Bagels & Kegels

And so begins my rap career...

2011-07-14T20:53:00.000-07:00

(Gotta love this incredibly unflattering default screencap.)

Gotta love The Guide

2011-05-25T20:30:00.000-07:00

Girl documents first drain cleaning experience for no reason at all

2011-05-07T21:52:00.000-07:00

My bathroom sink drain has been relatively stopped-up for months but I've avoided doing anything Drano-related as I don't want to accidentally kill myself in the de-clogging process. Things got worse a couple weeks ago so I took to Facebook and asked some friends for advice and that's how I learned about the Zip-It Clean.

So I ordered the thing.

Then I made the mistake of watching some YouTube videos from Zip-It Clean customers showing off the visually offensive results of their efforts. My enthusiasm for this safe drain cleaning method quickly dissipated.

Today my Zip-It Clean arrived.

Like my first time at pretty much everything--I was nervous. But I decided to the right thing. The brave thing. I was going to violate this drain like a mofo.

So without any further ado:

Sachs v. Drain

Splashing debris and plug detachment aside, it wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. After ten minutes of fumbling around like a blind aspiring plumber I managed to reattach the plug to the thingy inside (yes, "thingy" is the technical term). Now it was time to put this drain to the test.

Putting the drain to the test

And that is how it's done, bitches. That is how it's done.

2010-10-24T16:44:00.000-07:00

My debit card ("Swipey Sachs") was last seen Saturday evening in the YooHoo Room at Flappers Comedy Club. She's about 3 years old, blue and silver, with the image of my 18 year old self located on her upper left-hand corner. She's set to expire in March 2011 and we were really counting on making the most of these last few (financially strained) months together.

And I want a sandwich.

Car Salesman Illustrates Contract Terms (or How I Was Confused into Leasing a Corolla).

2010-08-17T22:25:00.000-07:00

Found this treasure when I was refiling some documents the other day.

This image intimidated me into signing a three year contract on a vehicle I didn't even want. My shame is profound.

Dearest Parking Enforcement Officer,

2010-07-24T17:46:00.000-07:00

Target in Van Nuys on a Saturday night

2010-07-03T23:49:00.000-07:00

I love this guy. This evening he power-walked around Target for about fifteen minutes with the loudest fucking wind chimes known to man. Audible from any spot in the store.

He wasn't there to browse. He wasn't there to shop. He was there to walk around with cacophonous fucking wind chimes (and I'm pretty sure he brought his own). Dude circled the second floor before heading down to cover the first level. He was genuinely dedicated to pissing off everyone in the store.

Will you look at the smile on this guy? I've never been that happy to be at Target.

Babies and Bullet Holes in Sherman Oaks

2010-07-03T23:25:00.000-07:00

I guess it is possible to have a baby and a sense of humor.

The Power of Positive Thinking: There's no glass ceiling when there's no ceiling at all.

2010-07-01T20:08:00.000-07:00

He's back and he's still got better work ethic than me.

Douchebag Alert

2010-07-01T20:02:00.000-07:00

Fun times at the Sherman Oaks Westfield Mall today. Driving through the parking lot I stopped to let a young guy with an elderly man in an electric wheelchair cross. It wasn't a crosswalk, but who could possibly have a problem with stopping for an old man in a wheelchair? Apparently the guys in the BMW who pulled up behind me. The driver blasted his horn before hitting the gas and screeching around me, the guy and the man in the wheelchair not even out of the street. I screamed out my window, "There's a guy in a wheelchair, you prick!" He saw them crossing, flicked me off and yelled, "Fucking bitch!" before speeding off.

Then I parked next to a douchebag (see photo above).

This is something people do.

2010-06-30T00:04:00.000-07:00

This guy's new office happens to be right in front of my building. He shows up for work pretty much every day to put in a few hours on his laptop. I think it's mildly amusing, but I have a feeling that the Homeowners Association would disagree.

I will not kick this guy in the balls. I will not kick this guy in the balls. I will not kick this guy in the balls...

2010-06-28T18:29:00.008-07:00

Definitely the first time I've seen anyone stand like this at an ATM.

When I walked up to the line this guy's hands were lower than in the photo and for a split second I thought he was peeing, which cracked me up because if anybody deserves to be pissed on it's Bank of America (and BP, of course).

Kohls: Expect Free Kids

2010-05-01T16:40:00.015-07:00

[DISCLAIMER: This article is for (poor quality) entertainment purposes only. Sam Sachs does not condone kidnapping. She is actually really fucking maternal. Also available for babysitting gigs.]

Want a child but don't feel like birthing one of your own? Are you an out-of-work kidnapper looking for an easy score?

Your search is over if you live in the San Fernando Valley.

Just head over to the Sun Valley Kohls off Laurel Canyon Boulevard on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

If they have a policy on unsupervised children, they do not uphold it. In fact, one of the store managers relayed to me that he's "a little shy" when it comes to confronting the shittiest parents, who really don't deserve these kids anyway, am I right?

Kohls has a vast selection of unattended, snatch-able youths. Sure they're all running around screaming, but this just means when you grab one and the child verbally objects, nobody is likely to notice (you're probably just the fed-up parent taking your little bastard home).

I highly recommend the Juniors' clothing department, specifically in the denim section next to the Levi's display. Twenty feet away at least one mother is preoccupied in her search for that perfect pair of skinny jeans (and she knows they're there). It is this mother who is oblivious to the fact that her children have wandered off and if you don't grab one soon they're going to be effing around in the handbag section, which is in the middle of the store. The Juniors' department is conveniently located next to the exit, if you know what I mean (and I think that you do).

Good luck and happy hunting to you.

Text Offender: Like sex offender, but with more cell phone and less rape.

2009-11-26T21:26:00.010-08:00

I am a victim of textual offense and I'm no longer being quiet about it.

Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Years.
On these days I find myself liking some of my friends a little less than I do the rest of the year because (and it pains me to type this) some of my best friends are text offenders.

My phone vibrates.

"HAPPY THANKSGIVING!"

Ten cents. That cost me ten cents.

Phone vibrates again.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

No exclamation point. Really? And another ten cents to AT&T.

The fucking phone is vibrating again.

"GoBbLe GoBbLe."

I need a gun. Now.

My good (twelve) readers, there was once a time when people sent individual cards, each inscribed with a personalized message, through the postal service. The card's recipient was rarely inconvenienced by this process (except when the careless handling of an envelope resulted in the occasional paper cut).

These days all you have to do is type one terribly impersonal message and you can wish your entire contact list a "Happy Secretary's Day" (if you're an asshole like that).

You know what would be the perfect Thanksgiving? Me not realizing that it's Thanksgiving until it's over. But I can't do that if you're texting me good wishes that cost me ten cents each when I'm over my monthly limit. And in this case, you should always assume I'm over my limit.

I know there are other victims out there and I implore you - speak out, speak up, and speak fast (I'm also out of rollover minutes).

I'm either a total pervert or this truck is a mobile double entendre.

2009-11-19T13:21:00.002-08:00

A picture is worth a thousand words...

2009-11-05T12:17:00.003-08:00

Little Victories

2009-10-26T12:56:00.005-07:00

Life is about the little victories. Like when you go to wipe and miraculously there's no job to do.

You don't trust it, of course, so there's the ever-crucial second wipe, to confirm that you didn't miss anything. And when the final results are in - that today was, in fact, Clean Shit Monday - take a moment for yourself before the lone flush.

And don't forget to wash your hands before celebrating with some Dannon Activia yogurt (it's keeping you regular, isn't it?!).

Trying to be Funny in 140 Characters or Less

2009-10-24T00:36:00.009-07:00

I had a little too much fun with the top Trending Topic on Twitter this evening. A bunch of comedians I'm "following" started to participate in this hashtag (#) frenzy, so I turned it into my own little comedic exercise. The topic was "oneletteroffmovies" - and if you don't understand what this means, you'll figure it out in just a moment.

MY RESULTS:

Maxi Driver: A gritty Scorsese drama about a menstruating cabbie with a thirst for violence.

Revolutionary Load: Winslet and Dicaprio team up for this dramatic tale of a marriage torn apart by a massive turd.

XXL: Vin Diesel is recruited by the government to battle chronic obesity.

Mace-Off: John Woo directed this action-packed flick starring Nic Cage and John Travolta, who duel with pepper spray.

Goy Story: A heartwarming Pixar animated adventure about semitically-challenged children's toys that come to life.

Clear and Present Manger: CIA analyst Jack Ryan must deliver an immaculately conceived baby in a Bethlehem stable.

Sling Glade: Poignant story about a simple man with the uncontrollable urge to attack people with air freshener.

The Tan Commandments: Moses receives two tablets that explain sun-safety precautions for desert-wandering Jews.

The Mighty Fucks

Mantasia: This dialogue-free Disney favorite is about worshipping the male physique and is set to classical music.

The Diary of Anne Crank: Living in an attic, a young girl chronicles her struggle with meth-amphetamine addiction.

and finally...

Beauty and the Yeast: Belle leaves her wet bathing suit on for too long and pays the ultimate price - $18 on Monistat 7.

Disturbing Costume Idea

2009-10-21T12:48:00.004-07:00

If I was still into the whole Halloween thing, I think this year I'd go as Madonna's arms.

Trick or treat, kids. Trick or treat.

Too Casual An Encounter

2009-08-20T02:09:00.002-07:00

Why people don't think things through before trying to do something like find a sex partner online is something that continues to mystify me. Recently I created a Gmail account for the purpose of responding to Craigslist posts I find obnoxious, illiterate or an insult to humanity in general. A plethora of penis photos can be found in the M-4-W Craigslist Casual Encounter section, but unfortunately not every naked man with a digital camera knows the aesthetics involved in creating an image of his genitalia that doesn't traumatize the heterosexual female eye. One particular "gentleman" did not consult his Penile Photography manual before posting his proud pics, so I sent him a brief email:

Dear Sir,

Regarding your recent Craigslist submission to the M-4-W Casual Encounter section:

Even if you had a phenomenally attractive penis (and you, sir, do not), there is nothing appealing about a cock shot with a toilet seat in the background. These are things that women think about. And probably why no one is 'hitting you up' on Yahoo.

Best of luck in your search for some strange,

Jane

You can call me mean, but you didn't suffer exposure to those images. Besides, I'm menstruating (and therefore unstoppable). So there...

I'm Not Buying It #3,577

2009-06-24T20:31:00.008-07:00

The most implausible part of M. Night Shyamalan's THE HAPPENING:

When a lone sweater vest transformed Mark Wahlberg into a high school biology teacher.

What exactly was Night thinking casting him here? That it would instill fear in audiences because this was the guy who was supposed find a scientific explanation for the Happening? Marky-Mark as the earnest biology teacher made the whole "plants making people kill themselves" concept seem, at the very least, incredibly plausible.

Better luck next time, Night.

Age Inappropriate Atrocity: Forever 21, You Ain't

2009-06-22T23:45:00.009-07:00

Cougars:

I'm not forcing you to shop at Chico's or Talbot's. I'm just saying that you're in my fucking way and the "WHAT BOYFRIEND?" crop top you're sporting is embarrassing your 12 year-old daughter.

Sincerely,

Samantha J. Sachs
[Disgruntled and underfunded shopper]

Playground Foul: You're WHAT-ing Me?!

2009-06-20T05:59:00.018-07:00

There was one swing that was significantly better than all the others on the Temple Israel playground in Tallahassee, Florida. Twas my fourth grade year and "free time" was the best part of our day at Sunday School. A line always formed itself to the side of our favorite swing and we all took our respective turns, kicking and tucking with the playtime fury perhaps only a child could truly appreciate.

