i'm cooler than you

like, OMG i love celebrities. i mean, really, it's a shameful admission, but it is true. yes, i read celebrity gossip. a lot. i know such useless information as the following: singing is merely a hobby for scarlet johansson; lance armstrong and kate hudson are dating (i totally bet matty mcconaughey hooked them up! remember when matty and lance were running around shirtless all the time? awesome!); tom cruise is fucking-crazy-as-hell (duh); BRITNEY (love her!) is staging a comeback (part IX) by doing a Vanity Fair cover shoot that pays homage to julia roberts (i actually really hope this story isn't true, because if so, LAME, brit. julia roberts hasn't been cool in like 10 years. why can't you resurrect your career by doing something totally awesome like a live concert atop the statue of liberty complete with fireworks and dancing bears? that'd be sweeeet!).

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!

it was amazing. sigh... if only his zoo sold souvenir t-shirts.

call for entires: grown-up science fair

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.
so, friends, if you were forced to do a science project tomorrow, what would you do? which scientific endeavor would you pursue?!?! leave me a comment letting me know... i'm desperate for an experiment here or there...



memorialize me

as we continue to roll ahead with year five of the awesome iraq war (it's such a patriotism-inspiring event! it's like a clash of the titans! highly-trained US soldiers facing off against guerrilla fighters and homemade bombs! operation iraqi freedom, whaaaat whuuuuuttt!), perhaps it is appropriate that this memorial day, we take a moment to remember the 4,081 soldiers who have died in iraq, whether we like the war or not. (insert moment of silence so rachel morgan doesn't come off as too crass when she casually moves on to a lighter topic. she seriously does care about the troops! tie a yellow ribbon around oak trees, bitches!).

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!

3. obviously, since rachel morgan day is a national holiday, everyone will be exempt from work! this ought to give people plenty of time to ruminate on my many wonders, but i also hope that everyone will be able to enjoy themselves on this miraculous holiday! however, since i know SOME PEOPLE (old people, fundamentalist christians, infants, recovering addicts, nuns, republicans, virgins) are resistant to fun, i will also decree that between 9pm and 12am, everyone must PARTY HARDY! omg, how fun would that be?!? everyone, all across the nation, partying (not to mention celebrating ME!!!) at the same time... picture it: rednecks shootin' some squirrels in the woods and drinking some Natty Ice, slutty sorority girls (i can say that because i've lived it) whoring it up more than usual while drinking out of the ice luge at DKE, and even classy ladies like barbara streisand cutting loose, taking some jello shots and then puking in some decorative vase salvaged from the remains of anne frank's house!!! how FUN would that be?! PARTY! WHOO!

since i'm not trying to impose toooooooo many regulations on my fine fellow citizens, i think those three decrees ought to be enough to ensure that everyone thoroughly enjoys their rachel morgan day. now, someone go adopt me a whale for my birthday, or off with your heads!



click me, baby

so, as some of you may have noticed, i put a google adspace on my blog, thinking that my thousands of daily readers might click on it and help rachel morgan make a little moolah (click on my ads, bitchezz). momma and poppa b admitted that they click on my ad "all the time" (seriously, can't you see my parents sitting at home clicking over and over, trying to help their darling princess make lik 8 cents? hilariously cute, aren't they?!), but i don't think anyone else does, mainly because the ads aren't particularly enticing.

i don't know too much about the details as to how this ad thingy works, but i know that the ads that appear are selected based on picking up the keywords in my blog. there have been ads about paris hilton, lindsay lohan, fortune cookies... all things that have been mentioned in my blog!

today, i think i hit a new low. i juuuust finished posting my last blog, when i noticed that a new ad had appeared: "how to confront an alcoholic." HAHAHAHAHA. i laughed for like 3 minutes, until i realized that google was confronting me as an alcoholic. apparently, my blog makes some mention of alcohol. like once or twice. and apparently, google has a problem with that. well, google, FU. i don't neeeeeed you and your snooty advice. suck it.


on (not in) love

maybe its the birds-and-bees BS and this whole springtime thing, but it seems that recently, everyone around me is walking around like a googley-eyed teenager, giddy with happiness and (ugh) in love. now, i'm as on board for the whole romance shebang as much as the next chick, but sometimes, it feels like i'm the only person in the world not pining away for some suitor. don't get me wrong - i'm not one of those people who becomes bitter and bitchy when single (the bitchy part is really just my general demeanor), but i'd like to take a moment to point out the following to all of you lovesick monsters blindly roaming the earth talking, thinking and dreaming about some lover:

  • i get that you like him/her. i get that you REALLY like him/her. i TOTALLY GET that you want to camp down, adopt like 16 chinese babies, buy some minivans and start wearing unflattering, high-waisted mom pants. that's wonderful! i'm happy for you! but telling me 10,000 times? that may make me smash your brain with a bowling ball. of course, i'm not saying that you shouldn't tell all of your friends how happy you are - just, please, attempt to discover a new topic of conversation. maybe you need a hobby? take up knitting! learn how to make booties for the children you and mr/mrs amazing-wonderful-perfect-omgsooohot-lover will have some day! i'll listen (actually, i probably won't listen to that, either) to you talk about like pearling or whatever it that knitters do. it sounds fascinating.

  • please, buy a freaking watch. i've noticed this phenomenon occurring over and over again for a couple of years, and finally, i must say something. somehow, when two people are in love, they enter the twilight zone, and time ceases to operate as it does for the rest of the world. as clocks stop ticking, these people enter the realm of what scientists call "couple time," wherein everything takes approximately six times longer than it does in the real world. for people suffering from this affliction, a task as simple as getting dressed can take up to an hour. for example: lover A tries on an outfit, discusses said outfit with lover B, then tries on a similar variation, discusses this ensemble with lover B, who then gives in to romantic urges and decides to have a quick bang-fun-fest, and finally, lover A tries on outfit number one again. by the time lover A and lover B show up wherever they're supposed to be, people are pissed (just so you know, i am perfect and on time to everything. you should all be ashamed of yourself.)

  • wow, OMG, so nice to see you again, dear friend! oh, and who is that with you? of course, its your significant other! i forgot that you'd glued yourself together!! now, i know the life of conjoined twins (not "siamese," people. i've watched probably 15 specials about conjoined twins, so i feel like i know their struggle) is highly appealing (what with all of that glitz and glamour of wearing custom-made pants with 3 legs!! sooooo in right now!), but why is it that you want to become one? do you get lonely while you're in the bathroom peeing? is the thought of facing the day without your partner knowing that you had 6 pretzels at 1:23pm too much to bear? will you die if you (gasp) have dinner with a friend without schmoopsy-poo there to provide backup in case your friend suddenly and inexplicably morphs into a brain-sucking zombie?

