Bad Advice

Tomorrow Night!

Tomorrow night I'm going to be on a big ole jet airliner, zipping across the ocean to London. I'm going to see my sis as well as my buddies Scarlett and Alex who have new(ish) babies and boyfriends for me to meet.

My pocket-sized Time Out Guide to London is flagged and ready to go. Suzy doesn't know it yet, but I plan on us reenacting all my fave Ab Fab moments. We're also going to shop, drink pints at quaint pubs, look at art, and possibly go on a boat ride or two. Maybe we'll go see this teeny tiny rare pony! I'm leaving the Big Guy at home for this trip, so it'll be just me and the ladies. Big fun will be had. There may be blogging from the road, but I make no guarantees. I'm not bringing my computer and my beautiful iPhone will be switched off, which is giving me minor heart palpitations, but hopefully I won't go into full-on tech withdrawal. My sister doesn't even have a television!

Granny gets her rock on!

Last night the Large Greek and I went to see Primal Scream. I love them and they did not disappoint. Granny was shakin' her substantial butt all night. I get that to newbies their jumping from one style to another might seem schizo and vaguely annoying, but I think of it like seeing two or three bands for the price of one. (And believe me, I hope none of my money went to the whiners on before them.)

Speaking of annoyed newbies, Spyro crapped out early and went home, because pretty much the only PS record he likes (yeah, I said record) is Screamadelica and so naturally as soon as his ass hit the sidewalk they played "Movin' on Up." Der. Then they did "Rocks," which he also would've loved but he was probably in bed by then.

I saw an old friend in the crowd and he did this thing that me and my friends call "The Williamsburg." He caught my eye and then quickly looked away before he was forced to acknowledge the fact that I was waving hi. Nice! I guess I should reclassify him as someone I thought was an old friend. Because I didn't look mental enough dancing by myself—I also got to be seen waving to imaginary people. Good thing I'm old and don't really give a shit about looking like an idjit.

Way back in the '91 or so, I interviewed Primal Scream for High Times and even working at a drug magazine, I was kind of shocked by their open and epic drug use. They started off the interview saying they didn't want to talk about drugs—that that's all the British press focused on. I reminded them that I worked for a drug magazine and that was pretty much the reason they were being interviewed. Once that got sorted out they described in great detail their love for the drugs—pretty much any and all drugs. Heroin, coke, ecstasy . . . if I named it, they did it in great quantities. Definitely not picky in that department. I don't remember much else except that their fookin' accents made transcription a bitch and a half. Oh, and Bobby was dating a 17-year-old at the time, which vaguely scandalized me.

I know what you're thinking.

Don't try to fight it. Sorry boys (and girls!), but this bitch is taken.

This is how I spent my morning—darkening the head hairs (and my ear and parts of my shoulder—rest assured, I meant to do that) and lightening the 'stache. I know some ladies prefer to wax theirs, but that just gives me a bright red scab for days.

The sun'll come out tomorrow!

Because I'm going to see Morrissey at Carnegie Hall! The last time I saw him, Rose and I caught the show at Radio City Music Hall. I love these grand old venues in my old age. I saw Coraline 3D at the Ziegfeld. Another amazing beautiful old theater.

I've been kind of mopey lately, but I'm trying to bust my ass workwise so I can go to London with absolutely no work to do there. It's a tall order, but I'm trying my best. If anyone has any questions for Dategirl, please email me or leave it in the comments.

Um, why can't the state pitch in and help pay for my dental nightmare? It doesn't seem fair that they'll pay for toothless prisoners to get their invisible teeth cleaned, but I'm facing major work and I don't get a dime. And why isn't dental included in health insurance? Your mouth is part of your body, ferchrissakes.

Let's see, what else? How about this wacko who handcuffed her husband to herself and kept biting him? Yikes.

Speaking of crazy bitches, I know I'm not the only one who watches the Real Housewives of New York. How about that Kelly Bensimon? What a cow. And what up with the red, flaky face? Woman, you used to be a model—you should know that you don't go on camera right after a chemical peel unless you want to look like a burn victim.

Double-Whammy Day

Today at noon-thirty I have a state-of-the-mouth meeting with my periodontist and then at 3pm I meet up with Harvey the accountant.

When I first realized I'd booked both Agents of Horror on the same day (it wasn't intentional), I was going to move one of them to another day. But then I figured, why spread out the misery? Why not gang it all up on one mega-mopey day? And to top it all off, I have the Watchers of Weight at the end of the day and I'm pretty sure I packed back on a pound or so thanks to the delicious Sweetwater burger and fries I devoured last night. Burp.

On a lighter note, my friend Kiki's generally dead-on horoscope says that if I want any lovin' this week I'm going to have to talk to the hand. Because her horoscopes are always eerily accurate, I know she's right. Thanks, Kiki! Duracell also thanks you!

The peonies are from Apartment Therapy and are apropos of absolutely nothing. I just love peonies and thought they might cheer me up. (Well, if the whole masturbation thing doesn't put a smile on my face.)

I am really not happy about this.

Did you hear that Glenn Danzig is taking over for Bret Michaels on next season's Rock of Love debacle?

No!

Let me repeat . . . NOOOOOO! The Misfits were one of my most favorite bands EVER growing up. I LOVED them. I saw them a bunch of times and when times were tough, I paid my rent selling off my seven-inch Misfits singles. Glenn used to come into the comic book store I worked at in Passaic and put me on the guest list a bunch of times—not because he thought I was hot (I wished!)—but because I had the comix connect. I was a slobbering fangirl and he was always very sweet and accomodating. Sigh.

And now he's stepping into Bret Fucking Michaels' skanky bandana. Sure, VH1 is promising that the "winner" will enter into a legally binding marriage with Satan (I almost wrote "Santa," which would be a whole lot more fun) and there'll be a goat entrail chili cookoff, but c'mon. Do I really need to see my childhood dreams turned into the TV version of TP?

VH1, you disgust me. Though I'm certain I won't miss an episode. Sigh.

I am willing to bathe in the blood of virgins

This photo of Madge from DListed is astonishing. The woman is 50, ferchrissakes. She looks 25. I know she's had some dramatic (and no doubt pricey) plastic surgery procedure, but unlike most plastic surgery you see coming out of Hollywood, her doctor did a great job. She doesn't have trout mouth or that creepy pulled-eye syndrome. She just looks young and gorgeous.

I'm generally all for aging gracefully, but this is making me rethink that position. Gwynnie continues to annoy me though. She is the ugh in smug.

News from the Dirty Jerz

Though I've spent much more of my life living in New York than I ever did Jersey, I was born in Newark and went to high school in Millburn, so I will always be a Jersey girl. Plus, I love the Boss (he's on Jon Stewart tonite!).

So didn't the Garden State make me proud when I read that they were thinking of being the first state in the Union to ban the nefarious Brazilian bikini wax. I know this may make me unpopular with certain people, but I am against full-on bush-waxing. Sure, keep it neat and trim, but the idea of someone pouring hot wax into my ass crack and up and into my most delicate folds, and then ripping it out once it has hardened, really skeeves me. I mean, don't we women go through enough pain and suffering to look good? We have long legs to shave, eyebrows, chin and nipple hairs to tweeze and makeup to wear. Do we really need to be ripping out our pubes too? I'm sorry, but a dude who can't wack my bush is not a guy I want rooting around down there anyway.

In other news, I am so psyched that Bravo's "Real Housewives" series is taking on the Dirty Jerz. My favorite of the three shows is definitely New York (I can't tell those OC blondes apart and Atlanta leaves me cold), I have a feeling that is all about to change once the Real Housewives of New Jersey starts. One of the women was already on a VH1 show about her multi-million dollar wedding (which still managed to be uber-tacky). I can't wait to see these ladies chomping down dogs at Rutt's Hut or dropping their husband's dough at the Short Hills Mall, where I spent one summer folding shirts at the Gap.

In self-promotion news, here's a story I wrote about dealing with a sick boyfriend, my Seattle column about a guy who thinks he's too big for love, and my Time story on volunteer vacations. Also, the Large Greek interviewed me and my buddy Diane Mapes for Flavorwire. Please read it and rate it!

This makes me :(

Why on earth would anyone want an emoticon shower curtain? For all those mid-bath texting emergencies?

My Buddy

This is part of my head and the Noble Mabes. I've been sick all week long and this darned cat has been such a pal. Well, except for when she puked in the closet, but I think that was done in solidarity. She didn't care that I didn't shower or change my clothes for four days. In fact, the funkier I smell, the more she loves me.

Anyway, I quit taking the drugs because they made me feel so terrible, but then I got even sicker with whatever the hell is going around. I'm a little peppier today (if showering and yelling at the boyfriend are any indicators) and will hopefully be all better by this weekend.

Here's my new Seattle column and also my Frisky.com column.