After an eternity of waiting I made it to the front of the line. When my friend Beth kicked off, it was go time. I spent the next few minutes swinging myself to freedom. I had no idea what was about to happen when Aaron Q. [name changed to protect the guilty Jewboy] approached me as the swing slowed to a stop.

He said nothing until he climbed on top of me and forced his knee between my legs.

"I'm raping you," he said, casually, as if he were simply handing me a glass of water.

Then he jumped off of me and started to run. I sat there for a moment, stunned. No one was around to see this go down and my ten year old mind was trying to process what had just taken place. I had heard the word "rape" maybe once before and had no sense of what it actually entailed, but I knew it couldn't be a good thing. And whatever the hell it was, I was pissed that Aaron Q. had done it to me.

I jumped off the swing and began to chase after my assailant. Unfortunately, my zero athletic ability forced me to use the only real weapon I've ever possessed: The English Language.

"YOU BUTTHOLE!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Classy, I know. Stupid too, since Mrs. Weinstein [name changed to protect the neglectful teacher] was standing right there.

"Samantha, we do NOT name call. Apologize to Aaron."

And so, instead of informing Mrs. Weinstein that a sexual assault had just taken place on our sacred playground, I apologized to the nine year old rapist for calling him a butthole. Because I was a pussy back then.

About eight years later, Aaron Q. and his family had long since moved away. I didn't think anyone even remembered the little felon. A few of us Temple Israel seniors were hanging out when his name came up in conversation. One of my fellow female classmates took a moment to reminisce: "Dude, he raped me on the playground once. What the hell?"

What the hell indeed, girlfriend. Aaron, the serial rapist, had gotten to just about every one us with that knee of his. And he got away scot-free.

It's unlikely that Aaron Q. is still out there kneeing chicks in the crotch. I hope against hope that his disturbing behavior never escalated in the post-pubescent years, but you really never know. I did a search for him and he's definitely got an abandoned blog out there. Guy actually LOOKS like a rapist, if you can believe it. But maybe that's just because I remember him as one.

Aaron, if you're out there somewhere reading this, I know what you did was wrong - and you are still a butthole. A hairy, gaping, dingleberry-clad butthole.

Milestones & Facts: A Mostly Pointless Post

2009-05-25T20:19:00.009-07:00

Milestones for the Week

1. Filing for Unemployment: It's SO easy. All you need is an "I got fired" story and the Internet.

2. Signing up for Netflix (immediately after filing for unemployment): If my mailbox isn't holding Swimming With Sharks and Religulous by tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to be one cranky bitch.

3. Gladiator sandals: I now own a pair. Haven't committed a fashion-forward act like this since acquiring a "purse backpack" in 1994. It wasn't even the one all the cool girls had, but no surprises there, eh?

Facts

1. I have kneed myself in the face. On more than one occasion.

2. Older women try to stave off the scent of impending death with heavy perfume. This is not okay if said woman likes to leave her condominium.

3. I couldn't walk in a straight line after twenty minutes inside Pier One Imports today. If I die in my sleep tonight, somebody PLEASE investigate their candle/potpourri department. Then hook my mom up with a sweet monetary settlement.

I'll end this post with a photo of my new favorite store, because it makes me smile. And it's the ONLY place I go for all my bead and Jew needs.

Today's Lunch Menu: Chocolate Brownies and Jack McCoy

2009-05-20T12:52:00.004-07:00

Just in case the title of this weekday post is unclear, I should make the following announcement:

I'M UNEMPLOYED.

That's right, kids! After 50+ hours a week for more than five months, and not a single sick day to date, I'm back to considering my alternatives - or, in other words - constant fantasizing. Today I have already considered starting a beaded jewelry business, donating my eggs to the less-fertile, and becoming a drug dealer -- none of which I actually intend to do.

Instead I'll do my laundry while cursing the TNT gods for programming two hours of CHARMED right in the middle of my job-less fucking day, rendering this post title only half-true.

Screw it. I'll have my brownies while staring at this:

You're flirting with me, aren't you, Sam Waterston? And how can I resist when that jacket is so casually draped across your shoulder?

Jon and Kate = HATE

2009-05-12T10:47:00.010-07:00

This is what happiness looks like in Hell.

Extreme breeders Jon and Kate Gosselin have been making grocery store headlines in recent weeks after the overly-intoxicated father of eight was caught leaving a Reading, Pa. bar with a 23 year-old local schoolteacher at 2 AM on April 18.

American reality television enthusiasts can't seem to get enough and tabloid magazines across the country are milking the teet of this scandal to a level of dry perhaps only the likes of Nadya Suleman could understand.

Nothing about the Gosselins relationship woes should come as a surprise to the millions of their "fans" reading and ranting about who did what to whom and when. What's nauseating is that people are actually taking sides in this marital wasteland. It's time for a movement of the metaphorical bowel persuasion:

Why take sides when we can hate them both?

This is a couple with severe reproductive issues who, after intrauterine insemination, found themselves blessed with beautiful twin girls. When the two healthy daughters weren't enough, they decided to expand their brood - and instead of adoption (which they actually did discuss) - they opted for fertility treatment a second time around. When Kate became pregnant with sextuplets, the doctor recommended the Gosselins seriously consider selective reduction, which they [obviously] wound up refusing. Three years [millions of dollars, a new house, and one sports car] later - Jon and Kate Plus Eight is an American reality television success.

And now we're stuck with the fuckers. As Kate tours the country with her new book [can you guess what it's about?] and Jon continues with his failed attempts to nail some sweet young strange, it's hard to not feel sorry for the precious children. But I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't crossing my fingers that their teen years provide good ole Jon and Kate with an acne-ridden shitstorm of hormonal misery so severe they selectively eliminate themselves - from the public eye.

