Monday, August 31, 2009


Hey LA, for a city that's so into "diets", you sure have a whole lot of fine fast food establishments.  

In & Out, Carls Jr, Jack in the Box, Del Taco, Taco Bell, KFC, Wendy's,  McDonalds, Burger King, and even Rally's!   I'm not sure what exactly Rally's is,  but it's right next door to me.

My mom would be ashamed that I can name so many fast food places.  In Westport, CT we only had one McDonalds.  I remember when it was first built.   My white-collar town protested.   They thought it was too "urban" for the suburbs.   If you want fast food in Westport, you have to go to Bridgeport or Norwalk (0ur more "urban" neighbors).  Now we have an Arbys.

Drive-throughs make me claustrophobic.  Especially after 2AM.  I almost had a melt down getting a milkshake the other night. 

I was driving home from the bar.  No Mom, I was not drunk.   Prior to leaving the bar my friend specifically asked me if I wanted to grab a shake at the diner next door.  I declined because at the time I was not craving a shake.  Speaking of shakes do you the difference between Shakes and Malts?  I do.  Shakes taste like shakes and malts taste like... malts.  

Malts are chalker, and usually thicker because they have malt powder in them, the same filling you find in malt balls.  Which kinda sound like "moth balls".  I wonder if anyone has ever made that confusion before.

So back to the shake-tastophy. 

I'm driving home, and suddenly I realize I can't find my iPhone.  Which of course sparks a panic attack, because I am one of those iPhone adicts.  I can't do anything without it by my side.  It's pathetic really.

I'm halfway home at this point.  I pull over and check my car.  Nope, no where to be found.  So I drive all the way back to the bar.  I arrive and park my car, but before I head in, I go through my purse one last time.  And there's my iPhone.  FML. 

On the ride home (attempt # 2), it hits me.  I want a milkshake.  No, I don't just want a milkshake, I NEED a milkshake.  There's no possible way I can drive the rest of the 4.5 miles home, even with Hugo whispering sweet nothings in my ear like "In. Point. Two. Miles. Turn. Left. On. Venice. Boulevard."

I'm craving an oreo shake from Carls Jr.  Which in my opinion is the best.  You get the chucks of oreo cookie which is key, and the whiped cream on top compliments it perfectly.  I don't understand why people even bother with crap-achinos when they can have this for just about the same amount of calories. 

I'm practically drooling, I want one of these shakes so badly.  The closest thing I have to shake at home is a half of a Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich which just won't do.  

At last, I spot the neon star. 

I wished upon that star for Carl's Jr. to make my dreams come true.  I pull up:

"Hi! Can I have an oreo shake please?"

"We're all out"

"But I need one."


"Sorry isn't going to give me shake now is it?"

"Please pull up and exit the drive through"

"Fine!  I'll take my three dollars else where." 

So I left.  Shake-less.   I drive less than a mile feeling like my dreams have been crushed.  But then suddenly I spot another Carl Jrs. star peaking out of a palm tree.  My eyes light up.

I pull in gleaming.   This hot head in a Hummer is in front of me.  He orders enough food to feed a family of 10.  I honk.  I mean, this is an emergency. 

I pull up to the speaker.

"Hi! An Oreo shake please."

"We're all out"

"What?! No you can't be.  I was just at the one next door and they were out too.  Come on lady, that doesn't just happen.  I know it's 2AM, but you don't understand.  I need this milkshake!  What can I do to make this shake happen?"


"We don't have any pre-made, we'd have to make you a fresh one."

I cringe at the thought of milkshakes sitting around all day.  I assumed that at such a fine fast food establishment like Carls Jr., a restaurant chain so posh that both Paris Hilton AND Audrina from the Hills eats here, well at least they do in the commercials, would have the decency to make fresh shakes.  

"How long would it take for you to make me a fresh one."

"Four minutes"

From her tone you'd think she said an eternity.  

"Great, I'll wait four minutes"

And I did.  It timed out perfectly.  As soon as the Hummer hothead got handed his last greasy burger to complete his feast, my order was ready.  

The moral of this story is don't take no for an answer.  Fast food places are never actually out of shakes, and the McFlurry machine isn't actually broken.  They're just to lazy to make it for you. So fight for you fast food rights, and you too will go home happy. 

