She is something all together different, never just an ordinary girl.

People have been telling me for some time now that I look like Lauren Graham. AKA Lorelei, the mom from Gilmore Girls. I even watched a few episodes, and I don't see it. She's smokin' hot, y'all. Apparently it's in the mannerisms, but as I can't really hear and see myself, it's all lost on me.

Well. Was all lost on me. Until Lorelei hit Broadway in Guys and Dolls and this publicity photo hit subway tunnels:

I mean, I guess there is a SLIGHT resemblance. Just can't put my finger on what, exactly.

Hmmmmmm.

This is tricky.

A little help here, please?

There's something, alright.

Oh well. I give up. If you figure it out, let me know.


Oh wait! I've got it! It's the nose! Right???


Awesome. Glad I figured that one out.

(This completely self-indulgent post brought to you by the face that I am FINALLY seeing Guys and Dolls this week and am sosososososososososososososoSOOOOOOOO excited about it.)

Little shiver, shaking me everyday

This is really immature and tacky.

But there's a pretty good chance it'll make you laugh, so I'm going to elect to share anyway.

There's a (tremendously lovely, quite nice) girl at one of the hotels where I work. Her name is Adeola. Every time I work here, I find myself terrified to call her by name for fear I will slip and call her "Areola." And that would be bad.

In ever so slightly more grown-up news, TODAY IS BUSH'S LAST DAY AS PRESIDENT! HoooooooRAY!

But I'll be your midnight cowboy, too drunk to even stand.

I need your help.

I need to know if this is funny, if if I'm just severely brain-dead, hard up for a laugh, and absolutely ridiculous.

My friend Kim directed me to a blog that pokes fun at piss-poor cake designs. http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/
Now, this premise is nothing new, and some of the designs in question have been the the source of e-mockery for years. I scrolled through, rolling my eyes at the insanity and sighing at the stupidity.

But then I came across a golden ticket for hysteria. "Naked Mohawk-Baby Carrot Jockeys."

This cake is so disturbing, I'm almost glad the picture doesn't include the whole thing. The plastic clone babies wearing naught but mohawks is bad enough, but then they're also riding carrots. What do you do with that? It looks like some kind of perverted vegetable rodeo, or maybe a bizarre clone military exercise, what with their little plastic fists raised high in identical salutes.

And what kind of ocassion calls for a "naked babies riding carrots" decor, anyway? No, wait, maybe I don't want to know...



Y'all. I lost it. I literally started laughing so hard that my eyes welled with tears and I had to excuse myself to the ladies' room, where I stood trembling and snorting. I returned to my computer, hellbent on reading the description featured below the picture, only to have to step away from the desk again. It took a good 4 tries before I could compose myself enough to get through it. Later that night, while trying to fall asleep, I murmured to myself "Naked Mohawk-Baby Carrot Jockeys!" and erupted into peels of laughter once more.

This might be the time to admit that for the second week in a row, I watched that stupid Wipe Out show (you know...with the big red balls?!) and literally cackled so hard it sent the cat scurrying to her under-my-bed safety spot.

Someone, assure me I'm not alone. Please?

It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it.

I have discovered the secret to healthy grocery shopping: make sure there is a hot doctor floating around the store at the same time as you. (Or,at least a remarkably attractive man, sporting scrubs.)

My heart said Ben 'n Jerry's and pizza rolls. But my basket said spinach and peaches and fat free cheese.

In other news: 9 to 5: The Musical has made its casting announcement (Stephanie J. Block, Megan Hilty, and ALLISON JANNEY!!!!!!) and set its dates. Needless to say, before I even move out of New York, I'm already planning my first visit back.

If I don't listen to the talk of the town, then maybe I can fool myself

Dear Europeans,

There is a balance. I promise. It seems you either exist in a cloud of BO, or absolutely drenched in a thick musky smelly perfumed stench. It's unpleasant, to put it nicely. Actually, it makes me want to throw things at you and yell. You hurt my head.

SECRET-ly BAN-ed DEGREE-ly SURE-ly yours,
Your favorite concierge



Dear Other Europeans,

You refer to us as Ugly Americans when we don't learn your language, honor your customs, or adhere to your often bizarre logic. (And I agree, for the most part - I think it's tacky to show up in a foreign land and gawk at the differences.) However. In America, we tip those in the service industry. I'm not bending over backwards for you just because I'm nice. You seem to memorize the rest of your guidebooks - why does appreciation etiquette still manage to escape you?

Flatass broke-ly yours,
One apparently unattractive American



And since life should not always be about rants...

Dear Summer,

Thank you for existing so that I may have obnoxiously good fruit. Also, thank you for not being too ridiculously hot.

Peace,
Alison


Dear Foot,

You're getting a tattoo!!! Ready?! I hear it's going to hurt.

Branded,
Alison


Dear Subway,

Thank you for continuing to provide endless hours of hilarity and people watching. Ok, so I haven't seen anymore heavenly booties recently, but rest assured my commutes continue to be most entertaining.

Mass transit is cool,
Alison. F Train. 6th Ave Local


Dear Seth Avett,

You continue to be my #1 Most Brilliant Man Alive. True story. How can one man possibly be so pretty AND talented?! Thank you and Scott and Bob for giving us New Yorkers a free show this week.

I heart bluegrass,
Alison

I want you between me and the feeling I get when I miss you.

I was going to bring you some of my musings from the beach today. (I'm working hard on becoming a beach bum, you see.) (And being a beach bum means lots of reading and writing and thinking.)

But no. Instead, you get this. Because it's too funny not to post. I hope hope hope this was NOT done on purpose.

And so begins my 2 weeks till 26 countdown. I thought it would be nice to paint the perfect picture of maturity.

She's not a girl who misses much. Do-do-do-do-do-do-do. Oh, yeah.

Today's contribution from the (apparently self-appointed) Pun Queen:
While trying to convince my internet to un-firewall itself and download a torrent file I've been looking for (the Xanadu cast recording, if you must know) I found myself (almost completely unintentionally) screeching SEED ME, FEYMOR.

Yikes.

And today's contribution from the Dumbest Girl In the World:
Yesterday morning I awoke to my phone refusing to show me anything but a black screen with the Verizon logo. After panicking as to when I could get in to get it fixed and how much I would have to pay for it and why a nearly new phone was already breaking down and fuming and cursing and generally freaking out, it dawned on me. Perhaps I should plug it in.

Whoops.