ALL SHE WANTED WAS JUSTICE, ALL I WANTED WAS A MILKSHAKE

Honestly this whole "PC" shit is getting out of hand.  I'll never forget when that evergreen tree that appeared middle of town hall just before December 25th, decked with lights and topped off with an angel was called a "holiday tree" because in the Westport World "Christmas Tree" was not politically correct.  

Of course, my former hippie mother protested, and I was the innocent bystander. 

It all happened after she picked me up from a party at 2AM.  She wanted justice. All I wanted was milkshake.  

She dragged me to the bridge that leads into our town's main street, aptly called "Main Street".  The streets were empty.  After all, it was 2AM in a town that shuts down at 8PM.  A fact that made my New York mother cry upon our big move to the suburbs ten years ago.

We pull over.  She unleashes her weapon.  A 8X10 sign reading "Keep Christ In Christmas" written in glittering bubble letters.  She proudly places it on the bridge, straightening it about 4-9 times.  At last she stands back as to say, "That'll show them!"  

The next day the sign was taken down and The Westport Minute Man news still refereed to that tree as a "holiday tree".  I never got a milkshake, and my mother never got justice.  

THE "C" WORD

Crash diets.

You know, they call them "crash" diets for a reason.

In LA everyone always seems to be dieting.   Either they're clearly clensing, really raw, very vegan,  Carbless, Fat-free, only organic, just Jamba Juicing, soley Starbucks, craving Cupcakes, purely Pinkberry, guzzling Grapefruit, or just not eating anything at all.  

Before moving to LA I always thought I was skinny.  But by LA standards, I'm "skinny fat".

It hit me when someone told me I looked like the girl from "The Secret Life of An American Teenager".  You know, the pregnant one.

See LA skinny is borderline repulisive. The look here is basically a skeleton drenched in designer and pouting with a fresh coat of crayon red lipstick which makes her pale skin glow like snow. Her hair is either highlighter yellow or blackout black.  Most likely she's tripping over her too tall Louboutins as she tries to balence to the glitzening gold chain of her quilted Chanel bag. 

Boys, is this sexy to you?  If you think flannel is formal your opinion doesn't matter.

LA skinny isn't and never will be me.  I like food too much.  I tried the whole Organic Vegan thing, AKA the Skinny Bitch Diet, which should really be called "I'm skinny and a Bitch because I don't eat any thing."  After day two of the diet, I could barely remain conscience.  

My love of food is attributed to my  Grandmother Antoinette who used to tell me "Gabrielle," her Brooklyn-ese accent disabled her from pronouncing my real name, Gabriella, "how do you know you don't like something until you try it?"  Ever since she told me that I have become an adventurous eater.  I tried everything.  In fact I tried too much.  My afternoon snack would be a cup of whole milk and about 10 Oreos which I used to mash up at the bottom of my glass of milk and eat with a spoon like pudding.

Needless to say Grandma was technically obese.  She would eat an entire BJ (Costco for those outside of Fairfield County) sized tub of pretzels, drenched in mustard and wrapped in cheese, in one sitting.  It's actually quite delicious.  She also qualified rolling on the floor as physical activity, an exercise inspired by either an infomercial or just her old age laziness.  After a demonstration, my "large and in charge" grandmother rolled right into a vase which shattered, along with her dignity. 

So yeah, diets aren't really my thing.  I took an nutrition class in college.  My teacher's last name was Dong.  She hated me because I always rolled into class fifteen minutes late.  You could hear the clink clink clink of my high-heeled boots up the hall.  I couldn't tell you Why I was wearing heels to class when there was ice on the ground.  I think it was part of my sophomore year fashion identity crisis.  I would also wear tops as dresses, need I say more? 

I would burst into the classroom apologizing profusely and claiming I hit traffic, as I held up two venti sized Starbucks, one for myself and one for my friend Kim.  The funny thing was I lived on campus and class was two blocks away.  So by traffic I meant the clump of Emos smoking cloves outside of my dorm, and the long line of ten syllable orders at Starbucks in City Place.  

I'll never forget the day in nutrtion class where I learned my favorite brunch order from Trident on Newbury, an oversized avacado and dill havarti cheese egg white omlette was by no means healthy.  Dong told me my omlette's fillings essentally defeated the purpose of the egg whites.  I still miss those omlettes.  

I didn't really learn much in nutrition.  Just that I drank too much coffee.  Apparently an average of 7 shots of espresso a day isn't really considered healthy living. 

But honestly, diets are stupid.  Why start a diet if you're just going to break them anyway.  If you don't believe me check out what my friend Courtney brought this to my attention yesterday.  A list of six of the craziest crash diets of all time, brought to you by cracked.com. 

http://www.cracked.com/article_15780_6-most-insane-crash-diets-all-time.html

The list is pretty insane. Basically all of these ancient "diets" translate into disorders:

1.) The alcohol diet = Alcoholism

2.) Vomiting= Bulimia

3.) The Graham Cracker diet=Anorexia

4.)The Chew diet= Stupidity

5.)Tapeworm= Extreme Stupidity

6.) The Sleeping Beauty Diet= Coma

All this talk about food is making me hungry.  What fast food chain should I cause havoc at tonight?

DRIVE-THROUGHS MAKE ME CLAUSTROPHOBIC

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"

"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?"

Silence

"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. 

HOW TO REUSE A PROM AND OR WEDDING DRESS

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. 

CAN YOU REALLY CALL THESE LOVE SONGS?

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. 

MY GPS IS SEDUCING ME

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?

HURRICANES & PERSONALIZED BARRETTES

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: 

CNN's top headline: "GIRL DIES AFTER BILL WASHES HER OUT TO SEA"

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.