  • rachel morgan: "hey, _____, what are you doing today?" lovestruck dumbass: "oooh not too much. doing some laundry with mr/mrs incredible, then we're going to the aviary to watch the baby tawny frogmouths hatch! it's so exciting!" rachel morgan: "you like birds?" lovestruck dumbass: "yeah! mr/mrs incredible is an ornithologist, and i'm just, like, totally into birds!" rachel morgan: "but you always said you hated birds and that if you had a BB gun you'd rid the planet of the squeaky little bastards..." lovestruck dumbass: "ugh no way! i totally love birds! its the christian thing to do, you know." rachel morgan: "um, aren't you a jew?" lovestruck dumbass: "well, i used to be, i guess. mommy and daddy aren't too happy about it, but mr/mrs incredible showed me the light, and now, i'm like totally SAVED! hallejuah!" rachel morgan: "well i was calling to see if you wanted to hit up our favorite sushi place sometime this week?" lovestruck dumbass: "ew! sushsi?!? i would never be so barbaric as to eat an animal! mr/mrs incredible and i are totally going vegan!" **** this kind of crap happens ALL the time. get an idenity of your own, people.

these are just a few examples of the bones i have to pick with you happy-sappy, lovey-dovey people. you all suck.

ps: when i start dating again and totally do all of these things, don't rub this blog in my face too much :)



no matter how much i talk myself up on this blog (yes, i am aware of the fact that i come off like an egomaniacal bitch whose primary concerns include: me, my cat, drinking, me, headbands, me, drinking, me. at least i included little lulu on that list), there are certain circumstances under which i would crumble like a block of feta left to sit in the sun all day whilst being picked at by pigeons who don't know that i poisoined the feta because i hate birds so much, and consequently, fall from the sky like the winged-rats they are.

anywhoooo, last night, while chatting with the ever-so-delightful K and E, i discovered one such situation that would cause me to literally have a total and complete mental, physical and emotional collapse: prison.

could you imagine it?! ME? IN PRISON?! omg. we all know that i would not only be someone's bitch within the first five seconds of walking in the door (seriously, some huge scary woman named "chopper" would have me following her everywhere, carrying her contraband prison cigarettes and would always refer to me as "chopper's girl"), but i would also be miserable without eyeliner, my cell phone, low-fat chocolate soy milk, moisturizer, DVR, lip gloss, my car, nail polish, fresh salads with goat cheese... realistically, it would not be pretty. soooo thankfully, i'm not murdering anyone anytime soon (and i'd never get caught, anyway. i've already got like 15 places picked out to stash a body where the climate and wild animals nearby would dispose of any trace evidence i may have left behind. watch out, yo - i'd have mad skillz as a serial killer), because that would be the end of rachel morgan, for realz.

talking about what would be my inevitable utter and complete meltdown in the prison environment got me started thinking: what other situations would i not be able to survive? how would i deal with being lost at sea? could i handle a bear attack? what would i do if i had to walk 10 blocks through the ghetto? would i weep uncontrollably if forced to attend a NASCAR event? as each question sped through my mind, a pattern quickly emerged: i coulnd't handle any of those circumstances (don't give me a hard time about the NASCAR thing, people. i hate crowds of trashy people with mullets and cheap beer. honestly, that sounds like the seventh level of hell to me).

upon making this realization, my initial reaction was to be slightly disappointed in myself. was i so spoiled and so imbued with a sense of entitlement that i'd become incapable of dealing with anything outside of my day-to-day life? apparently, yes (duh). however, my initial disappointment quickly dissapated when i realized that the situations i was imagining SUCK, and that people who find themselves dealing with such terrible things deserve to be there! sure jail is like totally the worst place ever, but people who end up there f'd up in the first place (and yes, i'm talking to you, paris hilton. our reactions to jail life might have been reasonably similar, but i'm too smart to be getting DUIs and driving with suspended lisences, hobag!). someone lost at sea would also totally deserve it too, probably because they're dumb and think, "oh this raft looks sturdy! lets test it out!" (jenny from end of L word season 4 - you are annoying and dumb and i wished you had been lost at sea forever, but then i would have missed you being a total crazy psychobitch in season 5, so welcome back to the mainland!).

furthermore, my strong religious background (hahahahahahahahahaha. jk jk jk, peeps! i'm practically the anti-christ, but whatevs. i do love me some jezzy-jesus!) has led me to realize that that no matter what terrible situation we're in, baby jesus up in heaven would never give us a challenge that we can't handle. thats why, when i found out that i'd have to borrow my mom's mercedes station wagon for like 5 days (UGH!) while my car was in the shop, i didn't panic. i just took a deep breath, told myself to calm down, and said, "sweet jesus knows i can deal with this. you can do it, rachel morgan!" so, guys, if you ever find yourself in the pokey, remember that if anything terrible happens to you while you drop the soap, it's what god wanted from you, so take it like a champ.



an educational tour of the united states of america numero tres

as you may remember, i've been posting these crazy-rachel-morgan-version of state slogans that i wrote a few years back. this one is equally nutso. enjoy! xo!

Illinois – "Mile After Magnificent Mile." As a freshly minted Chicagoan, I'm proud to say that I know this slogan refers to the stretch of Michigan Ave. that has all the snobby shops, ritzy restaurants and upscale hotels. However, in my world, Chicago's "mile after magnificent mile" refers to its endless row of bars, clubs, pubs, saloons, taps, taverns, breweries, watering holes and beer gardens. It's amazing! Drunkenness beckons at every doorway, calling my name and tempting me with its sweet, sweet ambrosia! Mile after magnificent mile of cool, crisp, refreshing beer whispering, "Raaaaccchhheeeellll….. Drink me, Rachel. I'm so lonely without you… I need you, Rachel…" Sigh. Hats off to you, Illinois, for your mile after magnificent mile of debauchery and drunken fun.

Iowa – "Life Changing." Having been to the state of Iowa, I can assure you that when I entered the state, I was a short, bratty Jewish girl, and when I left Iowa, I was still a short bratty Jewish girl. What was supposed to change, exactly? Was I supposed to develop a sudden and uncontrollable craving for corn? Should I have given up my city girl lifestyle in the hopes of finding sweeter, simpler times tending to chickens on some godforsaken farm? Was I supposed to meet the man of my dreams over a bale of hay, get married in a small neighborhood church and pop out six kids before I'm thirty? Sorry, Iowa, but none of those things are going to happen – no matter how many times I visit your fine state. Ew, especially that part about all those babies.

Indiana – "Start Your Engines." Wow, Indiana. Your state slogan actually references an event featuring NASCAR drivers. Now, I'm not one to make sweeping generalizations, but when I think NASCAR, I think of guys with mullets and beer bellies and half-naked girls with bad highlights and too much lip liner. Ok, fine. I'm going to just go ahead and say it. ALL NASCAR fans are white trash. Its like written in the bible or something. Indiana, are you trying to advertise for yourself by saying that everyone in Indiana is a NASCAR lovin', toothpick chewin', wife beatin' white trash hick? Sure, that ploy might work with the people in West Virginia, but that's an even whiter, trashier state. PS: its not going to help your cause that Indiana is still a KKK stronghold. If there's anything more white trash than NASCAR, it's traipsing around in robes and ranting about the superiority of the white race.

