tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-152614362008-05-14T11:20:19.341-07:00Queenannoreply@blogger.comBlogger292125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-71384244044943696232008-05-14T06:09:00.001-07:002008-05-14T06:37:31.149-07:00

So yesterday I was just in the most foul mood, reasons unclear but hardly important anyways. And just as I'm explaining to someone how I'm on the brink of really havin' a meltdown, the clouds part, the office door opens, and there stands a delivery man holding a half-dozen cupcakes with my name on them! And suddenly, all is right with the world. I just can't express the mood elevation powers of

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-30611796468683231702008-04-22T05:59:00.000-07:002008-04-22T06:32:57.179-07:00

Have you missed me? Sorry darlins, but I was off on vacation with my Sweetpotato to beautiful Puerto Rico! Being a beach girl, I can just lay in the sun for hours, readin my book, sippin my cocktail and generally ignoring the world around me. My poor hubby, well he turned into a Sweetpotato French Fry inside 2 hours and had to abort the beach mission in search of shade. I can't say I really

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-39213489661688306022008-03-27T06:13:00.000-07:002008-03-27T07:24:04.042-07:00

So this weekend will be filled with boas, cocktails, and stripper poles...yes friends, I'm attending a bachelorette party! Bachelorette parties in New York are a tad different than they are down South...for example, brides don't wear Life-Saver-covered tee-shirts reading "A Buck A Suck," praise God. Up here we don't try to make our party expenses back by whoring out the bride. Not that it's

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-3873485898154562262008-03-07T07:09:00.000-08:002008-03-07T07:26:49.781-08:00

I mean I can't hardly watch American Idol this season for all the name-dropping! Every time Randy Jackson opens his mouth it's a shower of celebs, and now Paula's joining in too. Um, being the assistant to the choreographer of the music video of the original artist has absolutely nothing to do with how well a song was performed by the 20-year-old farm boy in front of you. Why do you feel the

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-8672895735726694672008-03-06T10:15:00.000-08:002008-03-06T11:15:52.487-08:00

I asked a friend of mine a simple question the other day and by way of an answer she launched into a 10-minute saga about some ex-boyfriend and some new girlfriend and who knew what about whom and how they found out and what that meant in the grand scheme of her world. When she was through I said, "so, did you want to come to dinner tomorrow night or not," whereupon she realized she'd gone

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-53767354077089790712008-02-25T06:01:00.000-08:002008-02-25T06:51:05.675-08:00

Dear First-Time Academy Award Attendees, Perhaps you have been so busy producing your Oscar-nominated masterpieces that you have been unable to process anything going on in the rest of the world, but for your information, the Academy Awards are a dress-up event! The Brits were of course the worst offenders, they almost always are (something about the constant rain must turn the fashion-conscious

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-10261658843629220552008-02-20T17:15:00.000-08:002008-02-20T17:35:38.730-08:00

Okay, did I not make myself clear cause we got some confusion goin' on. So I'm walking behind a woman today, the coldest day in February, the dead of winter- mind you. And she's wearing some really horrific pants. I mean they are too small and poorly tailored such that they look like they've been ruched up the inseam toward the ass crack, which I might add, was clearly defined against the thin

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-72332438009212140642008-01-28T09:00:00.000-08:002008-01-28T09:20:26.319-08:00

Okay, so about that last essay... I may have gone a bit overboard with the factual liberties. Basically, I wrote that years ago, back when I had aspirations of a book about a hap-hazard aspiring young actress trying to make it in the big city and the witty, inspirational tales of her tragedies and triumphs. And while that idea has not been fully abandoned, it has certainly been pushed to the

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-7970092483547394582008-01-28T06:25:00.000-08:002008-01-28T06:46:23.037-08:00

In honor of this past weekend's festivities (Congrats to Miss Michigan), I present for you an essay on my own pageant experiences (factual liberties taken at random). Some of you have read this before, but for the humiliation alone it's worth a second pass, don't ya think? Had I the time to look for the photos I might even post a few images of the debacle, perhaps if Queen Mum ever gets her

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-82080374588827472022008-01-15T08:25:00.000-08:002008-01-15T09:10:45.383-08:00

Dear god, this writer's strike has got to end! I mean if I see one more dance-off, sing-off, act-like-a-jerk-off shows on prime time, I'm gonna stab my own self in the eye! Whatever these writers want, just give it to them! At this point, the networks have got to have lost the money the writers want in advertising revenue, so just end it already. You're talking about a television wasteland the

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-83485578042728445852008-01-08T06:49:00.000-08:002008-01-09T06:39:51.095-08:00

Now I don't mean this like the whole "men are dogs because they sniff around everyone's crotch and do you wrong and leave you" kinda stuff. I am making a serious statement based on empirical evidence. For example: Saturday night, Sweetpotato and I were heading out, leaving a very sad puppy dog behind in the apartment. Right before we left, SP threw her a big ol' steak bone and we snuck out the

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-74090483721869718512007-12-10T16:23:00.000-08:002007-12-10T18:39:52.948-08:00

You know, in the year and 2 months that Sweetpotato has been married to me, he has sent hundreds- literally hundreds- of thank you notes, dozens of birthday cards and quite a few baby gifts, wedding presents, and get well flower arrangements. And somehow, he has managed to sign not a-one. When you consider that in the previous 32 years of his life he had not written a single thank you note,

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-606908165355853992007-11-26T16:59:00.000-08:002007-11-26T17:23:43.375-08:00

Like that hair product commercial of the late 80's, I'm tossing my tresses about in the smug satisfaction of knowing that as of November 25th I am 95% done with my Christmas shopping!! And not only that, I have written, addressed and stamped with custom-made stamps of my puppy (gag, I know) 40 Christmas cards. Now, typically I don't consider myself an overly organized person. Not a disaster,

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-83156307886653997612007-11-21T06:15:00.000-08:002007-11-21T06:36:36.180-08:00

Last night I really outdid myself. I mean I prepared a meal for my Sweetpotato that I thought only my mother had mastered- sloppy joes, oven-baked freezer fries and canned pork-n-beans. It was truly a masterpiece. Of course, if my mother had been plating the food, there would have been a dollop of plain applesauce with a dash of cinnamon oozing through the plate and sogging up the bun. You know

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-85189732308959873212007-10-31T07:38:00.000-07:002007-10-31T08:14:20.673-07:00

The scary thing about Halloween in New York City is that you're never quite sure if folks are in costume or if they just be cra-zy. This morning, for instance, I saw a grown-ass man walking down the street in a diaper and baby bonnet. Now of course this was a costume, but at 8:30 in the morning it was still a bit odd. But then because it was New York, no one even looked twice at this 6-

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-12848084303322584572007-10-29T08:46:00.000-07:002007-10-29T09:45:46.555-07:00

Just last week Sweetpotato and I celebrated our first anniversary with a trip to The Big Easy, and what a luurvley trip it was. New Orleans is the kind of place where you can do nothing but eat, drink and sleep and feel good about it. I mean there are tours to take and sights to see, if you're into that sort of thing, but we're more "as seen from your bar stool" kinda folks. Now the one thing

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-37498589752880216982007-10-11T07:26:00.000-07:002007-10-11T07:47:56.028-07:00

FOUND: 5lbs. 5 uncomfortable pounds found in a pair of jeans earlier this week. As they hadn't been worn in a while, exact timing of first sighting hard to determine but the location was near a wine glass. Jiggly and bulging with dimples in both cheeks. Appears to answer to "nachos" and "pasta." Would LOVE to return to rightful owner. If yours, please call 555-CHUBS Dear god, I have picked

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-57131676241905717472007-09-27T07:31:00.001-07:002007-09-27T08:00:50.009-07:00

I know, I know, I'm sorry I've been slack in my blogging of late, but I've really been so busy deciding on my new season of Fall Television!! Praise the Lord, we have made it through 90 days in the desert, the summer wasteland of programming, and have found ourselves in the lush gardens of primetime once again. If I had to watch one more house-flipping show on A&E I was gonna hang myself.

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-29780170650727274002007-09-17T08:51:00.000-07:002007-09-17T09:20:24.358-07:00

It's been quite a while since I've had the opportunity to bash awards show fashion, partly because folks have been behaving themselves lately, and then partly because the shows are so damn dull I can't bear to watch. Last evening's Emmy's were no different really. Ryan Seacrest was as asinine as ever, the speeches were dull, and were it not for Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and Steve Carell the

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-71601785607360217042007-09-14T08:07:00.001-07:002007-09-14T08:14:46.032-07:00

...because this is the subject of the email he just sent me "Hell Hath Done Frozed Over" (remember, he's not Southern) This was the text which I assume he copied from a celeb-sighting website: "TORI Spelling and hubby Dean McDermott appear to be Broadway-bound. The couple has been offered starring roles in "Chicago" and "are currently in talks," Spelling's rep told us. If they ink a deal, Tori

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-78416114003548335582007-09-13T11:28:00.000-07:002007-09-13T12:04:18.273-07:00

A week or so ago, the #3 song in the nation was by some dude named Timbaland (whatever the hell that's supposed to mean) entitled "The Way I Are,"....uh, grammar anyone? I don't know what is happening to education in this country, but clearly this child got left behind! So aside from the gross grammatical errors, there is a larger issue at hand with the lyrics of this song...namely that they

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-33014836428309815332007-09-11T06:04:00.000-07:002007-09-11T06:50:47.241-07:00

And just when you think you've made it through the hot, sticky summer, and are ready to settle into a crisp autumn filled with long walks through the park, strolling hand-in-hand with your guy through leaf-covered sidewalks, and evenings curled up on the couch watching old movies before a crackling fireplace.... you are smacked into reality by Opening Sunday of the NFL. Not that Sweetpotato

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-87298041875761860622007-09-05T06:36:00.000-07:002007-09-05T07:36:59.459-07:00

And so the summer is over before it even began, it seems. Well, maybe some of you drank umbrella-topped cocktails by the shore, but my pasty ass hardly saw the sun, so I'm not even sad about the passing of the season. I have resigned myself to the sad realization that the summers of my adulthood will never be the sunbathed weeks of frolicking that filled my adolescence. Alas, some of us have to

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-56435141048277488382007-08-22T08:23:00.000-07:002007-08-22T08:41:39.087-07:00

Everyone knows as a general rule, vertical stripes are slenderizing, hence the omnipresence of them in my closet. And while always preferable to horizontal stripes, there are times when vertical stripes simply aren't enough. Case in point, the woman beside me on the subway wearing a brown pant's suit with thin red pinstripes. Now in this case there is the added horror of a brown and red striped

Queenannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15261436.post-72263046911302818912007-08-14T09:25:00.000-07:002007-08-14T10:06:29.439-07:00

You know what I hate most about exercise classes (other than the obvious fact that I'm sweating in public)? The stupid instructors! This morning I took a spinning class, for which my butt bones refuse to forgive me, which was taught by some perky sadist who weighed all of about 20lbs. There I was beet red, puffing away up some figurative hill, and there she sits, gracefully glistening while

Queenannoreply@blogger.com