Who's With Me on This?

Justin Timberlake's HBO Special

Okay. So he teeters just a hair on the not-so-cutting-edge of dweebie. But consider this: How many dweebazoid boys (or girls, for my 1.75 male readers) did you know in junior high and high school who grew up to know exactly what they were doing and now you could just smack yourself silly in the forehead for passing them right on by?

Uh-huh.

S.B. rolls his eyes like the end of the world were 2.5 seconds away and I was still figuring out what to wear whenever I mention just how underfreakingestimated I think Mr. Timberlake is in the greater pantheon of Popular Music. But I don't care. I've always been able to sniff out the diamonds amongst the rough. And I'm going with my instincts here: Justin Timberlake is very sparkly.

Besides, he's from the south, despite S.B.'s protestations to the contrary. (To my beau if it ain't Louisiana, Mississippi, or Alabama, it's "up north.")

Anyhoo. Admit it. You know you wanna turn around so he'll pick up the slack.

The British Open War on Golf

According to Wikipedia, which in my line of work is known as "research lite," or "yeah, riiiggght" but which often does in a pinch:

Golf is a very old game of which the exact origins are unclear. The origin of golf is open to debate as to being Chinese, Dutch or Scottish. However, the most accepted golf history theory is that this sport originated from Scotland in the 1100s.

Which makes absolute, perfect sense to Moi. Have you seen St. Andrews, et al? I mean, we American's, we pride ourselves on creating courses that kick your ass but look fabulous while doing so. Kind of like Angie Dickinson's Sgt. "Pepper" Anderson in Police Woman.

But the Scots? Ooooo hell no. Those aren't golf courses, those are battlefields – pock-marked and windswept, and laden with danger, the way they cling to the cliffs above angry seas and chemical spill-colored skies.

Even the spectators wear expressions of grim, institutional determination. So does Moi, as Tiger hangs behind yet another Latin firecracker. Tiger, get thee back to some sunshine and concentrate, would ya?

Today's Guest Blogger

Shhhhhhhh . . . .

Dahlinks, I haff teep-toed over here from zee Wicked Thistle's site because at zee Wicked, I was given not enough time as an absolutely faaaaaabulous mammal, no? I mean, Wicked, she has to give zee time to zee kitty cats. I understand.

But here, at Moi's site, I sink I haff a leetle more air time. And not only do I come so you can admire my absolutely faaaaaabulous mammalness. Oh no. Although, yes, let us admire for few moments.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Okay.

So, I also come to give advice. See, I haff heard zhat Moi, she is worried about zee hairs goings gray. Never mind she is too lazy to do something about. She has found fabulous hair stylist, no? She go see zee Karen. Karen, she make everything okay.

But eef the Moi, she has no time, I have solution. I vhant you take good look at head. No, no, stooopid, my head. Ees how we do it in Animal Kingdom, with zee hair. That goes gray. No problem for us. We look faaaaaabulous with zee gray. And all weethout those what you call them, high heels.

Now, go take lesson and be faaaaaabulous. Or I poopie on head. No, no, stooopid, your head.

The Bubble-Headed Bleached Blonde Comes on at Five

Oops, sorry. I meant bobble-headed.


Calling all my Pals Across the Pond: Can you take her back now? We're done.

Quote for the Day

The worst form of tyranny the world has ever known
the tyranny of the weak over the strong.

– Oscar Wilde

Tagged by a Pirate

The way cool Dread Pirate Rackham, that is, who not only lives in my 'hood and ran La Luz (and is doing so again this year, I believe), but also competes in such bad ass Olympic-style events like the Buffalo Springs Lake Triathlon AND writes a terrifically entertaining blog about it. Whoa. She da bomb.

And now the Pirate has tagged me as a Rockin' Girl Blogger. Which tickles me pink.

So to pass along da luv, I hereby tag five of my own fave Rockin' Girl Bloggers:
Wicked Thistle
Doris Rose
Orangeblossom
Meghan
Dizzy

Each of whom rock in their own unique ways. And DO NOT, might I mention, wear Crocs.

The Shoes I Love to Hate (For Meghan)

Yes, Meghan, I share your pain.

I hate Crocs so much, I won't even link to their ugly ass Web site, which features even more of their ugly ass shoes.

I'm so sorry. Your husband is a cutie and looks like he knows what he's doing fashion-wise in every other instance.

Tell him, "Hon, these are the ugliest ass shoes in the entire known universe. How could your feet NOT sweat like a passel of piglets on the D Train to the Bronx in mid July wearing these things? And do you know who else wears them?"




She's rumored to have one pair in every color.

Enough said.