Kansas – "As Big As You Think." I must say that I'm a little disappointed that Kansas didn't go with the schmaltzy, adorable, easy route here. Imagine if the Kansas slogan was, "There's No Place Like Home." How cute would that have been? Get it? Like from the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy clicks her heels together, says, "there's no place like home" a bunch of times and returns to Auntie Em on the farm in Kansas? That would have been so cute and might actually make me want to visit Kansas, unlike, "As Big As You Think." Basically, that slogan says, "there's a whole bunch of empty flat land in Kansas. In fact, there's even MORE nothing than some imagined!" Bad choice, Kansas. Everyone loves Dorothy (and her little dog too), so why not capitalize on the built-in audience of Judy Garland loving gays and little girls who aspire to be princesses rather than promising more nothing than one can fathom?

Kentucky – "Unbridled Spirit" I think the whole "unbridled" thing is supposed to reference horses and the fact that Kentucky has that big derby horse race thing. I don't know - I've never really been into the whole "hanging out at the racetrack" scene. However, there are two things I do know about Kentucky. One is that my mother's family is from there, and the other is that if my mother's family is any indication, the people of Kentucky could be accurately described as "Hill Folk." I'm not kidding. Some of my mom's favorite stories are about spending childhood summers with Grandpa Dewey, whose eye had been shot out and only wore overalls, and "Baby Grandma," "Fat Grandma" and Grandma Oda (don't ask why she had three grandmothers, two of whom were called by fake names – it's a long story). I specifically recall her fondness for reminiscing that "Fat Grandma" liked to wear dresses without underwear, so that if she was out and about and needed to pee, she could just squat and go right then and there. Yeah – explains a lot about the way I turned out, huh? Anyway, Kentucky, if that kind of stuff is what you're all about, own it. Try: "Kentucky: Whatever, We Pee Where We Want!"

Maine – "It Must Be Maine" The first thing I envisioned when I read this slogan was some Ponce de Leon type European explorer "discovering" Maine, infecting Native Americans with various diseases, sticking a "Maine" flag in the ground and happily sighing, "Ah… It Must Be Maine!" Like what is this slogan trying to say exactly? That the trees that grow in Maine are so distinct looking and unique that as soon as one crosses the New Hampshire/Maine border it is obvious, based on nothing more than appearances, that "it must be Maine?" In all fairness, I've heard that the Maine landscape is very beautiful – but is it really so distinctly "Maine" that it warrants such a distinguished slogan? Perhaps, "Maine: A Pretty Part of the Country" would be more fitting.

Maryland – "Seize the Day Off" Oooh, Maryland! I like this one! It sounds like my kind of state – where everyone takes the time to enjoy life and have some fun. I can picture it now; happy, sweatpants-wearing crowds dance through candy paved streets, drinking delightful beer and celebrating life. Citizens are granted three hundred vacation days a year, and employers often encourage employees to "seize the day off" whenever they just don't feel like working. It must be a place where people fight for their right to party, cheat on their diets, lounge lazily on the couch and enjoy afternoon cocktails Monday through Sunday. Maryland, if all of this is true, you should change your name to Heaven and expect to be bombarded with the entire population of the United States.

Massachusetts – "Make it Yours" For some reason all I can think about when I read this slogan is the way cracked-out Paula Abdul tells contestants on American Idol that they need to make the song their own. You know what I'm talking about. Paula sits there, her botox-injected eyes pulled open to give her an insanely wild look, wearing something ridiculous like eight flowers in her hair or a live tarantula on a chain to create "dramatic effect," and grinning like a crazy woman on speed. After a contestant performs, she'll clap awkwardly with her acrylic-tipped fingers pulled far away from each other so that the palms of her hands are the only part that touch, and she'll beam at the singer, wipe a faux tear from her eye, and say, "You really made that song your own." Apparently, Massachusetts is the Paula Abdul of the United States. When New York gets on stage and does his rendition of "New York, New York" exactly as Frank Sinatra would, Massachusetts shakes her head sadly and says, "You look great, tonight, but I need to see you make the song yours." But when Georgia gets up and unleashes the country version of "Georgia on My Mind," Massachusetts gives her a hysterically crying standing ovation and says, "Way to make it yours!" California, who is clearly the critical, snobby Simon Cowell of the country, looks at the teary mascara running down Massachusetts' face and tells Georgia that he thought her performance was "wretched." Ok, I officially have an overactive imagination.

Minnesota – "Explore Minnesota" Minnesota, this is definitely in the bottom ten state slogans when it comes to creativity. First of all, urging tourists to "explore Minnesota" really does not offer anything specifically tempting. Like, what am I going to find if I do indeed "explore Minnesota?" What if I only find a bag of dead rats and six pieces of dried, hard licorice? Although I sincerely doubt that's what I'd find in Minnesota, this slogan is so vague that I can't in good conscience cross it off the list of possibilities. Minnesota, do you see my point? How hard would it have been for you to offer something enticing to "explore?" Just saying, "explore me," is only appealing when its being said by someone really hot, naked and on your bed, and sorry, Minnesota, you're just not my type.

Mississippi – "Feels Like Coming Home" I think that Mississippi is trying to go for the whole Southern comfort, homey feel with this slogan, but it does not work for me. It may work for Elvis, who was born in a one room shack in Tupelo, Mississippi, but my time spent in Mississippi felt nothing like "coming home." While perusing the thirty variations of confederate flag and "Git R' Dun" t-shirts at the truck stop/gas station, at no point did I find myself saying, "Hmm… this feels just like home." I was not inspired to reminisce about my childhood while scanning through the radio stations and finding no options other than Christian talk and country classics. In all fairness, my encounter with the state of Mississippi was largely limited to the car and the road, but I can assure you that its impression in no way urged me to explore anything further, and certainly felt nothing like any home I was accustomed to. Mississippi, if you're looking for a boost in tourism, I'd suggest playing to your strength, which in this case, is obviously Elvis. Everyone loves The King. Try, "Mississippi: Birthplace of Elvis."


vagina babies

while momma b was out on the town recently, i took poppa b out for a hot daddy-daughter date at our usual hangout, 4 on 6 (aka bomb-diggity "old school" sushi unlike the trendy, overpriced and under-quality BS you get at katsu-ya aka my new least farvoite sushi place ever). over the course of the evening, he continued to drive me insane with his various stories/comments/demands that i not only a) marry (which, BTW!!!!!!! today is a HUGE day for! super happy to see that the ban on gay marriages has been overturned in CA!!! california, i heart you xxo!!!) but also b) give vagina birth to live human children.

initially, poppa b ranted that he hoped to walk me down the aisle and be a grandfather soon. well, anyone who knows me knows that this is as unlikely as jesus christ himself coming back to life as some sort of zombie-freak and making out with president bush, but there i was, explaining to daddy that i was not only in no rush to commit, but that i was also never, ever, under any cirumstances, ever, never, planning on giving birth to a child with my vagina. don't get me wrong; i love children. but somehow, the thought of being pregnant for 9 months, playing host to some little fetus-parasite eating all of my food, sounds absolutely, 100% terrible.

on top of all of that pregnancy torture (which my father assures me is a "magical time." yeah right. way to put an idiotic male perspective on things, dad, you selfish stag of a being, you), my father expects me to sacrifice my selfish-youth years and settle down soon. now listen here, daddy-o. just because you got yo bitch knocked up at 28, doesn't mean that i have to pop out no babies anytime soon.

