This just proves my long held belief that revenge is better served via you tube. (For the complete story click here.) And as someone who saw United send her cat down the luggage carousel at O'Hare, I can believe it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. ~n
For those of us living in downtown Los Angeles, a circus has come to town, literally. Ringling Brothers is set to perform at the Staples Center this week, and today is the day that they have their annual Elephant Walk through the streets of Los Angeles. Yep a whole heard of African Elephants strolled through the streets of downtown this morning with the world’s media standing just a few away and no one has bothered to even mention it. I am not sure if the swarms of people at the Staples Center even looked up to notice. Even PETA has been quiet and they live for that kind of crap. (PETA you know I love ya, but you lost me a little on the whole President killing a fly stance.)
How crazy do things have to be if you can miss a whole heard of elephants? I know that I can sometimes be a jaded urban dweller, but there is something magically about waiting at a busy city intersection to cross the street and seeing those wholly mammoths saunter by.
Now if I could just figure out why I have the song Thriller stuck in my head?
Once again my lack of scratch is not a sign that we have not been producing here at the Funny Chick Factory, in fact the funny egg production has been in over drive. While no hormones were involved to reach increased production demands, we may have used some heavy doses of sugar (and by sugar I mean pop tarts) and caffeine. (Possibly, there maybe could have been, I’m not saying for sure.) While I have hardly had enough time to even think of blogging, I must admit that the real reason is that we haven't blogged is that we have a rule around here of no scratching before hatching.
But here's a hint of some things to come later this summer:
All that and I still managed to sneak in a little vacation with the gal pals in San Francisco.
Look for more updates as details are inked. There’s the prospect of some fun collaborations with some real talented peeps, as well as some live appearances. Until then I will leave you with the only photo I took while on vacation.
This weekend I had the chance to give Gerty, my trusty VW Beetle Sidekick a good wash and wax. Given the fact that I put less than 6000 miles on her last year, I must admit that I tend to be a little neglectful with her scrubs. As sad as it to see her dirty, it's even sadder to spring for the works, only to have her sit in a dust bowl/construction zone for weeks on end. But oh how I love her when she is sparkling clean. There's nothing cuter- she even looks like she's smiling.
But wait a minute...
What's that?
Let's zoom in for a closer look see....
WHAT THE?
Who tags a VW Bug? I mean seriously what kind of hard core gang would even want to claim the quintessential peace loving car as their own? What's next, adopting the lady bug as a gang mascot? (Although if you think about it, adding another spot to your lady bug tattoo could be a really nice way to represent time in prison, or establish your gang ranking, not to mention it would be a pleasant break from the hackneyed tear drop we're always seeing.)
Of course, I have no idea what the tag says, but I'd like to think that it says something really kick ass tough, something that demands respect from my otherwise clown car (not to mention, faster service at the car wash...beep beep, that's right bitches, I'm going to the front of the line.) I'd like to think that the tagger has a sense of humor and was using the juxtaposition of contrasting ideals to make a statement on the marginalization of modern inner city life.
Or maybe my tagger was a violent thug with a rap sheet a mile long, but found himself completely disarmed by the joyful sentiment of the VW Bug, and as such, wrote something that reads: "Stay Sweet and Have a Great Summer." But I suspect it was just a gang of 12 year old girls from South Pas, just trying to look cool...they should really consider getting lady bug tats.
The Power of Flower, fresh from the Wholesale Flower Mart. Happy June 1!
The only thing worse than the Duty, is the waiting....and the waiting...and even more waiting. Here's what I was facing...all day:
As far as heads go, it is not a particularly bad one, but after 8 hours of staring at nothing else but this noggin I'm seriously ready to convict someone.
...cause it is on Post office, it is on! Don't even try and disarm me with your sweet looking, doe-eyed postal worker, because I'm particularly skilled at using small spaces to maximum effectiveness, and I never turn down a dare! Be prepared to slap on a bunch of brightly colored "Bend with your knees" OSHA warning stickers, cause I'm gonna go (bowling) balls out. Love, ~nita
Just like the Microsoft ad campaign demonstrates, even a three year old can work a PC. Today's news featured a story of a three year old girl named Pipi who was able to get onto an online bidding site and order up a $12,000 dollar earth moving tracker, while her mom napped. It was the perfect storm of advertising enabling curious children and one touch online ordering, that seems to have caused/allowed the purchase.