Because it's Mother's Day...

2009-05-10T19:39:00.007-07:00

Two Crucial Life Lessons from Mom:

1 - NEVER wake a sleeping baby.

2 - ALWAYS pee right after sex.

Without Mom, all I'd be is a shitty babysitter with a Urinary Tract Infection. Instead, I'm a nurturing caregiver with a clean bill of urethral health.

Happy Mother's Day to the woman who didn't give up on me after 20 hours of labor, not to mention the subsequent 26 years (some of which HAD to be more painful than childbirth). You're my rock and if you ever die, I'll freaking kill you.

No Offense, But...

2009-04-29T12:16:00.008-07:00

I have avoided writing about the recent Miss California controversy for as long as possible because beauty pageants twist my granny panties into knots of epic proportions. They are outdated gawk-fests devoted to applauding thin and mostly white future E! correspondents, reality show hosts, and Sarah Palins for their ability to don a bathing suit and a pair of stilettos in front of a large audience. But now Carrie Prejean ("Miss California") has become the new face for a National Organization for Marriage advertising campaign.

Prejean first shot into the controversial spotlight when during the interview portion of Miss USA she responded to judge Perez Hilton's question about gay marriage with the following:

"We live in a land that you can choose same sex marriage or opposite marriage and, you know what, in my country and my family I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman."

Once one finishes digesting the near unintelligible ramblings of this 21 year old evangelical, a few things come to mind:

1.) Did blondie really just coin the term "OPPOSITE MARRIAGE?"

2.) She only THINKS that she believes this?

3.) Why am I suddenly feeling nostalgic for Miss Teen South Carolina 2007 and her "everything, like, such as..." incoherence?

Now Prejean [surname is Latin for "before blue jeans"] is being championed by NOfM for "having the courage to speak up for her truth and values," according to a press release from the group, which also stated that "Carrie's courage inspired a whole nation and a whole generation of young people because she chose to risk the Miss USA crown rather than be silent about her deepest moral values."

Deepest moral values? Prejean herself said she only THINKS she believes that marriage should be between two "opposites." This chick's got stronger opinions about which hair product is most effective in the treatment of dry scalp.

What is particularly amusing is that the title of NOfM's new ad is "No Offense," which is a phrase most people utter to dilute an unarguably offensive statement. It's also the phrase used by Prejean herself during the interview that supposedly cost her the Miss USA tiara.

And speaking of tiaras, it should be pointed out that there are few things in this world [including Perez Hilton] that are gayer than a beauty pageant. A bunch of queens in heavy makeup, all vying for a cubic zirconian headpiece.

For you history buffs out there, the Miss USA pageant came about in the early 1950s when Miss America crown holder Yolande Betbeze refused to pose for publicity shots in swimwear, prompting swimsuit company Catalina to formally withdraw their funding, opting to create their own competition. Essentially, Miss USA was conceived because the actual Miss America had moral values inconsistent with Catalina's desire to objectify the crown-holder in advertisements for their swimwear.

For you readers out there working on your pageant wave, I believe it goes something like:

"Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, touch your pearls and blow a kiss - to the OPPOSITE sex."

CRAMP STAMP: Mainstreaming Your Menses

2009-04-27T17:42:00.005-07:00

Somebody out there thought that this was a brilliant idea. Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with: The Period Bracelet [compliments of http://periodbracelet.com]. Making your menses as fashionable as AIDS and breast cancer while letting that special someone know that it's Red Badge of Courage week. Perhaps the only feeling worse than pulling out a dry tampon is having a company called "MAXI-RAD" suggest that you wear one around your wrist. Bloody infuriating, huh? I could go on, but I'm going to need some coffee and a Midol first...

*Note: This is a GENUINE product, and according to the website, can be used for "relationship management."

Parental Guidance Suggested?

2009-04-27T06:44:00.003-07:00

Movie Moments that Terrified an Already Anxiety-Ridden Child

1.) Fried Green Tomatoes: DEATH BY TRAIN

When I arrived at my best friend's 10th birthday slumber party, I never expected that by the end of the night a PG-13 movie would result in an anxiety attack so severe that I'd have to forego my sleeping bag to share a bed with her mom. [Note to Pervs: This is NOT going where you think it is.] Hours prior to my schluffing with Mrs. W., we held a vote for which movie rental we would watch. I'm pretty sure my vote went to Blank Check. Unfortunately, Brian Bonsall and I were the big losers of the evening and instead our party group watched the age-inappropriate Fried Green Tomatoes. When Chris O'Donnell's "Buddy" was accidentally crushed to death by a train, something inside me snapped. Prior to this evening, I had never thought about dying in such a manner. Perhaps the artificial expression of fear in O'Donnell's baby blues is less disturbing to an adult, but fuck if it wasn't convincing enough to instill sheer terror in my neurotic fourth grader soul. Now 26 years old, I still experience a twinge of discomfort whenever I hear a train in the distance. Harmless chick flick? I think not. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, let the video below load and then skip ahead to 4:26. And do me a favor - make sure no kids are in the room.

Hey, O'Donnell! Tell Nancy Botwin to get her own fucking hat!
You're about to destroy what's left of my childhood!

2. Hook - THE BOO BOX:

I can't imagine why, but something about being forced into a small box by angry pirates and then being covered with scorpions just never sat well with me. Now that I know the victim in this scene is being played by Glenn Close, it's actually kind of amusing.

Patty Hewes couldn't scheme her way out of this one...