do you ever wonder why you don't see amy winehouse knocked up and birthing babies?! its because she knows she loves her partying/drugging ways too much to give them up for some screaming mini-amy that wails all through the night. and as much as i hate to compare myself to as severe a train wreck as amy winehouse, i can relate.

i'm ok with with this whole motherhood aspect, but there is no way in hell i could deal with having a child at this stage in my life. in fact, there are times that i worry i might tie up, strangle and skin-with-a-dull-kitchen-knife and stuff my cat, so the thought of being responsible for a real human person is somewhat terrifying for me. moreover, those little "tiny" babies are HUUGE and pushed out through some super duper small little vagina hole the size of a pea. mmmkay! that is sooooooooo not happening. AND THEN, these knocked up chicks go and crap their pants!! in front of hot drs like george clooney!!! like, wtf, man?!?!

anyway, now that adoption has become the chic thing to do in hollwood, i'm hapy to announce that i've forgone the whole vagina-baby-option and selected instead to adopt a 12 year-old child from the mean streets of fresno. were it not for my kind and overly-generous contribuiton, little adolph would be a full-blown KKK Grand Dragon. thanks to my parenting efforts, al (as we like to call him), has fourished. he's been going to school three days a week, and nearly made me weep tears of joy last night when he looked at me with his big blue eyes and said, "mommy, i think i'll go to community college one day." sigh - he's such a dreamer! i guess moments like those are what makes parenthood worthwhile.


off the wagon...

they say that in 12 step programs, the first step is to admit you have a problem. well, i may not be in AA, but i'm ready to start facing my demons. i, rachel morgan, have a problem. although i hide it well, i've been an addict for nearly a decade, and recently, i've found myself slipping back into bad habits, and i'm worried that i'm losing my ability to control my urges... i'll never forget that first rush (what a feeling!) and then watching myself spiral out of control and into an addiction that, at a certain point, completely took over my life. and now, i've relapsed and am using again... damn you, diet coke! why must you control my life like this??

i was in high school when i first tried DC. my parents had raised me with the whole "just say no to sugar" and "soda is the devil's breast milk pumped from momma satan's giant-hairy-evil-beast-nipple" mentality, and i guess when i became a typical rebellious teenager, DC was the first place i turned. all of the cool girls were drinking it, and some of the prettiest and most popular girls even did crazy things like drink DC while using a piece of licorice as a straw. i wasn't ready for that yet, but i did try DC a few times. at first, i wasn't sure i liked it, but it felt nice to feel like i was part of the crowd, one of the "cool kids." before i knew it, i had a full-blown 4-cup-a-day habit.

soon thereafter, fountain DC during school wasn't cutting it anymore. i started to need it when i was out to eat, and even at home. i experimented with cans, 2 liters, and even glass bottles. my mom found a couple of cans i'd stashed in my room one day, and i remember feeling like the scum of the earth when i lied to her and said, "oh that's not my diet coke, mom. i'm just holding it for a friend." by the time i was in college, DC was in complete control of my life. i was a varsity athlete at a big 10 university, but i had a 6-pack-a-day habit. some of my teammates knew i was drinking DC recreationally, but i don't think they knew just how bad my addiction had become.

my DC abuse got even worse sophomore year of college when i was living in the sorority house. all of the girls did DC, and they even introduced me to premium strains, like DC cherry and DC vanilla. it got so bad that i was eventually staying up all night, drinking can after can after can until i was so high on DC that my hands would shake, and the only way i could make it through the day was to keep doing it. i was drinking DC every day before 9am.

i hit rock bottom when i went home for the summer after sophomore year. i'd been home for a week or so, and my parents had noticed that there was a visible change in my personality. i tried to hide my addiction from them by sneaking out of the house to drink DC all day, but i'd crack open a can every morning and make excuses like, "it's the only way i can wake up in the morning," and "i don't drink coffee." one day, i awoke DC-sober with a terrible headache and sweaty, quivering hands. i needed a fix, STAT, but to my dismay, the box in the fridge was empty. i'd gone on a bender the night before, drinking can after can until i couldn't see straight anymore, and i hadn't bothered to replenish my stash.

i was coming off a huge DC high, and fast, but there was nothing i could do but wait it out. it happened to be momma b's birthday and baby brother b's senior prom, so we were all set to spend the day as a family - which meant i'd have to hide my addiction. i knew that if i could just wait until we went out to breakfast, i could score some DC and everything would be ok, so i counted carbonation bubbles in my head (counting bubbles was the only way i could sleep at night back then... i was always too jacked up on DC to fall asleep on my own) while i waited for the fam to get ready. and i waited. and waited. and waited.

eventually, my headache became so severe that i lost my cool and began demanding that we get on the road. my family didn't know it, but i was jonseing for DC, not breakfast. i could live without hash browns, but i really felt like i was going to die when i wasn't on DC. by the time we piled in the car, i was a mess. within minutes, i was in tears (literally, yes, crying actual human tears), and finally broke down and told my family the truth: i needed DC. i was an addict. we stopped at a 7-11, where i rushed in to pick up the largest size DC they had, and as i chugged it, i felt life return to my body. this time, however, i wasn't just enjoying my high. instead, i saw myself clearly for the first time in years; i was an addict, and i needed help.
i spent the next few years knowing that i had a problem. for the most part, i could control my urges, but i would occasionally slip up and awake in a haze, surrounded by cans. i've been living in CA again since october, and until recently, i've done a really good job controlling my addiction. on sunday, i broke down and bought a 12 pack (my new favorite strain is DC plus - it has vitamins and is therefore healthy, obv). three days later, they're all gone. averaging 4 DCs a day isn't that bad for someone with an addiction like mine, but i feel as if i'm backsliding and have vowed to get clean again.

so, friends, if you see me reaching for the DC, don't let me do it. no matter how much i beg and plead, it's really for my own good. friends don't let friends do DC - are you my friend?


style guide 101

well, it is mother's day, so of course, i'm spending some time with momma b today. we went for a wonderful hike this morning (where i got bit on the neck by some mother-freaking bug that probably has poisonous venom that kicks in after 36 hours and will therefore kill me some time on tuesday. ugh! i'm too pretty to die!), and then, like the good daughter i am, i took momma b to lunch.

when i asked her where she wanted to go, momma b said "59th and lex, because no one would go there on mother's day!" now for those of you who aren't acquainted with this fabulous little restaurant, it's the one in bloomingdales, and it's actually quite nice (and it's in the mall, so double yay because nothing makes me happier than eating a salad with goat cheese while inhaling my favorite perfume, eau de retail). obviously, following our delish lunch, momma b and i happily headed towards the beckoning storefronts, eager to rummage through the sale racks looking for a gem of a bargain.