While I personal delight in this story, and would have given anything to see the mom's face when she realized what happened, this story has a very important take away lesson for us all:
Never ever name your child Pipi.
* Quote first seen tattoo'd on a gang banger's neck while at Quiznos last week. I was so moved by his profound words, they're so righteous and forthright, and a good reminder for us all. I would have told him as such, but his bitch really scared me.
Tonight is the Dancing with The Stars Finale, not something I pride myself in knowing, but one has to be living under a rock, in order to avoid the publicity surrounding Melissa Rycroft's rebound from Bachelor dumpee to dancing diva. Now I realized that I am not ABC's intended demographic as I have a life, but I would like to see a dancing finale where Melissa is given the trophy, only to have the audience change their minds and take it away from her. While that may seem mean spirited, I would not put it past ratings whore ABC. Think about it, ABC would be able to play that stupid "clown music" the always use in their sitcoms to help unwitting audiences know that a joke is about to occur, and if that doesn't work they can always have Melissa have sex with a ghost.
There is something about procrastination and the internet that leads to a really strange stream of consciousness. My browser's history reveals that I went from looking at the Sassy Bax, (A bra that can hide back bulge? Why yes, I will have another bowl of ice cream.) to watching videos of Kenneth from 30 Rock with Governor Bobby Jindal's voice dubbed in. (I'll never be able to listen to Jindal again, without seeing Kenneth's wide-eyed persona, oh well, all the better.)
In between I stumbled on a website that provides the meaning of one's name. After looking up friends (ur, I mean ex-boyfriends) and seeing names that mean, "The Enlightened One", "God's Grace" and "Beloved" I decide to look up my name, Nita. It turns out that Nita is Indian for bear. Not cute bear, or Fuzzy Wuzzy bear, just plain old bear. Some might see it as fitting, I am after all a good sleeper, and while I will admit to nothing, I have been likened to a grizzle whenever some one tries to wake me from a deep slumber, or take food from my plate.
I have also been called nita the dancing bear, which in hindsight seems a little redundant. (It was at this point in my stream of consciousness that I started to search YouTube for dancing bears. Man, I love the internet.) True to our nature nitas (bears) like to dance around our living rooms and dance. Here is a bear (nita) after my own heart; he even has some of my patented moves, although I have gots to get me one of those poles he is using. I particularly like his choice of music, KC and the Sunshine Band - one of my dance favs. The sound quality of his speakers is a little poor, (seriously dude, have you ever hear of Bose?) but overall he represents well.
Next week, I will be posting my own video of bear (nita) in a Sassy Bax.
Dear Jason,
Thank you for publicaly professing your love for me on the outside of my recent order; although I must admitt I find your approach a little needy and desperate. I mean come on; this is my first order. I know you tried to temper the sentiment by calling it "customer love" but the use of love of any kind is overly sentimental, and it goes beyond the boundaries of a healthy professional relationship. (Seriously dude grow a set, even the UPS guy was wary of you.) And don't get me started on how you sprinkled the inside of my package with mini Tootsie Rolls. While I profess, I do have a fondness for the Tootsie, when you do that, it makes me feel as if you are some kind of pervert trying to lure me into the back of your van. (Notice how I used an "I feel" statement to confront you; I think all that time watching HBO's In Treatment is finally paying off.)
In reality, it's not you it's me, I'm just not in a place where I can be tied down to one headset provider right now. I do hope you will understand, and I wish you all the best with future customers. ~nita
This week, HBO's In Treatment was bumped, and I think I am going through withdrawals. Is there a 12 Step Program for people addicted to the show? Or more importantly, is it transference to be in love with a shrink, who isn't even your shrink, but who plays someone else's shrink on TV? Gabriel Bryne is so good on In Treatment that I think I am going to try and claim HBO as a medical expense on my taxes.
Lazy, lazy, lazy, lazy, lazy, lazy Jane,
she wants a drink of water
so she waits, and waits, and waits, and waits, and waits
for it to rain. ~Shel Silverstein
While complaining about the taste of tap water in Los Angeles, someone recently informed me that the MWD of Southern California has been an award winner at the Berkeley Springs International Water Festival for the past two years. I guess it's a big deal, and the folks at Berkeley Springs consider themselves the authority in water tasting. Who Knew?
I wonder how the judges in a water tasting contest cleanse their palettes? Do they do sip wine in between each taste? It could explain their lack of judgment.