Thursday, August 27, 2009


A lot of people I know have recently gotten married.  I wasn't invited to any of these weddings.  But, it's no big deal because thanks to Facebook photos I can pretend that I was there.   

I think I am one of the few girls that has never really fantasized about my wedding.  This could be attributed to my seemingly permeant single status or my doubt of ever having been love.  

Unlike Monica Geller and any female lead in a romantic comedy, I never had a wedding book, or a wedding wish list.  With my luck I'll probally marry a guy who has all that planned out.  Only to discover a few years later that he's gay.

I think my mom has it all planned. I remember being three years old and walking by Vera Wang on fifth ave and my mom saying, "Gabriella, one day we'll get your wedding dress there." Like I knew what any of that meant at the time.

The whole idea of a big wedding and a wedding dress seems a little crazy to me. You see, I'm a sensible shopper.  I only splurge if I can justify years of wear out of the item.  

So how do you rationalize the wear-age of a wedding dress?  Women spend thousands on those big pouffy white designer dresses that they wear for a few hours and then never touch again. 

At least you can reuse a prom dress, and those don't cost nearly as much.  If you're crafty you can leave the tag on and return it.  Also, it's easy to reuse a prom dress.  

Wear it to different dances in different zip codes, wear it to weddings, or wear it to a red carpet event.   I had two prom dresses.  They were from BCBG and exactly the same, only one was red and the other was white.  I wore them to winter formals, two different proms and since they were red and white my friend Allie and I wore them to be "Holiday Barbies"  in our choir's Christmas pagent.  No one got it.  They just kept asking me why I was wearing my prom dress and why I was dumb enough to buy the same dress in two different colors.  I learned a few days ago my mom sold them both on eBay without my concent.  Thanks a lot, Mom. 

So I thought I'd be creative. Here are ten ways you can reuse a wedding dress (inspired by my prom dress usage of course).

1.)MOVE-Get married in another town, wear the same dress, no one will know
2.)HALLOWEEN- you could be the Bride of Frankinstein, A Bridezilla, or a zombie Bride
3.)RUNAWAY BRIDE- wear it around town, preferably on a rainy day and just burst into coffee shops telling people you're a run away bride (*cough* Friends)  that has to get you at least a coffee or something.
4.) BACHELORETTE PARTY-  Okay, since this works for bachelorette parties I'm guessing it would work for actual brides too.  If you just went into a bar in your wedding dress that has to get you a free drink or something.
5.) GIVE IT TO YOUR DAUGHTER - this is probably the least logical thing here, chances are you may not have a girl and if you have a girl she may not like your style
6.)  SELL IT ON E-BAY - just like my mom did to my prom dress! If you say it was a celeb's you might even be able to get more money for it.
7.)  KEEP THE TAG - keep the tag on and go back to the place or purchase in tears claiming he left you at the alter
8.) MAKE AN OUTFIT OUT OF IT-  They totally did this on Project Runway.  You can dye it, cut it up and make another dress, blazer, skirt, corset top, what have you, out of it.  But, you might want to have some experience in design before you start cutting.
9.) WEAR IT ON A DAILY BASIS - to the store, to the gym, anywhere you go during your day wear your dress, pretend like nothing is abnormal.  If anyone asks just say you're trying to get your bang for your buck.
10.) BLIND DATES- sign up for a dating website (I prefer J-Date) and just go on the dates in your wedding dress and comedy will ensue.

You're welcome. 

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Recently I had an epiphany.   John Mayer and I are soulmates.  I tried telling him this at his last concert.  Sadly, I was escorted away by security.  

I think I have a strong case.  John Mayer and I are perfect for each other because:

1.) We both have hazel eyes
2.) We both like music
3.) We're both from Fairfield County, so going home for the holidays would be super convenient.

When I told my friend this, he brought up a very good point.  When John and I get married, which obviously will be soon because we have SO much in common, what would our wedding song be?  It couldn't be a John Mayer tune because that would be just awkward... right?

But on second thought, most of John Mayer's songs about being alone and breaking up.  Think about it:

 Slow Dancing in a Burning Room - beautiful melody, but the lyrics are tradgic: 

We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear we're slow dancing in a burning room

Dreaming With a Broken Heart - Another great melody but once again, depressing lyrics:
When you're dreaming with a broken heart 
The waking up is the hardest part

Then there's Your Body is A Wonderland- but that's just totes inapprops.:

'Cause if you want love
We'll make it
Swimming a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while

I came up with a solution.  When John and I tie the knot and if he insists on using one of his songs I think I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You) would work best. Especially this part: 

Who do you love, me or the thought of me?