now, momma b, as much as i love her (xoxo, mommy!), has taste in clothes that sommeeeetimes scares me, and occasionally (frequently) causes me to sternly say, "no" and slap her hand away from whatever heinous garment she's admiring. i've tried to explain to her, time and time again, the importance of developing an individual sense of style (to the point where a friend looking at the item on the rack would say "that looks like something momma b would wear." it's true, y'all.). in the past, momma b's sense of style has been slutty shoes (seriously, i think my parents have some sort of kinky foot fetish of sorts. momma b's always on the lookout for shoes that "dad would think are hot." ew.), unflattering jeans, and some old and blah-looking ann taylor t-shirt. these days, momma b is doing a much better job of dressing herself (although she still has some seriously questionable taste at times), and every time we go to the mall, she finds things that are more and more frequently an expression of her personal style.

friends, if my mommy can clean her act up, so can yours. let us no longer be quiet while or mothers go ga-ga for chenille sweaters!! let us boldly tell them no when our mothers wear any trendy thing paris hilton throws on her std-ridden body! we must fight for our mommies until we are satisfied with the wash and cut of their jeans! down with whitewash! stamp out shades that are unflattering to her complexion! we CAN do it! it's time for a change, ladies and gentlemen. it's time to show our mothers, that this mother's day, we care too much to let her look like shit.

happy mother's day, everyone!


i'm coming out...

i am a firm believer that one of the most important things in life is one's ability to laugh at him or herself. that said, i laugh at myself all the time. when i catch a glimpse of myself prancing around my bedroom in my underwear, dancing and singing like a fool, i laugh at myself. when i trip, i laugh at myself. when i mess up, i laugh and say "oopsie daisy!" (i'm not kidding. i say things like oopsie daisy, okey dokey, and sorry charlie all the time. thats how big of a dork i am). now, it's time for us all to share a good laugh at my expense, because i'm coming out as a former backstreet boy addict. yes, when i was 17 years-old, i was obsessed. and i mean ob-freaking-sessed. my love for the band was so strong that i even assigned each of my friends their personal backstreet boy, whose nickname they would assume, and about whom they had to know everything (like favorite foods, colors... you know, the important stuff).

i held a particularly special place in my heart for one backstreeter, the one and only nick carter (LIKE OMFG!!!! HE'S FIIIINE). obviously, he was my personal bsb-boyfriend, so i gave myself his nickname and took it upon myself to spend hours reading about him online and in ridiculous magazines like teen beat. one day, i decided that i would write a "101 reasons to love nick carter" list, and submit it to my favorite website, backstreet.net! and, omg! they totally posted my article!!! years later, my list is still floating around the internet. google "101 reasons to love nick carter" and mine will be the first thing that pops up (i'm thinking of putting that proud fact on my resume, actually). but to save you the effort and embarrassment of having "101 and reasons to love nick carter" pop up in your google history, you'll find the list, in it's entirety, below. enjoy! and don't laugh too hard.

1 His eyes
2 His smile
3 His lips (yuuuuuummmmmm...)
4 His hair (I like it better short)
5 His laugh
6 His butt (oh yeah)
7 The little gap in his teeth
8 Because he and Brian are Frick and Frack
9 Because he loves to play video games (me too - Coincidence? I think not)
10 Because he scrunches up his face when he sings (sooo cute!)
11 Because he loves his family so much
12 Because he is really close with Aaron and loves to play with him
13 His voice
14 The way he sings "I need you tonight"/"heaven in your eyes"
15 The note he hits when he sings "pain" (I know that we have been through so much PAIN) in I need you tonight (soooo sexy!)
16 Because he is constantly licking his lips in the "night out" video (again, too cute!)
17 The way he pretends to be putting chapstick on the camera in the "night out" video
18 Because Brian is his best friend
19 Because he "resigns" in Florida
20 Because he's always trying to pull practical jokes
21 The way he likes to fall on the floor at concerts
22 Because he almost drops the hat in the "Homecoming video" "All I have to give" hat dance, but recovers
23 Because when he gets lost on the dances he just stops for a second and stands there looking confused
24 Because when he forgets when Brian's birthday is and Brian gets pissed, he says, "I am so bad at numbers. I don't even know my parent's birthdays."
25 Because when he then remembers Kevin's birthday, Brian gets even more pissed
26 The way he sings "to you" in "All I have to give"
27 Because he's a "Bad Boy"
28 Because he's really messy
29 Because he can be grumpy in the morning (awwww... does someone need a good morning hug?)
30 Because he gets really homesick when on tour
31 Because he went to surpass Aaron when they hadn't seen each other for a long time - they both cried!!!! How cute?!!!!
32 Because he's not afraid to cry
33 Because he'd "love to take a girl for a barefoot walk on the beach."
34 Because he loves comic books
35 Because he rocks at the drums!
36 Because he says "My family comes first before anything. They are everything to me."
37 Because he gets zits too
38 The way he looks soooo cute while he does the "as long as you love me" chair dance
39 Because he leads an army of robot dancers in the "larger than life" video
40 Because he can admit that he's not perfect
41 Because he likes Metallica (that's for you, Cam)
42 Because he loves the Simpsons
43 Because one time when Howie was snoring he stuck a Kit Kat bar in his mouth
44 Because he always wins at Nintendo
45 Because he says "the day I find the girl of my dreams I would spoil her rotten." (I'm right here!)
46 Because "love is not something you have, it's something you do."
47 Because he admits that he has to dye his hair
48 Because Aaron says that he picks his nose (wait... is that a GOOD thing?)
49 Because sleep is so important to him
50 Because he is the CUTEST sleeper!!!!!!
51 The way he's the only one sleeping in the trailer during the "as long as you love me" shoot on the all Access video
52 Because he has the biggest feet (hmmm you know what they say...)
53 Because he wants to "be crazy forever."
54 Because he says he would never leave the house without his shoes
55 Because he would be the "monkey's trainer" (what?)
56 Because "sometimes good looks come in handy." (sigh... Nick)
57 Because he's playing with bubbles in the "I'll never break your heart" video
58 Because he went skinny dipping
59 Because "rainy days and cloudy days make me sad but you make me happy" (aawwww....)
60 Because he can be shy around girls
61 Because "I'd feel most relaxed crying in front of my mom or the guys" (what a softie!)
62 The way he sings "what a lie" and "you and I" with AJ in "10,000 promises"
63 Because he says "Every day, I get a lot of hugs from fans and the guys, but I don't get a proper hug every day - I wish I did!" (that's what I'm here for...)
64 Because he posed for rolling stone in his skivvies - how risqué! (I know, I know, so did the other boys...)
65 Because he says "I always mess up. I'm sorry!"
66 Because he thinks about what he ate before a show.
67 Because "a day without sun is like... night!"
68 Because he sings with so much emotion
69 Because he has that sexy tattoo around his arm (that design thing)
70 Because he looks so cute when he wears glasses
71 Because he doesn't think he's a good kisser (maybe he needs lessons...)
71 Because his nickname is Mr. Hyperman
73 Because he's just so darn cute!!!!!!!!
74 Because he plays the drums in concert
75 Because he wouldn't pose for playgirl (damn)
76 The way he smiles in the "All I have to give video"
77 The way he looks kinda possessed when he says "Orlando..." in the Homecoming video
78 Because he says, "sometimes if I don't think about the room being dark, and Martians in the closet, I can go to sleep real easy. But I'll never hang my feet off the bed - I'm afraid little green men will bite my toes -really!" (me too!!)
79 Because loneliness has always been a friend of his
80 Because we are larger than life
81 The way he looks in a hat
82 Because he looks sooo cute in a bandana
83 Because he's sexual (um, yeah)
84 Because when he dances, he always looks at the floor and concentrates
85 Because he enunciates when he sings
86 Because when he sings, he exaggerates his lip and mouth movement, and you can always see his tongue - you can see his tongue forming the words (make sense? Just watch him sing - especially in the night out video)
87 Because he kicks ass at basketball
88 Because he looks so cute when he's all wet and singing in the "quit playing games" video
89 Because it took him a while to grow into his nose
90 Because he is not perfect
91 Because he doesn't have his ears pierced
92 His shoulders
93 The way he pretends to be driving when he sings "I don't have a fancy car" in "all I have to give" Because he falls when he goes bowling with the guys on the Disney concert special
94 Because he never got to go to high school (poor Nicky)
95 Because he doesn't like to be called Nicky
96 Because he always gets so sweaty while on stage
97 Because he looks great in anything he wears
98 Because his nickname is Kaos
99 Because he is just sooo hot
100 Because (in my opinion) he is waaaayyyyy cuter than Justin Timberlake