Sure she is courageous; and she earned worldwide fame for her clever escape from a NY slaughter house earlier this week...
but don't forget, she's also just a cow, standing in front of a bull, hoping he will love her.
One Funny Chick was this fabulous rubber chicken purse, and the other Funny Chick carried her in the crook of her arm. This purse was a birthday gift from my friend Kristen's boyfriend Paul.* He actually gave it to me last year, but it's the gift that keeps on giving, as I continue to get a lot of compliments every time I take her out.
The purse is so fabulous that I often trot around my house with her on my arm, whilst in my undies and heels. What? You know the Queen does that.
To get your own purse, you can either befriend Kristen and Paul, or contact one of my favorite shops Lula Mae, in Pasadena. But be forewarned, there's something in the rubber texture that forces dogs of all shapes and sizes to see it as a giant chew toy.
*As of this post Paul has been upgraded from favored boyfriend status to Kristen's intended- proving this handbag isn't the only sign of his great taste in chicks, and her great taste in funny! Well played Kristen and Paul!
Happy Chick-o de Mayo! Today is one of the most celebrated days here at the scratch...my birthday. So while I am off celebrating with a flaming margarita, here's hoping you do the same.
"I wrote that. That's amazing. Nobody has ever quoted me to back to me before." ~ Jess - When Harry Met Sally
Originally Posted July 7, 2008. Not only did I received more e-mails/phone calls after this post (and its companion, Passing The Torch) than for any other, it was the first post where someone actually quoted me back to me. Being consoled with my own Gettysburg analogy as something "read somewhere, perhaps the Seattle Times" was sureal.
------------
I thought my heart had healed. Certainly enough time had past since I learned of the inevitable. But apparently being back in the city at the center of the legal firestorm has reopened some old wounds. On Wednesday, the courts made their final decision to release the Seattle Super Sonics from their Key Arena lease, thereby allowing them to move to Oklahoma City in time for the upcoming fall season- a year ahead of schedule.
The city of Seattle gets to keep the team name and colors, which is of some comfort, but here’s the real rub, the new owner has publicly proclaimed that he owns the franchise’s history, and plans to hang the championship banner in Oklahoma City. What? Can one really reinvent history for profit and convenience? That’s like saying to Gettysburg, that despite the fact that lives were sacrificed in Gettysburg, it would be more lucrative to move the Battle of Gettysburg’s Memorial to Washington D.C. Washington can claim all historical significance of the battle because D.C. tourist are willing to pay more to view it.
I was there in 1978-79, loving the Sonics into that championship. I stayed up late, worried, and cheered them on to victory; and while I can remember ever-single detail of that winning game, I don’t recall ANYONE from Oklahoma City being there. Oklahoma City did not invest or contribute anything to the Sonic’s history they now claim to own. It is such a slap in the face to me, and all the die-hard Sonic fans that were there- take our team, but our memories should remain our own.
And while we’re at it, how come they can arbitrarily take only the good memories? Where was Oklahoma City in 1994 when the number 1 placed Super Sonics lost in the first round of the playoff’s to last place Denver Nuggets? I doubt anyone from Oklahoma City had their desk at work plastered with Chicken Nuggets boxes and a large 32” x 48” color poster of the infamous newspaper photo where Dikembe Mutombo is laying on the floor holding the ball screaming in triumph. (For the record, if Oklahoma would like to hang the poster alongside of the poached championship banner, they can consider it my contribution.)
In a way, using our history to build a foundation for the new relationship is very telling. It is kind of like saying to your new wife, “I am not confident that we will ever be able to have the happy memories that I shared with my first wife, so I photo-shopped you into her pictures. See, here you and I are on the Christmas morning when she and I were so much in love.” I am not sure what decent self-respecting girl (er, I mean city) would allow that to happen, but some girls (again, I mean cities) are so desperate for a relationship, they’ll stop at nothing. Oklahoma City it has been reaffirmed, you really are a whore.
One of the most viewed pages over of the life of this blog featured control top panties with a convenient front zipper pocket for tips. Given the number of requests from pimps (ur, I mean peeps) wanting to purchase a pair, I know I am doing the work of the people. I feel complete.
This week we (Funny Chick and I) celebrate our second anniversary here at the scratch. Two years is geriatric in terms of the cyber world, but true to our toddler age we are just beginning to get our legs (wings) under us.