Because in that case I could truthfully say, "John I think it's the the thought of you, I've been thinking about you since the 8th grade".

So then I got thinking about "love" songs.  Some of the most classic lovey dovey cheesy love songs are actually incredibly sexist and demeaning.  Which makes me wonder, can you really call these love songs?

Take Billy Joel's Just the Way You Are:

I don't want clever conversations 
I never want to work that hard

In other words, Billy wants a dumb bitch who won't "go changing."  So basically he's saying if she gets old or fat, he's out of there.  Which might explain why his last wife was in her 20s.

Or my favorite.  Tom Jones' She's a Lady where Tommy boy sings about how his lady "always knows her place" and she's "never in the way."  But don't worry because as long as she stays out of the way, and knows her place, Tom "never would abuse her."  The fact that he has to mention this makes me suspicious...

His other song Daliah just heightens my suspicion. 

She stood there laughing
I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more

So basically he killed the bitch... 

Fun DJ choice: put "She's a Lady"  next to "Daliah"  it's a good time.

Personally I think Warren Zavon's French Inhaler is the most romantical (an other word I'm trying to make happen):

How're you going to make your way in the world 
When you weren't cut out for working 
When your fingers are slender and frail 
How're you going to get around
In this sleazy bedroom town 
If you don't put yourself up for sale

I feel like he's talking just to me.  

I hope I inspired you lovers, and dreamers. 

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


So I used to hate my GPS.

That was when it's voice was set to this proper robotic bitch.  I named her Elspeth after my bitch of a Montessori School teacher who wreaked of sardines.  She once gave me a time out because this boy bit me and I bit him back.  

Elspeth the GPS was just as rude.  She would receptively shout at me to "Turn left on 'la chiniga' (la cienega, she can't even speak properly) "  when there was oncoming traffic.  What was she trying to do, get me killed?  Good thing I didn't listen.  

And sometimes I would be driving down a street.  And she would just give me the silent treatment.   Come on, couldn't she at least say "good job!"  or "my, what a great driver you are." Nope, just silence.  And then all of sudden she would spat out "recalculating!" Um what?!  What did I do?  You weren't talking to me, how did I make a wrong turn if I was just going straight?

And then Elspeth died.  No seriously.  She took me home.  Then I tried to use her a few hours later and nothing.  Dead.   Which was a problem, because I have a very bad sense of direction. I'm also not a great driver.  The "nice" road hours instructor Little John (who was actually rather large and in charge, but not as large as Big John who was just morbidly obese  and used to take "shit breaks"  in the middle of your road hours).  Anyway Little John told me the day before my license test that "It would be a miracle if you got your license tomorrow."   And I got it!  So I now believe in miracles.  Since you came along.  You sexy thing.

I have the worst sense of direction.  I am one of those people that walks into a store, walks out and then can't remember what direction she came from.  This is hazardous at malls.   I am lost in LA without my GPS.  I even need it to direct me to the Trader Joe's across the street that I can see from my driveway.  

So as much as I hated Elspeth, her death was a huge inconvenience.  I had to use my iPhone as a GPS and while driving, and that's just not safe.

One of my friends tried to resurrect Elspeth for me.  But all he could do was change the car on my GPS  screen to a monster truck and make the voice male Australian (as per my request). 

So I had to call the people at Garmin.  They told me my expected wait to speak to an actual person was 35 minutes.  35 minutes, really?  What am I waiting for a table for a party of five at Stephanie's in Boston for a Saturday brunch and not my entire party is present?  Fuck that.

But I waited, it's not like I had anything better to do.  After listening to scratchy elevator renditions of Nancy Sinatra's "You Only Live Twice"  more than twice, I was then forced to buy the original on iTunes.  Halfway through my purchase I heard the voice of a live human being on the phone.  I overly enthusiastically responded and cracked a joke to which he ignored. I was a little bummed that the technician didn't have a sense of humor. 

Then he told me, since I have a Mac he couldn't help me.  This is the first time I ever felt discriminated for having a Mac Book,  I thought this was Apple Nation.  So then I had to wait another twenty mintues which I spent lip syncing to "You Only Live Twice" and coreographing an interpretive dance to the strings part of the song.  

