hilarious. truly, truly hilarious) quite an interesting study of her species!
the rest of the evening was spent dancing, doing scientific sketches of species, drinking, scientifically observing, wearing sunglasses all night (only in the case of the starrus, who apparently has a nasty eye infection/eyeball-STD that precludes her from removing her sunglasses, even when it is pitch black outside? like, WTF, SLUT?!), and taking copious scientific notes that i plan to donate to the smithsonean one day. charles darwin, watch that dead-ass back of yours: i'm coming after you with my sweeeeet and super-scientific notes. i'm a scientist, bitches!!!!
anywaaaaaaaay, the playboy mansion was rad. hope y'all are jealous!!!! xoxo!
anywaaaaaaaay, despite my total affection for celebrity gossip, if there's one thing i'm good at, it's playing it cool in front of a celebrity (unless the "celebrity" is aaron carter and rachel morgan is 17 and beyond excited to see the flesh-and-blood brother of her boyf, nick carter. under said circumstances, rachel morgan cries. true story). growing up in LA, i saw stars allll the time, and i always knew that it is definitely not cool to act like you're excited to see whatever celebrity is in front of you. therefore, i developed the following mantra: "see a star? act like you don't know who they are!"
well, i got another chance to pretend i don't care about celebrities today. i've lived in my new apt for over two months now, and until recently, i've paid little-to-no attention to this nearby hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street. it is in a totally nondescript strip mall, and i'm such a snobby bitch that i'd never look at the place and be like, "omg! that looks great! let's eat there!" however, thanks to yelp, i heard that this place was really good and that they had really great buffalo and ostrich burgers (ummmm i don't eat those animals). adventurers we are, momma b and i decided to hit up this teeny eatery for lunch, and we ordered some food to take back and eat at my apartment (so we could play with lulu!!). anywaaaaaay, momma b and i place our orders and sit down to wait for our food when...
rachel morgan spies a man in the corner. he is sitting by himself at the counter, eating some sort of burger and playing with his fancy schmancy shiny new black macbook pro. as momma b prattles on endlessley (something about her new hairstyle? an explanation as to why sleeveless turtlenecks are timeless and classy a la jackie o? ugh, mommy.), rachel morgan studies the man intently. he is really, super-duper, totally and ridiculously smokin' hot. rachel morgan eyes everything from his kinda-dorky-looking shoes, to his expensive and cool looking jeans, to the super badass necklaces he is wearing. he oozes sexy like the la brea tar pits exude the distillation of organic matter. if i were a dinosaur going extinct and looking for a place die, i would totally wade into his irresistible, gooey black pool of hotness. please lord, let his incredible sexiness fossilize my remains forever. i mean, how hot would that be... to live forever in the GAVIN ROSSDALE tar pits?!?!?!?!?!?!
yes, friends, this hunka-hunka-burning-hot-sex was the one and only gavin rossdale, aka mr. gwen stefani, aka lead singer of the grunge super-band, bush, and aka the total obsession of every girl at my junior high school in 1994 (um, glycerine was like MY JAM in the 7th grade). and there he was, sitting all by himself while momma b shoved an onion ring in my face and urged me to taste it (um, earth to momma b. i am NOT eating an onion ring in front of gavin rossdale.). as momma b waited impatiently for our food to be ready, doubt began to creep in. was it really him? was it really mr. machinehead, sitting there so nonchalantly in the middle of the valley? i crept closer, praying that he would get on his cell phone and utter something - nay, anything - in that super-hot british-accented-lead-singer voice that would confirm that he was, in fact, gavin rossdale.
well, ladies and gentlemen, god loves me (despite what you bible-thumping a-holes might say about a hedonistic, jew/agnostic, angry little lesbo who believes in pre-marital sex, aliens, evolution and other such sacrileges). lo and behold, my new boyfriend gav-gav (he asked me to call him that after we tottttaallly made out on the hood of momma b's station wagon. sweeeeet.) raised his phone to his ear (OMG i wonder if he was talking to gwen?!? or someone else famous? omg i wonder who his friends are?!?!) and began to speak. it was like a choir of angles erupted in my ears! there it was: his rich, delicious british accent! even more exciting, there it was: a tattoo on his inner left wrist that read simply, "kingston." for those of you who aren't as embarassingly obsessed with celebs as i am, kingston is gav-gav and gwen's super cute son (BTW, how cute is daddy gav-gav and his kingston tattoo?!?! like, sigh.)! IT WAS HIM AFTER ALL! yay!!!
anywaaaay, back to my i'm-too-cool-to-care attitude. when our food was ready to go, i shot one last longing look at super-stud gav-gav and bolted out the door. "that was weird," i said casually as momma b stepped into the bright sunlight. "what?" she asked. "oh, nothing, really. just GAVIN ROSSDALE sitting there!" my body tingled with excitement at the mere memory of his face, but i was determined to play it cool to the end and marched over to momma b's car, ready to leave gav-gav forever (we'll always have that steamy makeout session..... sigh). "what?! who?!" asked momma b, walking back towards the restaurant and staring in the window for approx 30 seconds ( FYI, MOMMY, that is NOT discreet, and it sure-as-shoot ain't cool), hoping to catch a glimpse of his royal hotness.