This week, we will be featuring re-runs on posts, and commentary on some of the hits and misses, as we try to answer the age old question, "Where do we grow from here?" But before we do, here is some Fun Funny Chick Trivia:
more to come....
I have said before that I thought I had eclectic taste in movies, but it turns out that I am just a Toni Collette fan. For years I gravatated to things she was in, not even realizing that she was in them. Her on screen chameleon-esque-ness makes everything better.
But as of late, everything that I've picked up and liked has Amy Ryan in it. Her list includes: Gone Baby Gone, Dan In Real Life, The Wire, Changeling, and even The Office. While she is not the marquee name in any of them (although maybe she should be) she is rappidly becoming the new Jamal Wilkes of actresses.
I only like dreaming
All the day long
When no one is screaming
Be Good be good
Be Good be good be good
Be good be good be good be good (Johnny)
~Colin Hay
When one does stand-up comedy inevitably people want to know who your favorite comedians are. Likewise, as an assistant at a comedy talent agency the same question is bound to come up. As a stand-up the list is made up of those whose comedy stylings have influenced your own, those who are so damn good you are in awe of their skills, or those who make it on to the list because they did not take advantage of their headliner status and were nice to you even though you were just the opener.
As an assistant, the list is made up of the ones that can still make you laugh after you have become jaded from working in the industry, and those who can book their own flights/make it to press on time (or as it's called in the biz, advancing their own dates). As someone who has been both a stand-up and an industry assistant, (sometimes schizophrenically at the same time) the lists don't always match up.
It's rare when someone ranks on both lists, as is the case with Jimmy Pardo. Not only do I find Jimmy terribly funny and one of the most under used comedians in town, he is incrediably generous to those of us with less experience. As a young comedy pup, Jimmy would graciously allow me to sit at his feet and soak up his comedy lore.
But by far my favorite thing about Pardo is an interview he did several years back with Colin Hay, the lead singer from Men at Work. In the interview Jimmy asks a very serious Hay if he still has trouble with fans when he stays in a hotel. "Do you use an alias when you check into a hotel?" But before Colin can answer, Jimmy adds that he uses the alias Colin Hay and no one bothers him -he can sleep like a baby. The look on Colin's face is priceless. It's comedy gold. There's a copy of it in his agent's office, but google it, I'm sure it lives in internet infamy somewhere.
Jimmy's CD Pompous Clown is available at Jimmy's dot com, check it out and find a mention of yours truely in the liner notes.
While our shiny new President and First Lady have been in Europe, it seems the entire G20 Summit coverage has been devoted to what Michelle is wearing. We here at the Funny Chick Hen House have been asking ourselves a different question of international significance: Why is the Queen carrying a purse while hosting tea in her own home?
In just about every picture she has this handbag draped on her arm. Why? Is she expecting she might have to pick up the tab and she wants a little "just in case money". Certainly she doesn't need to carry keys and a cell phone ever, let alone while she is at home. For that matter why would a queen need to carry a purse at all? Isn't that Prince Philip's job? What could she possible carry in there? Altoids? Floss? Spare panties? (Oh wait that's me.)
Truthfully, I think it would be more fitting to see her purse dangling from Kenny Chesney's arm in this photo.
Tracy doesn't need money since he invested in a bank sign removal company. ~ Jack D. 30 Rock
As luck would have it, I had a rare need to go inside the bank at the exact moment they were taking down the WAMU signs. Given my lack of love for the bank formerly known as Washington Mutual, this delighted me to no end. (If you look closely, you can see the signs in the foreground and the background have already been changed.)
Inside the bank I went through a metal detector, and stood in a really long line, before I was able to meet with the teller who was standing at her patented Washington Mutual free standing podium. At the end of my transaction I was handed a deposit slip with a code on it and directed to another line and a machine where I could punch in the code and get my cash. Before I could complain, the teller added in her "to-cute-to-be-forgotten-voice",
"Don't worry we will be going back to a traditional bank soon."
And by "Traditional Bank" you mean that I will be able to transact my business with a live person behind two inches of bullet proof glass? I asked.
That's right! She chirped, without a hint of recognition of the irony in my question.
She was so pleased at the prospect, I didn't have the heart to tell her what a traditional bank was really like.
Don't be a poopy, I mean poppy. But you probably shouldn't be a poopy either.