When I was finally put in touch with a Mac Specialist, we instantly bonded.  We shared screens and everything.  I think he was a little creeped out by my hiarchy of beards desktop, which I refuse to change.  Anyway, now my GPS works.  I was so excited it was fixed that I instantly used it to direct myself from the kitchen to the bathroom.  It not only worked it also seduced me.   My new GPS Voice.  The Australian.  What a hottie.  I named his Hugo or as I like to call him Hugo the Hottie.

Unlike Elspeth, Hugo treats me right.  Everything he says is seductive.  Instead of saying "one oh one"  he says "one hundred and one", such a gentleman.  

Seriously all Hugo has to say is "Turn left" and my clothes are off.  This might cause a problem on the road.  But I can't help myself.  Hugo is seducing me.

Ah but now today my printer broke.  Do you think when I get it fixed I can set it to a sexy Australian voice too?

Monday, August 24, 2009


I feel like it's a slow news day.

Yes there's a hurricane, a war, and a recession, but there doesn't seem to be any "breaking news".

Come on celebrities and has-beens... do something!  Leak nude photos or a sex tape, get arrested, check in to rehab, throw a hissy fit Christian Bale style, or if you really want to stay in the headlines... die.

It feels like forever since a celebrity has died.  Are we still mourning MJ?  I'm trying to start conspiracy theories that the king of pop isn't really dead.  I don't have a whole string of coincidences like the whole 2Pac theory, just an idea... who wants to fill in the blanks?

It's a good day for a celebrity to die.  Nothing else is going on.

I've given up on reading Perez Hilton.  He's sold out.   He used to give the really nitty gritty and now it's all self promotion and ads.  Today's top story, a picture of Zac Efron shirtless.  Really? That's the most exciting thing?  Yawn.

Except for this: 


Bill?  Who's Bill?  Bill Clinton?  A dollar bill?  The bill of a bird?  The girl's crazy ex-boyfriend, Bill?

Nope it's the hurricane. Hurricane Bill.  Hey CNN, would it kill you to put the word "Hurricane" before "Bill"?  This whole hurricane personification is a little confusing:

"Who distroyed my house and washed my girlfriend out to sea?"

"Bill did it"

"Bill who?"

"Hurricane Bill"

I would never name my kid after a hurricane.  But unfortanaltey there are so many friggin hurricanes there's no good names left.  In fact, I'm pretty convinced that they already used the name Bill before.  It seems pretty common.  

How do they name hurricanes?  Do metorolgists have a rack of those mini license plates with generic names on them you get a tourist shop and just pick one? 

As a child, I always found those license plates, barrettes, or anything with "your name" to be discriminatory.  Never ever EVER would they have the name "Gabriella" or "Gabi"  maybe they would have "Gabriel" or "Gabrielle"  both which were NOT my names, but never "Gabriella."   I once was forced to buy and wear a barrette with name "Gabrielle" on it just so I could fit in at the playground.   I think I still suffer from identity/ neglect issues because those stupid barrettes. 

Personalized stuff is stupid anyway.  Why do you need to put your name on shit?In case you forget your name?  Are we really that stupid?  

Anyway back to the hurricanes.  I did some research.  They've been naming hurricanes since 1953.  There's no info on why in 1953 someone suddenly decided to start naming hurricanes, they just did it.  I have to think hurricanes happened before 1953, so how did they keep them all straight?  Also prior to 1979 hurricanes only had female names.  Yeah, that's not sexist or anything.  I have a feeling that some bitch broke a scientist's heart and he was all like, I'll show her, I'm naming this natural disaster Alice.  

They also retire some hurricane names.  What is this the NBA?  Did a hurricane do such a great job destroying everything that they retire their name and hang it on a wall somewhere? 

And once again, I am discriminated.  No hurricanes over the past 50 ought years have ever shared my name.  Tragic.   But there was a hurricane "Gabrielle," which is still NOT MY NAME.

I'm going to go put on my "Gabrielle" barrettes and cry in a corner now.  

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Unitards & Unemployment

I was just reading the paper, and by paper I mean googling words and then clicking on the "news" tab to see if they are newsworthy.  I just googled the word of my post college existence "Unemployment" .  And up popped this headline "Florida Unemployment Stuck at 10.7 %".  Stuck huh?  Nice word choice Business Journal.  See I read Business Journal.  Okay it's the Jacksonville Business Journal, it's a step-up from Perez Hilton.  Back to "stuck" why "stuck?" Where is the unemployment going?  Is it a competition?   What's the next headline "Finally, Florida Unemployment is No Longer Constipated We Hit 10.8%, At Last."  