3. Pee Wee's Big Adventure: LARGE MARGE

There's been a great deal of advancement in computer technology and special effects since 1985, but Large Marge and her explosive [claymation?] googly eyes still creeped me the hell out. I remember being four and watching it on VHS. I'd rewind it a bunch of times to try and desensitize myself to this scene, but the old hag still sent shivers down my spine every time. Now all I want to know is why the balls my parents were letting me watch that crap in the first place. Enjoy this Large Marge remix:

4. The Witches: SCARY BITCHES
There was nothing magical about the first 30 seconds of the clip I've included a link to below [sorry, no option to embed this one]. A group of batshit crazy adults hold little Luke down so they can force a pill down his throat, transforming him into a mouse. I was seven or eight when this came out on VHS, and I'm fairly certain the only pre-screening my dad did was scanning the back of the cover box at TURTLES right before he decided it was the perfect weekend rental for his daughters. Granted, this wasn't as bad as the time he tried to make us watch all 103 minutes of The Secret of Roan Inish. [The phrase "bored to death" should have been specifically coined for such an epic cinematic snooze-fest.] Help yourself to some child abuse, why dontcha:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njb_8hcAZ2E

Kudos to Jewdos

2009-04-16T10:37:00.004-07:00

Just felt like posting a quick "congratulations" to any Jew-folk who actually managed to keep it Kosher for the eight days of Pesach. May your yeast rise in sweet, leavened glory upon sunset. Amen.

Pound Puppies are for Prudes

2009-01-17T16:33:00.010-08:00

There is much to abhor about the "Tini Puppini" dolls. More specifically - they're ugly bitches, dressed like whores, and cost a whopping thirty bucks a pop. Not to mention, they're recommended for children between the ages of 5 and 7.

WOOF.

Dear Ndugu: Sorry to hear about losing your arms. Maybe this image of my new engagement ring will cheer you up!

2009-01-06T18:13:00.007-08:00

Every month, one or two of my female Facebook friends become engaged. And because a visible change of relationship status on the lucky lady's profile isn't exciting enough - said woman takes it upon herself to post digital shots of her left hand, now complete with a sparkling (and financially crippling) blood diamond. Sure some kid in Africa probably lost a limb or two for that rock, but hey, you're American - and ENGAGED!

I wouldn't necessarily care if NewsFeed didn't force the photos upon me when I sign in, even if I adjust the settings (and oh, how I've tried). It's fascinating how a private moment between two adults can turn into a public spectacle of "Look! Congratulate Me!" so quickly.

Ten years from now, if I think my life is going to be short enough to promise the rest of it to someone else, MAYBE I'll get engaged. By that time, my husband-to-be and I should be able to broadcast the ceremony live via Facebook so that we can force our "sorta friends" and "distant acquaintances" to share in our utterly nauseating joy.

Total Gym...Total Hilarity

2009-01-05T12:51:00.004-08:00

Chuck Norris PROMISES it works. Christie Brinkley almost orgasms on it. And Wesley Snipes helps them name all the parts of the body that can benefit from this fantastically versatile piece of equipment. If you don't secretly love this mini infommercial, you're kind of a dick.

Public Bathrooms: One Child's Silent Fear

2008-10-26T01:01:00.011-07:00

I've always been anxiety-ridden, but especially as a child, I feared so many things. Dogs, for one, since most of them were bigger than me until I was about twelve. E.T., the extraterrestrial, had me crapping my pants until I had sufficiently desensitized myself to the film by age eight. But nothing came close to my all-consuming fear of being trapped alone in a public bathroom. I swore to myself that I would never wind up in a situation rendering me unable to escape the foul smelling, unsanitary dungeon that was the bathroom at my preschool.

I was four years old when it happened. The bathroom was unisex at Temple Beth Emet Preschool (and probably only unsanitary in my neurotic little mind). While I don't remember the exact number of stalls, there were probably around seven or eight. Several times a day we had scheduled bathroom breaks, since some of us (not me, of course) were too lame at the time to notify an adult before the stream of urine began to evacuate from our respective genitalia. My parents told me to use preschool bathroom time to pee even if I didn't think I had to go. I, seeking the eternal admiration of my parents, did as I was told.

But this meant that three times a day I experienced the deep and lingering fear of being accidentally abandoned in the bathroom. So every time (and I do mean every time) I went into a stall and sat down on the toilet, I would listen to my fellow classmates as they peed and washed their hands, and when it began to sound as though I might be running out of time, I would call out from the toilet "Don't forget me! I'm still in here!" The teacher would usually call back, "Don't worry, Samantha. We don't leave without everybody."

Bullshit, Mrs. Rubenstein. Bullshit.

One day I decided that perhaps I was being too paranoid about the preschool bathroom. So on the second bathroom break of the day, I chose not to call out from the stall. It was the most carefree urination of my life. After wiping, flushing, and zipping up, I unlatched the lock and stepped out of the stall just in time to see the massive bathroom door slam shut behind what had been the remainder of my group. Today, I had been forgotten.

I ran to the door, knowing full well it was too late, and began to pry at the tiny space between the door and the wall. It was no use. All thoughts of washing my hands were lost, as I maniacally jumped up and down while sobbing hysterically. I was trying to grab hold of the door handle, which my classmates could reach with little to no difficulty. My parents always told me I could do anything I put my mind to, but that goddamned door handle begged to differ. And now I would never see my parents again. I fell to the floor, too upset to think about all the germs my parents warned me about, and continued to cry. Alone.

I don't know how long I sat crying before the door burst open and the teacher pulled me from the floor, clutching me to her bosom and rocking me in her arms. It was clear to me she was disturbed at her error and she said "I thought I counted twelve heads, but when we got back to the classroom, you weren't there!" I told her (between sobs) that I couldn't reach the door handle, but even if I could I thought it was too heavy to pull. She promised she'd never forget me again, but the damage had been done. I would call out for her not to forget me until my graduation day in 1988.

You'd think it would end here. But kindergarten had something more in store for me.