sigh. i guess some people will just never get it. if gavy-gav-gav had suspected that one of the 7 other people in this teensy-weensy restaurant had recognized him, he wouldn't have acted as naturally as he did! however, because i pretended to be too-cool-to-care, i had the chance to observe my future husband in his natural environment! i had tickets to the gavin rossdale hotness zoo! i watched him eat - just like he does in real life! i watched him chat on the phone - just like he does in the wild! i observed that he drinks yellow vitamin water - just like a real person! i watched him fiddle on his computer (trust me, i def tried to see what he was working on. it looked like something with words. my amazing beauty probably inspired him to write a song for me, so let's just all assume that's what he was typing), no doubt (bad pun intended), exactly as he does whilst sitting at home with his celebrity wife and son!
thanks to my new favorite time-waster (and, indirectly, E, who introduced me to this totally addicting feature), stumbleupon (seriously, check it out: http://www.stumbleupon.com/)
i recently discovered a website that listed a series of ridiculous and inane science fair projects enacted by kids who are obviously desperate for a passing grade (wii exercise as a science fair project??!? an experiment "testing" the effect music has on teenagers having sex?!?! seriously, are we entering another dark ages?!). i instantly remembered my own feeble attempts at a science fair project: how do different types of fish interact with each other (a shameless ploy to get more fish. i had a pet fish that i won in a carnival, who lived for like 18 years, and i was desperate to get fishy friends for dear old SWAT)? what happens if you bake cookies without using one ingredient in each batch (a shameless attempt to make and eat cookies. i was kinda a fatty.)?
it occurred to me that many children, when faced with the good ole' science fair project, desperately grasp at straws in the quest for an easy, fun, easy, not-boring, easy, and interesting project for their science fairs. well, adults, get your glue sticks and glitter letters ready, because i've decided to enact an ADULT SCIENCE FAIR!! yay!!!!!!!!! contain your enthusiasm, people!!! lets pretend, for just one moment, that we are all assigned a science fair project; what would you do? if adults, like children, want to spend as little time and energy as possible on a science project (seriously, can you blame the kids for putting forth such half-assed efforts? homework sucks!), what would an adult science project look like? here are a few of my ideas:
- title: how long can a human go without masturbating? problem: how long can an adult go without touching him/herself? hypothesis: as discussed in the infamous seinfeld episode, pretty much everyone masturbates, pretty much 90% of the time. materials: lube, napkins, calculators. procedure: open and frank discussion with friends over many bottles of wine. hilarity ensues. data: everyone does it, 90% of the time. analysis of data: everyone does it. conclusion: people are pervs.
- title: how many beers can one person drink before they fall over? problem: after a certain amount of alcohol is consumed, can an adult human still stand? hypothesis: after 2 classy six packs, humans of average size will fall over. larger humans (fatties?) will be able to consume more alcohol before collapsing. procedure: drinking many beers. no one keeps count, because everyone is drunk. data: the amount of alcohol one consumes is commensurate with body weight. analysis of data: fat people can drink more. conclusion: everyone who drinks beer is an alcoholic and could fall over (breaking through a glass pane window that needs to be fixed within 24 hours before your roommate comes home) at any time.
- title: is it better to pay your credit card bill or your phone bill? problem: many young professionals (and those pretending to be professional) find themselves in a financial stalemate. if forced to choose between paying your credit card bill or your phone bill, which do you choose? hypothesis: desperate young adults are terrified about becoming ensconced in bad debt, and will therefore choose to pay the credit card bill. procedure: a six-month study revolving around the impoverished mid-20s adults who did not go to (graduate. i WENT. i just didn't FINISH, k peeps?!?!) law school, and observing whether they choose to pay a phone bill or a credit card bill when financially strapped. data: the majority of adults pay their cell phone bill when push comes to shove. analysis of data: this is likely due to the fact that people would rather die than go without cell phones. conclusion: cell phones are god.
anyway, all of this "memorializing" business got me thinking about how i would like people to memorialize me (i believe that this is a natural progression in the chain of thought: 1. memorial day 2. celebrate troops on memorial day 3. we should celebrate everyone 4. we should celebrate me!!!! 5. rachel morgan day!!!!!). obviously, my upcoming birthday (june 6th marks my inevitable descent into the dark days of "late 20s.") will make the perfect date to celebrate rachel morgan day!! therefore, i rachel morgan, am proud to announce that hereafter, june 6 will be known as rachel morgan day! it will be a day when we celebrate rachel morgan's incredible contributions to society, and we will thank her for her tireless sexiness and all-around super-powerful awesomeness. yay!! hip-hip-hoorah! on this blessed day, it is decreed that all citizens, squatters, illegal immigrants, tourists and passersby that inhabit the united states on june 6 must adhere to the following guidelines:
1. wear pink. how pretty would it be if everyone, everywhere wore pink on rachel morgan day??! picture it: little boys and girls swathed in magenta; president bush in a bubble-gum pink suit?!? and, OMG, wouldn't the klansmen look nice in a pretty dusty-rose instead of that drab old white they wear? i think it would really spruce up their image too, and do wonders for recruitment. after all, white isn't exactly the most flattering color, and i think the klan could see a serious boost in their numbers by brightening up their uniform - even racist morons like to look cute!
2. eat soup. soup is the national food on national rachel morgan day. this delicious, often under-appreciated food will be required to be the main focus of at least one meal for every person across this fine US of A. if any peasant attempts to resist this decree, he or she shall immediately be thrown into a huge vat of chicken noodle soup, where the dissenter will boil/drown and be made into "chicken soup for the cannibal's soul," and will be served as dinner at all federal prisons. people soup! i'm a evil dictator now! YAY!