Another fun fact, I keep misspelling "unemployed" and "business", perhaps this is why I am jobless?

As you can see, this whole "being unemployed thing" is getting out of hand.

Todays accomplishment: instead of driving, I walked from point A to point B.  For the whole three minute stroll I was paranoid that the LAPD was going "pull me over".  Can you even pull over someone walking? 

It's come to the point that when I actually have a meeting  I'm an hour early, because seriously what else do I have to do?  So I just sit in my car and chill.  I can't call anyone because usually I'm underground.  So I write.  Writing by hand is an interesting thing.  I don't do it as often as I should, so my handwriting kinda looks like a child's.  Actually no, I think children write more legibly then me.  It's getting bad, somehow my "O"s look like "A"s, so when people read my handwritten name they think it's "Gabi Canti" well at least my "O"s don't look like "U"s...

You would think that having all the time in the world would make me super productive,  NOPE!  All of this free time has made me incredibly lazy.  I realized I think my biggest accomplishment this entire summer was seeing John Mayer perform twice.  See, only a skillful jobless person like myself could pull this off.  When I saw his 10:03PM tweet that he was having a secret midnight show at hotel cafe, I was there by 10:07.  It's not like I had a job to go to the next day.  And when he had another show where you couldn't buy tickets online (such a strange concept) instead you had to physically go to the Troubadour to get an armband that you couldn't tamper with.   This really pissed off the girl behind me who was "so hungover and like seriously had to shower asap or else..."  anyway yours truly was there with bells on.  And by bells I mean my "beltlace"  I stole from Mr.T.  FYI beltlace is a belt/necklace, yes I just made up a word, I'm also trying to make "Linner" (lunch/dinner) happen.  

Since I'm unemployed I do yoga like it's my job.  And by yoga I mean core fusion ( which is like a mix of yoga and pilates, it's sooo LA, even though you can do it in almost every major city, yes, even Boston.   I say "yoga" instead of "core fusion" because no one really knows what core fusion is, also I don't want to explain that it's also pilates because once I put "pilates is something fat people do to feel good about themselves" in a script, which isn't really true and I didn't mean to generalize, I was really just referring to myself last summer who made Tasti Delight a daily habit and would literally sit on the floor in a Crunch pilates class spacing out, not really moving, not breaking a sweat and definitely not getting a workout.  Hence pilates is something fat Gabi did to feel good about her self last summer. 

I also clean a lot. I'm becoming my mother it's really not pretty.  Each morning I wake up between the hours of 11AM and 1PM,  and I make my bed.  No one sees it so I don't see what the difference is, but I do it anyway.  Every time I cook something,  and by "cook" I mean make a salad, grill something on the Foreman or microwave, that's really the extent of cooking I do.  After "cooking" I HAVE TO Lysol the counter and Swiffer the floor.  I am my mother.  But today I didn't feel like cleaning.  I'm on strike. 

People always ask me, since you don't have a job, what do you do all day?

To which I reply "Go fuck yourself"

Probably not the best thing to say on a job interview.

But today it figured it out.  What I do all day is: work out, clean, cook and eat.  Minus the whole eating thing I'm pretty much a 22 year old real housewife of New Jersey.  'Cept I don't have have a sugar daddy... yet.  Just my real daddy who tells me I need to stop impulse shopping and getting parking tickets because I don't read signs.  Sorry dad!

So I caved in.  Today I had an interview for a part time job.   Which my dad told me I should make a full time job because seriously what am I doing for the other part of the time?  I tried explaining to him about my very jam packed days of waking up around noonish, working out, cleaning and eating, he didn't buy it.

The job is to work retail at a store I worked at for about five years in five different locations but for some reason they had to re-interview me, I guess to make sure I didn't  get fat.   

I was chatting with the very perky manager on the phone the other day who told me it was super important that I wear my most fashionable outfit to the interview.  Oh yeah and to bring my resume.  I love how it is more important for me to look fashionable then it was to bring my resume.  

