Look at world.

Like any good pop culture enthusiast, I'm up to date on Ellen's campaign to get on the cover of O Magazine. For those of you who are less culturally committed, Ellen is on the cover with Oprah this month.

Naturally, I got to thinking...if Ellen can do it, we can do it. If she can squeeze into a little of Oprah's limelight, which has to be one of the most difficult tasks of all time, we can get our fannies on Chelsea's round table. Yes, my ambitions have risen. So Ms. Handler, look out. I'm coming for you. I'll knock you flat on your ass with my quick wit.


The stakes have risen. I hope you're ready for it.

oh facebook, you cruel cruel mistress

as i sit here this evening, staring at a blank piece of computerized paper, i can't help but wonder when the words will appear.

i blame facebook and all of it's wiley and seductive ways. because, let's be honest, the trivial status updates, repetitive photo uploads and silly "which thimble are you" quizzes by far surpass don quijote de la mancha and social class construction in entertainment value.

it is an addiction, this facebook. an addiction i could easily break by un-facebooking myself.

unfortunately, i am an addict and am hardly willing to part with my vice.

even at this moment, i am itching to check to see if anybody has "liked" the status about having a good day, or has commented on the status that complains about school. even better yet, i yearn to click through photos of old classmates--if only to check their current weight gain and to compare it with mine...

--jamie

autoMOWbiles

Recently, I have come to question my driving skills, but not through any fault of my own. I have always considered myself a cautious driver. I never make a turn unless the coast is completely clear...even if it means waiting ten minutes until there are no cars in sight. I always follow traffic signals (minus the one time I ran a red light due to a torrential downpour which inhibited any viewing of any traffic signals. As I was the only one on the road, it was a perfectly acceptable running of the light). And I ALWAYS yield to pedestrians. I have always been under the impression that these things were part of the driver's code of conduct. I did very well in driver's education and I passed the exam with flying colors. In fact, I can still remember all of the rules by heart. However, as of late I have come to question my understanding of the rules. At least three times in the past month I have been honked at for not turning left at a red light.

The first time it happened, my feelings were severely hurt. I had already had a rough day, as I had suffered through a particularly difficult flower delivery, and it was not my fault I was the first in line at the light. Nor was it my fault that it was rush hour and this particular stop light happened to be red for nearly ten minutes. When I heard that harsh, condescending honk, tears welled in my eyes and it was all I could do to not get out of the car and reprimand the person behind me for being so inconsiderate. Besides, I was abiding by the traffic laws: no left turns on a red light. I went home that night, wondering what I had possibly done to offend the person so? I was only following the rules.

The second time it happened I was once again first in line at the red light, trying to make a left turn so I could get to the campus library on time. When I heard the loud ruckus coming from the car behind me, I looked around, puzzled. What on earth could there be to honk at? There were no other cars in sight. Then it registered, the bastards were honking at ME because I was sitting patiently, waiting for the light to change. Once the light changed, I made my way to campus, mulling the event over in my mind. Was I simply ALWAYS driving in front of angry drivers? Or did I have my traffic rules mixed up? Was it in fact no right turns on red, only left?

The third incident happened two days ago. After a long day at school and work, I was required to take two flower deliveries after my shift got off. Already depressed due to the amount of reading I had in store for the evening, I pulled up to the traffic lights, and prepared to take a left turn so I could search out the house receiving the delivery. And then I heard it, the obnoxious horn that seems to follow me everywhere. I was shocked and bewildered. This third incident confirmed my doubts about my own driving. I mean, once you find you are in the same position three times, something has to be wrong, right? Or maybe not.

After having spent considerable amounts of time mulling over these confusing events in my mind I have come up with two possible solutions:

a. that my driving is horrendous and I should not be on the streets (which is doubtful)

b. I am surrounded by lunatics who have no patience, cannot follow rules and who more than likely were only in a hurry to be home in time to watch their favorite reality tv show.

I view the latter as the more correct of the two.

In summation,

my recent experiences as a harassed occupant of the roads have confirmed my suspicions that not enough right-winged, capitalism-loving, nonsensical lunatics have had their licenses revoked.

--jamie

The Parisian life

I've decided that the best place in the world to people watch is the Paris Métro. Every Parisian takes it, along with tourists from every corner of the world. Unfortunately, along with a live show, comes at least one person with the worst body odor you've ever smelled, unbearable heat and sweating, and having to touch at least a dozen strangers (one of whom may be the source of the b.o.). Gross. On a positive note, here are some of the more interesting things I've witnessed:

1. People making out (not really interesting, but worth mentioning because it happens so often)

2. A woman with one normal arm and another arm with no fat or muscle. All you could see were her veins enclosed by skin. I usually don't like to point out other people's disabilities (so to speak), but this was like nothing I've ever seen. I also am not generally disgusted by people's ailments, but I literally thought 'if I glance at that arm one more time, I'm going to throw up.' I wonder what happened to it?

3. A pair of shoes on the tracks...

4. Two brothers (or lovers?) in a physical fight, while laughing. It was so obnoxious that one French woman stepped off the métro at one stop and got into the next car.

5. A group of German adolescents who had to be the most annoying group of people in the history of the world. When the train stopped made a rough stop, they screamed. I almost lost it, but mostly because the ten year-old with them wouldn't stop touching me.

When you go to Paris, hire a driver,

Ashley

Looooonely, I'm so looonely.

Summer has officially taken a turn for the worse. With the 'friends' all galavanting off to Europe, Africa, California and other exotic locations, I have been left alone. Completely, and utterly alone. I guess I do have the cat, but she can be a bit stand-offish at times.

So, I have decided that the best route to take is to bury myself in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and to watch as many CSI:NY reruns as possible...because they are just too addictive. Unfortunately, as a result of both, I am terrified to go anywhere alone and have taken to sleeping with my maglite flashlight, a pocket knife (aka, shank), and a very small can of pepper spray. I can only hope for Conley's sake that he never catches me off guard.

I had a life-changing discovery the other day:

Danke Schoen...a song I have loved since I first saw Ferris Bueller's day off, is sung by Wayne Newton. WTF did he do to his voice? He sounds like he had a temporary sex change. Or maybe he sucked helium before he performed. Who knows.

I guess the real question is: how did I not know any of this?

--jamie

Thank you for being a friend.

In the days of my youth, I loved The Golden Girls. My mom was above the show and would always change the channel if she saw it on. So, if I ever had the fortune of catching a rerun on a Saturday morning as she cleaned house, I took in every second. For some reason it never occurred to me to inform her that I actually wanted to watch it. Rose was by far my favorite growing up; needless to say, I was incredibly stoked when Betty White appeared as Chelsea's guest this evening and discussed her slutty nature. I'm so glad I'm not kidding about that last part. What a kinky 87 year-old.

My love of Betty White, The Golden Girls, and the elderly (which rivals Chelsea's love of nuggets) has been taken to a whole new level.

All my love,

Ashley

why i shouldn't drink.

i've decided i am out of control and need an intervention.

i went out for A drink. as in one. singular drink. last night. 8 drinks and two hours later i managed to find a ride from the sweetest friends ever. This is what i woke up to (and why i should renounce vodka and cranberry and moscow mules forever):

1. the nail polish from my left, middle toe is completely missing. but only from that toe.

2. i have a strange patch of skin missing on my right elbow.

3. the entire contents of my purse are spilled out on the floor in the living room.

4. the little curtain that resides over the tiny door window is on the floor next to my purse.

5. i feel like i've been run over by a small steam engine.

6. i vaguely remember taking a pencil and graffiti-ing on the bathroom wall. My funny little quip: never trust a person who collects stickers.

and finally. the biggest reason i should quit drinking. i checked out my bathroom-graffiti from the last time i went out for a single drink. It was still there, in all it's penciled glory: is this butter? I don't believe it. I don't know what to believe any more.

--jamie

Gross.

My boyfriend keeps bugging me about taking him to Walmart with the reasoning that he has a new wife beater to try out.  He seems to have forgotten that I have teeth.

"I went out with a guy who once told me I didn’t need to drink to make myself more fun to be around. I told him, I’m drinking so that you’re more fun to be around"

Love,

Ashley

Obvious necessities

Tonight has proven to me that a concert is nothing without the following:

1. A drunk girl dancing alone, entirely too into herself.

2. Gloriously gay men easing ever closer to the all-male band.

3. A bar.

4. Me competing with the dancing drunk girl for the best moves, without her knowledge.

5. An older couple grinding on one another (the female must be at least two inches taller in flats and standing in front of her fella who can't stop chugging his beer to properly get down).

6. A bar.

7. An exit strategy.

May you never attend another unsuccessful concert,

Ashley

Confession

so i have a confession, but don't hold it against me.

i used to collect stickers.  

Long ago, in the days of my early childhood, i had a little black composition notebook filled with stickers: puffy ones with googly eyes, scratch and sniff, sparkly, small, large...you name it, i had it.  while most of them were collected from frequent visits to the doctor's office, dentist's office, and successful school exam papers or homework assignments, there were others. these special few had been meticulously picked out from the masses of stickers that could be found at the store.  they had special features: glittery wings on a fairy or soft fur on an animal...things one with a sticker collection could not pass up.  oh it was dazzling, that collection, and entertained me for hours while it lasted.  however, it was a short-lived collection that ended as quickly as it began.  i soon learned that it was difficult to maintain friends and other hobbies if too much time was spent perusing over pages full of sticky paper.  i gave them up and moved on to bigger and better things: a stamp collection.

although i probably should have gone through life wearing a helmet, due to other indiscrepancies, i do not view this little fad as marring my ability to meander through life with some semblance of normality.  in fact, i view my ability to confess my former addiction as proof that i have certainly moved on.

trust me.

...jamie...

Let's get this straight.

Listen, bubbs.

Mission statement:  Our goal in life is to see Chelsea.  Without that, we are nothing.

This blog records our journey to meet our idol: the one and only Chelsea Handler, comedian of all comedians, and the most Jewish of all Jews.  We can only hope that one lucky day she will read this and welcome us into her life, in spite of our nuggetlessness.  

(note to Chelsea: we come with vodka)

"I used to live with a 28 year-old virgin."

Love,

Ashley & Jamie

P.S.  We're not stalkers, just avid fans.  For the record.