i'm missing one somewhere. umm i'll say it now:

101 because 9 years later, i'd still make out with him just to make the 17 year-old me a happy happy woman.


bad fortune!

now, i claim to be no expert on chinese culture, but i'm pretty confident in saying that i know my way around one chinese delicacy in particular: the fortune cookie. legend has it that fortune cookies were born as a method of hiding some military secret or something from the mongols in a lotus nut paste cake (which, obviously, mongols don't eat?). i'm a little fuzzy on those details because i can't be bothered to read the "history of fortune cookies" website thoroughly, so i'm just going to make up my own legend. fortune cookies are a 500 zillion year-old tradition in china dating back to the paleozoic era, during the height of the ming dynasty. one day, emperor 大明國 was craving a delish dessert, but his wife wouldn't make him one because she was a hag. instead, a beautiful young girl sent him a tiny folded cookie with a piece of paper inside. the paper read, "call me, emperor 大明國. you're a hot bitch. xo! 443.2347.9737." ta-da! the birth of the fortune cookie!

anywwaaaaay, i went to lunch today with momma and poppa b, and we enjoyed a super delish chinese meal at our favorite local spot. we ate until we were stuffed, then sat back, drinking tea and waiting for everyone's favorite dessert, the fortune cookie. finally, they came!!! we each took one, cracking it open with the delight of a child on christmas morning! what would mine say?? poppa b's said something about having untapped talents (i suggest he try either belly dancing or kickboxing. a former aroebicizer like poppa b is a natural for either), and mine said, "you are the most gifted, talented and beautiful woman on the face of the planet, and your suitors ought to battle to the death to win the hand of such a lovely and gracious goddess."

as we read our fortunes aloud, momma b sat in silence, looking dejected. "what's yours say, mom?" i asked, whisking the slip of paper from her hand. i read it to myself, then burst out laughing. momma b looked even more crestfallen. it said: "innocence and time once lost can never be regained."

is it me, or is that the worst, most depressing fortune ever? it might as well have read, "you're old, sucka! and you're never gonna have fun again!" poor momma b said, "they should never give this fortune to a menopausal woman," and i hate to say it, but i agree. shouldn't a fortune make you feel happy? shouldn't it be vague and weirdly-worded enough to make even the most cynical customer say, "hmmm... maybe i should consider a career change?" or, "wow! this thing is right! i am charming and magnetic!" why would anyone ever want to end their meal with a fortune that left them feeling anything short of magical? well, apparently we're a world full of a-holes, so here are a few ideas of my own to go along with this "giving people bad fortunes" trend:
  • could you maybe try to not be so ugly next time? it hurts to look at you.
  • your ex girlfriend lied to you... it is the smallest she's ever seen.
  • that sesame chicken you just ate? wasn't chicken.
  • that is the fugliest shirt i've ever seen. next time, don't iron it until you're wearing it, loser.
  • you look like an oompa loompa who got beaten up by a spaghetti-covered oscar the grouch on crack.
  • you should really just give up on life now - you'll never pass the 4th grade, bobby.

that was just a smattering of ideas i've had floating around my head for a while. i've spent a lot of time thinking about them. particularly the part about ironing the shirt whilst wearing it. that would present a difficult challenge, wouldn't it? i mean, obviously, you'd burn yourself severely, but how would one ensure the creases were straight if they're wearing the shirt? i suppose they would do it in front of a mirror? have someone help them?

anywaaayyy, i welcome any ideas or comments of your own, so feel free to let me know if you have any bad fortunes you'd like to share. and don't worry. momma b, refusing to settle for her bad fortune, demanded two new fortune cookies. they were both pretty good for an old lady who has lost her innocence and will never regain the time that's passed!

i'm going to bed for 90 days... anybody want to come with me?

the super-smarties at NASA are offering everyday people like you and me a chance to help develop a better understanding of what happens to our bodies in anti-gravity environments like space. great! what do we have to do? oh, nothing really... just spend 90 days in bed.

ok, now i realize that spending 90 days in bed isn't exactly on par with waterboarding at guantanamo bay, but that just sounds like complete hell to me. i mean, i love my bed. it's soft and comfy and lord knows i spend plenty of time lounging on it like a princess, but 90 days??!? that's 3 months, people! that's 1/4 of your entire year spent in bed - and not in the fun way (wink wink)! participants in the study will be fed a balanced diet and go through a variety of tests over the course of the 90 days, which really only makes this sound less appealing to me. if NASA approached me to spend 90 days in bed as part of their study, they'd better be offering pizza and beer, and there sure as hell better not be any poking and prodding with a needle.

now, there's clearly no chance in hell that i would ever truly consider doing something as ridiculous as spending 90 days in bed, but here are a few tests that i would consider being a part of for our nation:

1. the "what happens if you eat only ice cream" study. in this study, designed to test the effects of an entirely-dairy based diet, participants are given as much ice cream as they can possibly stomach for a week (even i couldn't handle eating nothing but ice cream for more than a week). at the completion of the study, subjects are given a magic pill that dissolves all of the fat from ice cream that is now accumulated in their bodies. sign me up.

2. the "save the environment by walking everywhere" study. in this study, participants give up their cars for 1 month. i would totally do this study! unfortunately, i live in los angeles, which is like the biggest mess of urban planning ever, so i probably wouldn't go too far. i'd just make everyone chauffeur me around everywhere instead. come pick me up, bitches!

3. the "psychological effects of wearing all black all the time" study. in this study, participants would wear all black, all the time, and scientists would study the psychological effects of wearing such a dark hue nonstop. now, i loooove me some black clothes. every time i go shopping, i find myself saying, "that's cute! i wish they had it in black!" i also color-coordinate my closet, more than half of which is black. my nickname in junior high was even "queen of darkness" because i wore so much black (i swear i wasn't a scary goth kid. i had like 8 black skirts though, and let me tell you - nothing is cuter than a little black on black). as for the psychological effects of wearing black? i can tell you right now: participants would think they were hot. black is slimming and flattering, and everyone looks better once they're back in black!