I told her sorry, my ripped "boyfriend" jeans, flannel shirt, fedora, booties and every accessory I own are all in the wash so I hope it was okay that I wear my second most fashionable outfit, my teal "Cool Catsuit" and matching Skrunchie (see photo above).  

But I ended up opting for something safer, shorts, and a blazer with heels.  I couldn't get over the looks I got in Santa Monica walking around in heels and shorts before noon.  I should've worn the unitard...

Speaking of unitards, why did American Appeal all of sudden decide to sell "disco clothes"? There is a reason disco is dead.  I'm pretty sure I saw the same pink nylon see-through button down in there that they made this girl throw out on What Not To Wear.  Did Dov (what kinda name is that?)  decide in the early 90s, you know what America needs?  More spandex, pleather, and nylon, and partially pornographic pictures of quasi attractive homemade models.

I'll leave you with these inspiring lyrics from Chicks on Speed "Fashion Rules"  enjoy:

Fashion is for fashion people
it's hard to be cool if you don't follow these
fashion is for fashion people
get out there now and break the rules 

Friday, August 21, 2009


This is an important question.  I always thought it was illegal, but the fine people at Mustang seem to think differently.

A Mustang ad featured in the back of  Rolling Stone reads "It's not hard to give into your Mustang side.  Even if you are legally blind."

Then there is a picture of a man with sunglasses and a cowboy hat on driving a Mustang.  

I'm assuming he's the blind guy because you'd have to be vision impaired to think a cowboy hat is a fine choice in headpieces.

Oh but it gets better.

Below it assures me that yes, this is a blind guy operating the cobalt blue Mustang as it reads:

"Roger Keeney lost his sight 20 years ago.  But that didn't stop him from unleashing his Mustang side in a new 2010 Mustang."

Okay I get it.  Mustangs are such an obviously choice in cars that even a blind guy could "see" it.

But this ad is also hazardous saying blind people should drive cars.  I'm pretty sure that's not only illegal but also impossible.  

In this ad Rodger is driving by himself.  That can't be too safe for a blind guy.

So basically the people at Mustang are liars.  If they're telling me blind people can drive, and I know that's a lie, then I don't believe that it's not hard to give into your "mustang side"or  whatever the hell that means.

Also this ad is discriminatory.  If they really wanted blind people to drive Mustangs, they would've made this ad in brail. 

Thursday, August 20, 2009


Confession: Sometimes I pretend my car is a karaoke bar.

It's really a lot of fun, until I stop short and spill my martini all over me.

I'm kidding!  I don't drink and drive.  I'm too busy tweeting on my iPhone.

No but seriously,  I do sing and drive.   Anyone else?

I've been getting really good at mocking the tenor part of Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons.  And by the Four Seasons I mean the Jersey Boys Original Broadway Cast Recording.  It sounds the same, until they start talking.

In addition to jukebox musicals I also belt along to Elton John. 

But often midway through "Bennie & The Jets"  I have to stop and ask myself... what the hell am I singing? 

No offense, but for someone with a lyricist, Elton John has some pretty confusing lyrics.  I'm convinced he chooses them based on how much fun he has saying the words instead of asking,"does this make sense?".

Like what exactly is Bennie & The Jet's about?

Yeah it's really fun to belt "B-B-B-B Bennie and the Jets!"  But I really can't remember any other lyric from the song.

But thanks to Google, now I do.

I bet you never knew THESE were the lyrics of the chorus:

Say, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet
But they're so spaced out, B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets
Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful
Oh Bennie she's really keen
She's got electric boots a mohair suit
You know I read it in a magazine
B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets


Who are Bennie and Jets?  And out of all things that you would read about Bennie and her jets, why is the ONLY thing that you recall about her is that she has electirc boots and a mohair suit?  I get it Elton, you're gay, but come on.   And how does this fashion choice make her weird and wonderful?

I think there are some subliminal messages in here.  Like the lyric "We'll kill the fatted calf tonight."  Huh?!  What's a fatted calf and why do you want to kill it?  Are you promoting violence SIR Elton? Good thing he didn't call "Bennie and the Jets" "Your Song."  Yikes.

But my favorite lyric of this confusing song is the last, or shall I say the "call to action".

Where we fight our parents out in the streets
To find who's right and who's wrong 

What would happen if a kid actually fought his parents in the "streets" because of this jam?  Then the kid would go trial and the judge asked why, the kid would plead "Elton John told me to do it."