At the school I went to for kindergarten, when you had to "go" during class, you took a bathroom pass (a block of wood that read "Bathroom Pass") and you went... by yourself. This was a whole new world altogether and I was pretty sure this "unaccompanied" thing wasn't for me. So I made it a point to take care of my business and take care of it fast. And I managed to get through half the school year without finding myself in a bad situation. I'd already been left alone in the bathroom. But I'd never been alone in a bathroom... with a stranger.

Until one day when I downed a little too much water from the fountain after recess. I got permission, grabbed the pass, and hightailed it for the bathroom closest to the classroom. It should be noted, the elementary school bathroom was much worse than anything I had known in preschool. It was dirtier, smellier, and stickier. Washing your hands, typically a cleansing activity, was now something to be avoided entirely, as the liquid soap looked (and smelled) like urine, and the bar soap had a lot of hair on it. Hair that was not mine. And even if it was mine -- ewww.

Once I was in the stall I didn't even bother to apply toilet paper to the seat. More than my butt cheeks were at stake here. As I was peeing I heard the door creak open. Someone else was now in the bathroom. My hands shook as I wiped and flushed. I took a deep breath before opening the door to the stall.

She stood before me, her hands on her hips, an evil glare in her eyes.

"Not going to wash your hands?"

Oh my Christ.

I told her I had to get back to class. I tried to move past her for the door, but her third grader frame blocked my puny ass with little effort. I thought to myself, maybe she'll let you go if you just wash your hands. I walked to the sink and applied the urine-soap to my metacarpals, scrubbing thoroughly, and rinsing vigorously. She eyed the paper towel machine and I pulled a few down (thank god I could reach!) and dried off my hands. I walked back toward her, finding the balls to ask her to move so that I could go back to class.

"You're not going anywhere," the sick and twisted bitch said to me.

"Please, school is almost over. My mommy is going to be waiting for me."

She smiled. "You're never going to see your mommy ever again."

I started to cry. I begged her to let me go. I told her there were other people to think about, like my baby sister who loved me and needed me to play with her. Like my other sister, who I was teaching how to read. My family will miss me, I pled. She laughed. Told me they had probably already forgotten about me. I might've expected this kind of shit from a fifth grader, but this "thirdy" was really whack. After spending what she probably considered a sufficient amount of time watching me beg at her feet, she told me she was going to let me go, but that if I told anyone -- she'd kill my family. Then she walked out. Simple as that.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and caught my breath before making my way back to class, where -- for the sake of my family -- I kept quiet about the incident. I was grateful to be alive, to have my family, to no longer be stuck in the bathroom with that batshit insane third grader.

And I swear, a few days later she found me on the playground. I said nothing from my spot in the sandbox. She was interrupting my archeological dig for dinosaur bones. Plus, I didn't want to piss her off since there was major homicidal potential and she had brought my family into the equation. Today, however, this seemingly harmless third grader apologized for "that time in the bathroom" -- as if it had happened thirty years ago. She requested my friendship and promised she would never again scare me or threaten my family. And since I was such a fucking pussy, I played with the bitch at recess for the rest of the school year. And I held my pee at school until the second grade.

Among my few regrets in life, a major one is not having remembered the full name of the nutjob who screwed with my head in the A.C. Perry Elementary School crapper that fateful day. I would have loved to conduct a Google search to see if she ever ended up killing someone's family.

I still don't like public bathrooms, but because I can reach most door handles now, I certainly fear them less.

Gay Porn Review - A Writing Sample for the Masses

2008-10-19T15:01:00.008-07:00

So, I was going through some files on my computer and I came across a writing sample from back in March when I was still looking to Craigslist for employment opportunities. Initially I had posted this somewhat raunchy piece for my friends on Facebook, but refrained from putting it here because I wasn't sure I wanted the rest of the world to know of the gift I have for reviewing fake gay porn.

I'll throw in the whole Facebook post, because it explains where exactly I was in life at that time. In addition to having found a place to live (yes, I'm still cooped up with Jack the Slob), I've been working a kickass internship since early August, and my heart now belongs to a one year old named Jonah. I'm still very much in need of a paid full time position. Or a winning lottery ticket.

Anyway, here it is. Needless to say, I wasn't offered the gig.

March 2008
As many of you know, I have recently moved to Los Angeles -- where I intend to become a successful and/or famous comedy writer/performer. This will be a long and tired process. Years of my life will fly before my eyes and one day I will wake up an old barren woman, my ovaries having shriveled away into marbles of broken dreams.

But before all of that can happen, I have to start somewhere. And in addition to not having a place to live here in LA LA Land, I also don't have a job. So I've been doing the job-search thing. Pumping through Craigslist ads and sending my resume out to people I've never broken bread or held hands with.

And today I stumbled across an ad for something unconventional, to say the very least. It was a writing gig -- a film reviewer of sorts. For gay porn.

"Must be comfortable watching videos of things that might not be of your particular interest, such as: fetish, fisting, etc."

Okay.

"Must be able to write about raunchy dvd/internet content with HUMOR in between and throughout."

Well, then! I considered myself challenged.

They asked for a writing sample reviewing gay sexually explicit material. So, instead of checking out the latest gay porn on the internet, I decided to make up a fake movie, use some character names from the film Boogie Nights, and incorporate Matt Damon into something... different.

WRITING SAMPLE: Review of "Sleigh Balls."

Sleigh Balls is the big winner this XXX-Mas, kids. Gay porn hasn't seen a holiday feature like this since 2003's Deck The Holes. Sleigh Balls – starring Dirk Diggler (as Santa) and Buck Swope (as Elfie the Elf) – is a story about fucking, getting fucked, and the human condition.

Santa, a strapping young toymaker with an affinity for red velvet clothing, must deliver Christmas presents to the entire world – in a single night. With the help of his good friend (and sometimes Butt Buddy) Elfie, Santa will try to get the job done in time for the Christmas Day fuck of a lifetime.

In one of the most gripping scenes of the film, Elfie sucks Santa's throbbing cock on top of the Sylvester family roof while Dasher, Dancer, and the gang watch their master groan in pleasure just before he cums down the chimney. (Note: Check out Donner – he's hung like a horse!)

The fuckfest begins when Santa takes out his naughty list and visits the home of Cletus Mack (played by Matt Damon) – who is holding an all-naked, all-male Christmas Eve party at his Malibu beach home. Santa brings his bag full of sex toys and pumps those nasty studs full of his warm man-nog.

After a three-minute battle with testicular cancer, Elfie succumbs to his illness and dies in Santa's arms, but not before one last blowjob underneath the mistletoe.

This Christmas, grab the lube, whip it out and choose the Santa with the bowl full of KY Jelly. Sleigh Balls – cumming soon to DVD.

Things To Do In Your Car While Stuck In LA Traffic

2008-07-06T15:01:00.003-07:00

1) Kill yourself:
Yes, it was a mistake to drive to Manhattan Beach at 2 in the afternoon on a weekday. Think the drive TO the beach was bad? Think again. That sand in the ass of your bathing suit is going to make the five hour drive home (approximately 20 miles) more unpleasant than you ever could have imagined. Does it feel like your life is over? That's the sand talking (and chafing).

2) Read Graffiti:
Gang members and disenfranchised youths are constantly providing Los Angeles drivers with a broad selection of spray painted words and images for your viewing pleasure. Not sure what "SKRIMP PIE" means? Jot down some of the words and phrases you can't interpret yourself and Google them (or go to UrbanDictionary.com) when you get home. Enjoy the work of your local juvenile delinquents while familiarizing yourself with gang culture.

3) Find the Amber Alert vehicle:
Bored in your car? Scan the area around you and see if you can find today's Amber Alert vehicle! Not inspired by the idea of helping to save an innocent child? If the crime is crazy enough - a true hero could end up immortalized as a character in an episode of Law & Order: SVU. Detectives Benson and Stabler would want you to find that purple and gold RV.

4) Freeway Celebrity Search:
Who's rocking out in that white Mercedes three lanes over? It could be Britney! That's right! Even celebrities get stuck in traffic and one of them could be in your general vicinity. Scan the most expensive automobiles for familiar faces. Back in May I spotted "Crossing Jordan's" Miguel Ferrer driving his very sexy black Porsche on the 101. Get creative and turn this into a game. Develop your own point system and compete with your friends!

5) Kill Yourself:
Probably still your best option considering you're stuck in LA traffic.

Jack (The Roommate - Not Bauer) Strikes Again!

2008-06-27T14:37:00.005-07:00

Woke up today, went into the kitchen and saw this:

I guess his Lean Pocket packaging didn't quite make it into the garbage can and good ole Jack either didn't notice or didn't want to bend down to pick it up. I'm thinking he didn't want to bend down.

Then I saw the counter:

Everything is empty, of course.

Then I thought I'd take a little trip into the living room to see if anything had changed...

Extra points if you can spot ALL of the Butterfinger wrappers in the living room photo!

The Jack Bauer Guide To Emotional Compartmentalization

2008-06-26T20:23:00.012-07:00

The Jack Bauer Guide To Emotional Compartmentalization.

No, it isn't a book. YET.

But after watching the entire sixth season of "24" last week, I've decided that somebody needs to get on this idea - and fast.

Jack Bauer has had at least six seriously intense days - that we know of - and somehow he still manages to put his socks on in the morning. I have only viewed seasons 1, 2, and 6 - but that's all I need to know that compared to Jack Bauer (fictional character, yes) the rest of us are pussies.

Admit it. The United States is depressed. We're in a recession (yeah, I said it!), there's a war going on, and that guy who talks like he's having word seizures is still in the White House. Drug companies are taking advantage of this country plagued with depression by trying to sell us happy pills to alleviate the pain. What we need is a self-help book in the vein of one very special "Special Agent."

How does Jack Bauer keep going each season (assuming there's no writers strike) when the worst crap happens to him? At the beginning of season six, the US government pulls Bauer out of a Chinese prison so that he can be murdered by the crazy terrorist Fayed (a terrorist named Fayed - how creative!) so that the American people will be safe from nuclear terrorism. And you know what? When Jack escapes that situation - instead of crying because the country he served for so many years tried to have him killed - he jumped on board to help. Sure he has a daughter out there and a girlfriend somewhere. Sure he's been through traumatizing amounts of physical abuse, torture, and emotional distress. But Bauer wouldn't be caught dead bitching and moaning about it.

His secret? Somebody knows how to emotionally compartmentalize. I think we'd all be able to accomplish a lot more if we had Bauer's ability to just TURN IT OFF whenever we want.

Here is a list of a few situations where emotional compartmentalization could potentially help you:

-When you find out that your father and brother armed terrorists with the nuke that just murdered 12,000 of your fellow citizens.

-When you have to physically/pharmaceutically torture a sibling to get information out of them (happens more often than you'd think!).

-When you find out your dad killed your brother and is trying to kidnap your nephew (who looks a LOT like your daughter Kim).

-When you have to stop your nephew from shooting your dad before leaving your dad to die on the platform of an oil refinery about to be blown to pieces.

-When you have to steal a helicopter. (Hey, it happens.)

-When you're the only person in the world who knows the truth and nobody will listen even though this has happened on five previous occasions!

Trash Receptacles: Helpful Repository or Useless Commodity?

2008-06-26T00:41:00.009-07:00

The Garbage Can. Useful for things like trash and... trash. But my roommate Jack would have you believe otherwise. You see, Jack prefers not to bother his garbage can when it's nice and empty. In fact, Jack likes to display his garbage around the house for others to admire.

Oh look, Jack finished that bag of miniature Butterfingers! How do I know? Because the wrappers were decorating the living room floor. Hey, there's an empty Pop Tart box and a wrapper lying next to it on the kitchen counter. Jack must have had a late night snack and left it for me as a surprise!

Put dirty dishes in the dishwasher? Ha! Who needs a dishwasher when there's a coffee table on which you can leave everything? Check out the pictures below. I call it "Jack Shui." Like Feng Shui, but with less Feng and more Jack.

If you look closely, you can almost make out Jack's dirty sock collection underneath the coffee table here.

Cherry Pop Tart anyone? Oh, I'm sorry - these are EMPTY.

The only thing this Dr. Pepper box contains is air. Help yourself!

My Roommate Jack

2008-06-25T16:35:00.007-07:00

After almost three months of searching for proper housing in Los Angeles, I finally settled in Sherman Oaks. The apartment comes equipped with central heating and air, a washer/dryer in the unit (VERY important), and a 28 year old slob we're going to call "Jack" (short for "Jackass").

Jack is an actor/waiter. Translation: Jack is a waiter. I have never seen him participate in anything creative, rehearse for a role, or get off his ass to attend an audition. When he's not working at Chili's, he's on the couch watching television and playing video games. The other day he asked me why I never come out of my room. I told him I'm constantly writing. The truth? I'm not constantly writing. I'm constantly looking for jobs on Craigslist and watching Law & Order reruns (Original, SVU, and Criminal Intent. I'm hardcore.). And yes, I could do all of this outside of my bedroom. Except I never come out of said room because JACK is always on the fucking couch sitting in a pile of trash with all of his dirty dishes and food containers from the last three weeks collecting mold on the coffee table before him (while looking for "auditions" on Craigslist, of course). And I'd rather be in my room.

I found Jack on Craigslist (Do they have an "AA" type organization for Craigslisters? Because I think I have a legitimate problem.). Jack was seeking a roommate to fill the second bedroom in his apartment. He seemed normal enough when I met him the first time. His movie collection was vast but unimpressive. When I asked what the deal was with his bad romantic dramedy section - specifically the Mandy Moore and Shane West shitflick "A Walk To Remember" - Jack admitted to having a strong emotional reaction to the teen drama. I swallowed the vomit that had just collected in my mouth and continued to search the wall of DVDs.

Then I saw that he also owned the entire series of The West Wing, which I told him was one of my favorite shows of all time. We discussed the show for a little while and I decided that I could most certainly live with a dude who shares my appreciation for Aaron Sorkin programming. My reasoning? I figured that Jack and I probably share similar socio-political values, which makes for a more comfortable living environment.

Then I moved in and found out that Jack is actually a Southern Baptist Republican who voted for Bush twice and doesn't have any regrets. In fact, my West Wing loving roommate actually feels sorry for Bush and all the "hardships" that he has endured over the course of his presidency.

So, yeah. As someone who grew up in Tallahassee, Florida surrounded by evangelical conservatives for twelve years - to find out that I now get to share a living space with someone who rejects the Theory of Evolution... I'm less than thrilled. Check back for more Jack... That rhymed a little more than I intended.

Spring Break

2008-01-17T13:42:00.000-08:00

Women's History Month

2008-01-17T12:41:00.001-08:00

Valentine's Day

2008-01-17T12:40:00.000-08:00

The New American Dream

2008-01-17T12:39:00.000-08:00

Vocabulary Lesson

2008-01-17T12:36:00.000-08:00

2007 Oscar Nominees

2008-01-17T10:00:00.000-08:00

The Manliest Man On Television

2006-06-17T22:07:00.000-07:00

Should you care about my choice for the Manliest Man on Television? The answer to that question is no. Quite frankly, you shouldn't even be reading this blog. It's useless and you could be doing something important--like playing Halo.

But since you have decided to go with the short, sarcastic cynic of a non-practicing Jew, I'm gonna give it to ya good...

The award for the Manliest Man on Television and in Television History goes to...

Law & Order pimp -- Executive A.D.A. Jack McCoy

That's right. For 12 years Sam Waterston has played this prosecutorial studhorse--and for 12 years he has gone without proper recognition for his ass-kicking habits. This man is all testosterone. His thirst for justice is what keeps him going and McCoy has only shown a human emotion other than anger 3 times in over a decade.

Do not doubt my sincerity on this matter. I am aware of my tendency to be a sarcasm whore. But when it comes to ADA Jack McCoy... That's some serious shit.

McCoy has screwed the Mafia, the Russian mob, serial rapists and murderers, homophobic sociopaths, anti-abortion extremists, children who shoot up their schools, young women who have their families murdered to please their boyfriends, closeted politicians, bastard drunk drivers, PETA activists and then some!

If it were up to this McCoy Mama, ADA McCoy would be the ONLY ADA on television and in the movies. All of the Law & Order spinoffs and any John Grisham book-to-film. All cop-dramas and law shows, regardless of the television channel on which they air.

Jack McCoy has given the finger to hardcore threats of death and violence against his person. If you aimed a rifle at his jock during his closing statement and threatened to shoot, Jack McCoy would tell you to shut the hell up and let him finish so he can put you away for 25 to life. And if you pulled that trigger and shot him in the groin, Jack McCoy would stop the presiding judge from calling an immediate recess and he'd finish his argument from the courtroom floor without shedding a tear.

You could blow off that man's balls and he'd still have bigger ones than every single superhero and leading man you ever rooted for.

Jack McCoy put someone's GRANDMA away -- more than once (different grandmas).

Jack McCoy should make you weak in the knees, regardless of your sexuality.

Jack McCoy is an American hero.

Jack McCoy is the answer.

Chuck Norris? I don't think so.

Manliest Man on Television--Executive ADA Jack McCoy...

The silver-haired hero who didn't cry when his girlfriend was killed by a drunk driver.

He just took it out on a different drunk driver in another case.

That's Manly.

That's Jack McCoy.