4. the "give rachel morgan money and see how she spends it" study. in this study, one participant, rachel morgan, would get lots and lots of money from various donors, and we will study the various methods with which the participant uses the money. i am currently in the process of trying to get this study off the ground, and i'm looking for sponsors to supply financial support. if interested, please email: sparkleize@gmail.com.

i'll keep checking back with NASA to see if/when these studies are offered. if you're a crazy person and want to apply for the NASA bed rest study, check it out here: http://www.bedreststudy.com/Bedrest.aspx


cinco de celebrity

holas mis amigas! donde estas? me gusta britney spears mucho! arriba! la cucaracha!

now that my bastardization of the spanish language is out of the way, let me set the scene for you: it's cinco de mayo, and you're paris hilton. how do you celebrate this awesome booze-fueled holiday? at the hornitos party at crown bar in LA. how do i know? i was there too. here's the scoop:

i arrived at crown bar nice and early, ready to work the red carpet alongside E!, people magazine, star and in touch... and there i was, rachel morgan, holding a crappy microphone with a rubber band wrapped around it, hoping to get a celebrity interview for my magazine's radio show. before the celebs started walking the red carpet though, i snuck inside to interview some of my contacts for the radio show. the bar looked great, and there was no one there... except for samantha ronson, and, of course, lindsay lohan.

ok, so we all know that poor lilo has been through some tough times, and we also know there have been some wild rumors circling about lilo's relationship with sammy r, so i'm going to put them to rest: they are totalllllly banging. obviously, they weren't like making out all over the place or anything, but i am an expect at reading body language (um kyle and kim from ANTM cycle 5, i am SO onto you), and there is totally something going on between them. during the party, while sammy r was spinning some sweet tunes (she was actually a great DJ - i'm down with anyone who'll spin "you can leave your hat on."), she would turn to lilo and the two would share a signifigant glace. secondly, the media has been commenting that the two have been inseperable as of late, and you want to know why? because they are totallllllly doing it. how do i know? because when two girls date each other, that's what they do! there's a joke within the lesbian community that on the second date, lesbians bring a u-haul. well, from the looks of them, lilo and sammy r got the u-haul, unpacked their drugs from it, and now spend their time chain-smoking and making sex tapes. lilo is totallllly tapping sammy r's ass!

anyway, by the time i was back on the red carpet, joel madden, nicole richie's babydaddy, was there posing for the photogs. he's super short and kinda dweeby looking, but i must say - he was incredibly nice! as i stood there with my little microphone and recorder, he still took the time to talk to me, and was gracious throughout. joel, i love you.

joel's brother benji wasn't too far behind, but he barely did any interviews and just posed for a few pics before heading into the party. and, of course, no hollywood party is complete without benji's practically-attached gf, paris hilton. sigh. paris, paris, paris. there's so much to say about you! i've seen paris in person before, and i will repeat what i said about her the first time, even though it pains me to do so. as dumb and annoying and whoreish and spoiled as paris is, she is actually incredibly pretty in person (even with her wonky eye!). while others walked the red carpet, paris strutted the red carpet, posing in a way that conveyed an attitude saying, "i'm so fabulous, yet, i'm so generous and kind to stop and let the peasants photograph me!" of course, paris did not make her way to my end of the red carpet for a quick interview; instead, she whisked inside and immediately got on her cell phone. she stood in the doorway, coyly hiding from the photographers, giggling on the phone like a vapid teenager.

after the red carpet frenzy died down, my fellow members of the media and i hurried inside to grab a margarita and spy on celebrities. i quickly befriended a girl who works for an unnamed gossip publication as an undercover reporter, and she told me about the time she was paid to follow britney spears around in hawai'i and report on everything brit brit did (OMG if this were a few months ago and brit brit was still a crazy whoreish mess showing her vagina all over town, she might have been at this party and i would have DIED. LOVE HER.). we made a few laps around the small bar, during which i observed:
  • paris and benji sitting at a booth with nicky hilton and david katzenberg. nicky, who apparently thinks she's above the law, smoked a cigarette inside (this is california, and that shizzz is super-illegal here, yo.), and paris practically sat in benji's lap. i actually went to high school with david katzenberg, and i must say - he was way cuter in the 11th grade. ick. also, nicky hilton - put down that freaking cigarette and eat a burrito, girl. you've got some seriously SCARY looking legs going on, skeletor.
  • lilo and sammy r took a few smoke breaks together to the back patio (unlike SOME celebs, they follow the law *cough cough nicky hilton cough*), and although i couldn't be bothered to try to eavesdrop, i did check out what lilo was drinking - and i saw nothing but evian. good little lesbo lohan!
  • lauren conrad and lo bosworth were apparently there as well. however, anything related to the hills makes me want to jab myself in the eyeball with a hot poker, so i don't care.
  • people in LA are freaking crazy. one girl wore a "dress" that was definitely a shirt, margaritas flowed like rainwater, and my new celeb-spy friend offered me coke as we took a trip to the bathroom together. i politely declined, and she said, "i wouldn't normally offer it to people, but i like you!" i felt flattered?

being the jaded native los angeleno that i am, i quickly tired of the celebrity-ness of the hollywood scene and departed, happily, away from all of the glitz and glamour of hollywood and back into the safe - and sometimes shitty - valley (818 fo life, bitches.). as i think back on the night and various other celbrity run-ins, one thing becomes painfully clear to me: celebrities really are just like us. so the next time you look enviously at paris hilton's life and bemoan, "why can't i be an heiress?" tell yourself, "at least i'm not a moron," and picture poor paris taking a poop. you know she does it.

honey, this ain't no westin...

over the weekend, i had to go to long beach to cover a work event (the US bartender's guild competition sounds a lot more exciting than it is, trust me), and my dear friend E tagged along as photographer/moral support. she may have also been on the lookout for some hot babes cutting off people's ties and dancing on a bar wearing a vest and cowboy boots, but that's just coyote ugly, and an unrealistic representation of what bartenders have to offer. bartenders have feelings too. they're not all walking STD's!
anywaaaay, E and i decided to turn a simple work outing into an all-out adventure, wherein we would get a hotel room, party the night away, and check out long beach's swankiest lesbian bar, executive suite. i'd heard that it was pretty awesome, so we packed up the 'cedes (i don't know if anyone has ever abbreviated mercedes like that, but it's my blog and i do what i want, so shut yo mouth and stop sippin on the haterade, yo!) and headed south to california's crown jewel, long beach.

as E and i walked through the beautiful lobby at the westin (where the USBG event was) we longingly dreamt about the hotel's luxurious rooms with those incredibly comfy beds, but we kept walking out the door, determined to stay near the bar so we could stumble across the street in the middle of the night. we decided to find the bar first, then pick a hotel and let the partying begin! luckily, there were plenty of seedy motels near the bar to choose from, but we instantly fell in love with one shithole, the queen city motel. we admired her balconies and stone's-throw distance to the bar, so we pulled into the parking lot with thoughts of the westin banished from our minds.

we walked in to the lobby, praying that there would be a vacancy, and we were in luck! the nice man at the front desk had the perfect room for us! as we took the scariest elevator in the world (seriously, i think someone was murdered in there, and the murderous a-hole just decided to cover up the blood with dark paint and weird black mirror things) to the third floor, we couldn't have been more excited. after all, we were on vacation in long beach!

as we opened the door and took in the room's splendor, it was like coming home after spending a long time away... if you're jeffrey dahmer (we even had a mini fridge that would hold at least three heads and maybe even a couple of feet. gotta keep those leftovers preserved!). granted, the room was reasonably clean, but it had a definite air of creepiness to it, and i was unnerved by the lamp shade that was still wrapped in plastic (did the old one have to be thrown away because it was splattered with blood and various bodily fluids like mucus and diarrhea? was it shredded by a mask-wearing man with a machete and a serious case of crazy?).

we decided to pop open the bottle of sparkling (sparkleize!!!!) wine (only the good shit for two classy ladies like us) we'd bought and enjoy the view from the balcony while we sipped our crunk juice. as we admired a pigeon gracefully soaring over the cracked asphalt of the empty lot next door, our reverie was interrupted by our neighbor coming out onto his balcony for a cigarette. "hey," he said. "hi," we mumbled. obviously, i wanted nothing to do with this pimply-faced 20 year-old douchebag, so i immediately turned my back to him and focused my attention on E. that'll teach that fucker to try to talk to me. who does he think he is???

within minutes, our neighbor was joined by two more ugly little monkey-boys, which, clearly, did not make me happy. as E went inside to pick up her ringing phone, douchebag #2 spied our fancy-schmancy "champagne" and said to me, "hey, can i get some of that?" terrified that this heathen was actually speaking to me directly and asking for some of my hard-earned booze, i panicked. "sorry, bro," i said. ok. i seriously don't think i have ever called anyone "bro" in my life. like, what the mother-freaking-shit-on-a-stick-poop-bitch-damn-hell was i thinking? aren't there better circumstances under which one ought to test drive a new word? i could have called E "bro," or i could have practiced in the mirror or something, but nooooooooo - rachel morgan has to go and throw around a word like "bro" to a strange DB #2.

as soon as the word escaped my lips, i knew i'd made a mistake. "what did you say?" demanded DB #2, leaning toward me with a shocked look on his face. "oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit," i thought. is it not ok to call people "bro" unless you're surfing? does "bro" mean something insulting in long beachese??? i mumbled, "i said, 'sorry bro??? you know, like, 'hey bro?'" "ooooh," he said, and my body flooded with relief (that makes it sound like i peed my pants, which i definitely did not, but i very well could have. i was scurred). "my name is brown," he explained, "and i thought you knew my name!" "oh," i squeaked, pushing E into the room ahead of me as i bolted towards the safety of the serial killer room, shutting and locking the balcony door behind me. PHEW!

happy to be back inside, E and i decided to settle down and watch some good ol' fashioned TV. E grabbed the remote and began to flip through the channels. suddenly, my eyes were assaulted. nanoseconds before, E had flipped from some weird movie in spanish to an extreme and graphic closeup of a woman being penetrated. with a penis. repeatedly. quickly. yes, she was having sex. now, i'm no spring chicken, and i've stayed in my fair share of reeeaaallly crappy motels (cheyanne, wyoming takes the cake, SW). however, i have never been in a shithole that has free porn. you usually gotta pay for the good stuff, and here it was - free, and on my TV! i typically detest porn and start some long-winded feminist rant whenever it's on (except for pterodactyl porn. do yourself a favor and check it out.), but there's nothing i love more than a bargain, and free porn is one hell of a bargain.

a few hours later (and after checking the porn to "catch up on the plot" several times), E and i were ready to hit executive suite. we were primped and we were pumped, so we headed down the block to the bar. as we headed toward its open, welcoming, rainbow-bedazzled door, i had a revalation: i had been there before! i turned to E and said, "E, i've been here before...." i looked around and continued, "yeah - i fell right there!" (a few months ago i went to party in long beach with CK, KB and SL....i was running to get in the cab... wearing heels... fell... watched all my friends laugh at me without making a move to help me up.... good times!).

what went on inside involved a lot of drinking, a lot of shit-talking, a lot of pushing each other into people to dance with, but by the end of the night, we were both ready to go home. here are some final highlights:

  • the only way E or i would have found true love at executive suite is if one of the girls' massive girth caused her to develop planetary orbit and we were forced to spend the rest of our lives spinning around these beasts like a satelite circling the earth.

  • another reaons E and i weren't likely to have luck in love in long beach? girls there end sentences in a preposition. i kid you not. i even heard one girl say, "where do i pay at?" UGH!

  • executive suite is also home to literally, a hot tranny mess. now, i've seen my fair share of trannies, and even some hot trannies, but i have never seen a more appropriate representation of a hot tranny mess. chrisitan, eat your heart out.

all in all, our adventure was a sucess. i mean, there was free porn, so what's not to love?


i'm an achiever....

guys, 2008 is flying by faster than a drunk sorority girl on her way to puke in the shower! it is officially may now, which means we've got 4 months of 2008 under our belts - that's 1/3 of a year! with each new year, we gain new experiences, reach new benchmarks, and try new things. some of you may have hiked machu pichu or made a ton of money thus far in 2008. here are 3 new things i have achieved in the past 1/3 of a year:

1. peed on santa monica blvd. i know, i know, this is probably not my proudest moment, but to me, it was a thrilling first! i mean, i've peed in front lawns, side yards, hedges, behind cars and in alleys, but i have never peed on a busy street in the middle of WEHO! there i was: 2:15 am, drunk, hungry, and having several martinis and a few beers pressing on my bladder, when i spied it - the bush that would become my savior/toilet! it practically called to me, "raaaaacccheeeelllll... come pissssssss on meeeeeeeee...." i couldn't refuse.

2. served my country proudly as a juror for 10 days on jury DOODY! it was my own worst nightmare: being surrounded by idiots for an extended period of time. dun dun duuuuunnn! seriously, constitution, i don't care if you call the bunch of slack-jawed yokels you put on my panel "peers," but just know that they are not my "peer" in any capacity outside of the fact that we are both humans. you wanna know why OJ's not behind bars? because he was judged by a panel of his "peers" (although is they were really OJ's peers, they'd all be murderers...), and it turns out that the term "peer" in this country is synonymous with "total fucking moron who is incapable of shutting up." god bless america.



phew! now that my parents are gone (they don't need to know these types of things), i can tell you one other first for me in 2008 - i consciously decided to remain single and celibate for a while! of course, now that it's been 4 months, i'm totally over this single and celibate thing, sooooooo.... any takers? ;) i'm not (too) picky, i am (usually pretty) nice, i'm (sometimes) totally sweet, and i am (always definitely) up for a good time. call me. yes, you. xoxo.