Not only that, but the "sir" wants us to fight our parents out in the streets, not even in the comfort of our own homes, but out in the cold streets to see who's "right" and who's "wrong"? Why?  For Bennie?!  What did Bennie ever do besides wear electric boots?    

But the tune is really catchy.  Bennie!  Bennie!  

PS I just looked up Bennie and Jets on Wikipedia and it all makes sense now.

In case you're curious:

But you have to admit, I do have a point about how it's hard to remember/sing along to Elton's lyrics.  Try it.  Turn your car into a karaoke bar.  I dare you.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


"GI Jane Breaks the Combat Barrier"

I'm not sure if I should be happy or offended.   

According to The New York Times this is a victory since "Before 2001 America's military women have barely seen combat but the Afganistan and Iraqui wars have changed that".

At last!  The glass ceiling has been broken!  And it's all because of those adorable GI Janes.

GI Janes, really?  Is that what we call women in combat?  Do we call men in combat GI Joes?  I never heard of someone beefy army man try to pick up a girl at a bar by saying, "I guess you could call me a GI Joe."

While the term GI Joe might spring up found childhood memories, let us not forget what a GI Joe really is.  A boy's Barbie.  Yes boys, that really is what GI Joes are, Dolls. 

Oh yeah, and GI Joe is also one of this summer's box office flops reviewed by Rotten Tomatoes as having, "silly writing, inconsistent visual effects, and merely passable performances".

Be it a GI Joe or a GI Jane both terms have a very "cute" and doll like connotation to them.  Saying that GI Jane's are breaking barriers is just like saying, "We've come a long way, baby".   Gag me. 

But the funny thing is these "GI Janes" don't look very cute or doll-like in battle.  Have you ever seen a photo of a GI Jane sporting baggy camouflage threads and a crew cut?  How can you tell if that solider is a "Jane" or a "Joe"?

But don't worry America, I have a solution.  It comes from a valuable lesson learned from every chick flick I've ever seen: When in doubt.....


First thing we need to stop the crew cut.  In the meantime try a wig, if Britney Spears can rock one pole dancing surely you can rock one in combat.  And those baggy clothes have to go. I'm thinking something tighter, maybe show off some skin.  How about a camaflaugue bikini?  I mean you are in the desert, you might as well be getting a full body tan while you're out there.  And those combat boots are so... how do I say this politely... Daria of you.  Let's switch it up with a nice heeled boot.  I'm thinking Jimmy Choo...

You're welcome Uncle Sam. 

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Life According to My Mother

My mother writes great e-mails.

And by great I mean absurd.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my mother.  But her daily e-mails are getting a little out of hand. Topics of these e-mails have contained such "breaking news" as: "you know, texting and driving is deadly"  or "Did you hear, Megan Fox has a flaw.  She has hammer thumb!  I just saw it on TMZ." or my favorite "Good News!  I just read in Allure Magazine that's it's completely normal for your boobs to be lopsided" 

I'm pretty certain my mother would equate informing me about the normalcy of my uneven rack with the same urgency of notifying me that a distant family member has died.  

Here's the epic unabridged e-mail she sent me today entirely about the pros and cons of garlic:

Hey Gabi,
I forgot to mention as I ran upstairs to brush my teeth and gargle!
You have to definately brush your teeth and gargle with mouth wash
after having a delicious slice of garlic bread...because iif you don't no
one will talk to you! ( If your by yourself don't worry!)
You cannot smell garlic on your breath but believe me everyone will!
Also ( from my dental hygienist days) do not eat garlic if you have an
appointment or a hot date the next day because garlic seeps through
your skin pores the next day otherwise enjoy!!!

Oh, Mom.  At last clarity.  The answer to why I am still single.  Garlic breath.  That's the last time I order escargot on a date. 

I'm kidding I don't go on dates and if I go on one they're certainly not "hot".  Well at least my mom believes in my love life.  

Don't get me wrong, this email does have some breaking news.  Sadly it's buried in her garlic gab.  This is the first time I ever heard that my mother had experience being a dental hygienist.  I'm shocked.  Instead of sending me on those painful visits to the dentist, my mom could've just done my annual cleanings herself.  Thanks a lot Mom. 

Monday, August 17, 2009

Hello, My Name is Gabi and I am a Twitter-holic

I admit it.  My tweets were getting out of hand.  But honestly, the 140 character limit is stifling my creativity and ability to fully inform people what I was doing every second of the day.  

140 characters is definitely NOT enough to tell people this VIT (Very Important Tweet)  I was just about to post:

"That I just made a delicious bean salad with black beans, corn, cherry tomatoes, red onion, peppers, avocado, cous-cous, cilantro, lime juice and salt and pepper, salmon marinated in a papaya mango salsa grilled to perfection on my George Foreman with a side of broccoli freshly steamed..... in the microwave.  The meal took me maybe 15 minutes to make.  Yes that's right Rachel Ray and your 3o Minute Meals, I just one uped you.  Eat my shorts."

I'm just kidding I would never tweet that much.  That's what blogs are for.  

No seriously, this TMIOT (too much info on twitter) trend is getting out of hand.  One of the reasons I stopped following a bunch of people, is just how narcissistic people are.  Like no one gives a crap that you are eating, sleeping, watching TV, etc.  Unless you're John Mayer.  Then I want to know what you do every second of your day and I'll still find it entertaining and hysterical. 

But then there are people like Spencer634:

@Spencer634 tweets:  "I need a guy to F%&@ me Monday through Friday.  Please be disease free and happy"

WOAH Spencer634 TMI!!  I mean don't we all want that? That pretty much describes the perfect mate.  Disease free, happy, and great in bed. But why does Spencer634 only want this dream dude Monday - Friday?  What about the rest of the week?  Does she need to take a breather?   Read a book?  Go to Church?  Or maybe that's when she screws her Saturday-Sunday diseased unhappy guy?  I'm starting to think Spencer634 isn't a real person.  Is this what defines a sex-bot? 

But the sad thing is,  I think twit-aholics actually think that other people care what they are doing every second of the day.  Twitter really should change it's prompt to "What are you doing?  If you don't have anything funny or intriguing to say, don't say it at all."

It's the same thing with Facebook Photos.  I love these people with 1034 photos of themselves and half are just of them taken in their Mac Photo Booth.  Yes I too take the classic "thug life" and "sexy pose" photos on my PhotoBooth in the privacy of my own home, but I sure as hell don't tag those photos on Facebook for all of my 856 "friends" to see. 

I think Janeane Garofalo on Jimmy Fallon said it best, when giving her two cents about Twitter:

"I have the decency to hate myself.  Young people don't have any grasp on self loathing and how to censor"

You are so wise Janeane.  Just for you, I WILL have the decency to hate myself and self censor.  But first let me turn off E!  

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Sorry America, I'm not "Mad" for "Mad Men" or Flannel

I just watched Mad Men for 2 hours.  

Yes I know the show is an hour long, but I had to watch it twice so I could fully understand it.  Is it just me, or is Mad Men too smart?  Or perhaps my attention span just isn't sophisticated enough for it.  It's really hard for me to follow the show.  Hence, I don't think I could ever really get into the show.

The only thing  I can follow about Mad Men is the style.  I wish I could wear a big pouffy dress, heels and my hair teased up just to go get groceries or frolic around town without people giving me looks.  I just feel that life would be more fun if everyone dressed in Mad Men style 24/7.  

Yes, I mean you LA Boys, I'm so over the "versatile" flannel shirt.  No flannel is not timeless, classic nor dressy.  There is a reason why it is a staple to the "grunge" look and prior to 2009 you only saw flannel on lumberjacks and lesbians.  

Here's an old school SAT analogy to clarify:


No, flannel fiends (A) is not the correct match, nor is (B), or (C).   (D) UGGS:GIRLS is the perfect match. Come on Flannel Lovers,  make an effort.  We (well I do at least) have to wear Spanx to fit into my imitation Herve Leger Bandage Dresses, please be a little more creative.

Honestly I'm sick of going out and being engulfed in a sea of flannel.  Don't get me wrong, I have some flannel shirts, But I respect and understand that they are casual wear. 

Anyway back to Mad Men.  I find it interesting of what a phenomenon this show has become.  It's become more than a show, it's a lifestyle.  I can't believe that people watched the premiere in Time Sqaure dressed up Mad Man Style (honestly I'm a little jel I wish I was there, kinda). What is this New Years?  AND on all days... Woodstock's Birthday -- how rude!

I would rant about it but my favorite NYTimes Columnist Frank Rich nailed it: