MJ

So I'm reading this morning about how Michael Jackson is having problems keeping custody of his kids from their mother. Imagine that, Michael Jackson an unfit parent. Now he's saying it's because of Anti-Semetic statements he's made in the past, but I have a feeling it has more to do with that little trial he was involved in last year. I know he was cleared of the charges and all, but there's just no way anyone can think this man should raise children. Talk about kids learning poor self-esteem, this man has removed, replaced, and replastered every original feature on his face, apparently he wasn't too fond of the Man in the Mirror. You know, you cover your kids' faces with towels enough times, and they're gonna start to think there's something wrong with the way they look.

It's gonna be bad enough for his kids as they grown up and realize that their mother sold her eggs to a genetically mutated pedophile who spent all his money molesting children with cancer and was forced to perform at birthday parties halfway across the world. Dubai may be the new Middle Eastern hotspot, but they need to turn on CNN or something, cause this is not the man you want entertaining your 10-year-old's party guests.

I think we can all agree that Michael's just not right. (By "all" I am assuming that you were not one of those fools who quit their job to wave FREE MICHAEL signs outside his courtroom. If you are, I'm afraid you have to leave my life now) As crazy as he is though, I don't think he has a problem with race, hell, he's been so many different ones I doubt he'd throw any stones. I know we have due process and rights and such, I took Civics in high school, but hasn't Mr. Jackson spent enough of our tax money in the court system? Can he please just go live in a hut somewhere repainting his skin? I'm certainly not saying the mother should get the kids, I mean come on, like she didn't think something was a little off about MJ from the start, but at this point they should probably just take up residence in their therapists office, cause it don't matter if you're black or white when you're crazy!

Fine Dining

So this weekend Sweetpotato took me to one of the fanciest restaurants in Manhattan. You know, the kind of place where the waiters have waiters and reservations must be made a month in advance. We've been wanting to try this hot spot, but have been waiting for a special occasion, which we discovered this weekend was the expiration of our gift certificate!

Anyway, it's the kind of place where you lower your voice upon entering, out of respect for the immense amount of money you're about to spend... at least most people lower there voice, though apparently not the nouveau riche with something to prove. Just as we were settling into our plush upholstered chairs we heard it, the screeching voice of a 30-something socialite trying to out-talk her entire table. Like nails on a chalkboard, this woman's voice cut through the air on an auditory assault mission. I mean in the time it took us to order a drink we knew what she did (dermatologist), her specialty (collagen and dermabrasion), and her relation to everyone at the table (including the former pro soccer player from whom she was mooching the dinner). It was really quite remarkable watching the proper waiters rolling their eyes and smirking behind her back. I mean at one point the maitre de stood over her with the stink-eye, but she didn't even blink.

You see darlins', this is what happens when you make just enough money to think you should be in with the In crowd, but due to your obnoxious personality, you find yourself waiting behind the velvet ropes with the rest of the common folk. This girl was average-looking at best and paired with her glass-shattering speaking voice, you can imagine she don't get asked out too often. Too bad she left though, she just missed her soulmate, who took over her same chair and proceeded to guzzle red wine and shout at his companions with all the couth of a frat boy during Rush Week. Between the two of them, Sweetpotato and I got a floor show of Manhattan wannabes- folks with just enough money to think they've made it but not quite enough to buy a clue. I mean if you're gonna require a jacket can't you supply a muzzle?

I mean they let just about anybody in there, so obviously we won't be dining there again... at least not until we get another gift certificate;-)

Travel..it's for the dogs

Now I have just heard the most ridiculous story that I must share with you. A friend of mine ran into this couple the other day who were in town on vacation from Los Angeles. And they got to talkin' and one member of the couple said something about how the two of them had taken different flights. When asked, the reason: they have a dog. Why does that matter you might ask? Because if one of their planes went down, the other would survive for the dog. The DOG!

Now you have got to be kidding me. I have heard of this type of staggered travel for parents of human children, but for a canine, child they done lost they minds. I would just love Sweetpotato to tell me I had to haul my own luggage into the overhead bin so he can stay behind for that mutt of ours. Speaking of, have I ever showed ya'll a picture of Winnie? Well that's her up top; wasn't she about the cutest thing you've ever seen? That was back before she became a 25lb. mongrel who thinks my face is a foot-rest. The real problem, of course, is that Sweetpotato can't see past her wrinkled face to the manipulative bitch within. And to be sure she knows just how to work him (girl after my own heart, you know).

Anyway, the point is that I feel certain Winnie could survive just fine without us. She'd just start finding other rugs to pee on, shoes to destroy, and two-leggers to push out of their beds. I keep trying to let her off her leash on our walks, but I'll be damned if she doesn't keep finding her way back home, where Sweetpotato showers her with kisses after she showers the hard-wood floor.

Alas we find schizophrenic parenting may not be the best way to train a pet, especially an impossibly cute, slightly retarded one like Winnie.

American Idol

Alright. That's it, I have had enough, and it's only the second week. This season's American Idol is off to a tremendously annoying start. I mean we all tune in to see the sheltered bumbkins and ghetto-fabulous divas make asses of themselves in front of God and everyone, but really the producers are getting out of hand. I mean the majority of the show is now devoted to watching Paula, Simon and Randy carry on private jokes while some over-tanned bimbo stares blankly at the camera, waiting to hear that she's "Going to Hollywood," when we all know she's going back to the drive-through window.

Judges- enough already. I mean Randy can't even speak in intelligible English- "Dog" is not a sufficient description for one's vocal performance. And Lord knows Paula's "talents," if you could call them that, centered mainly around her ability to tap dance with cartoon characters, so forgive me if her estimation of vocal prowess doesn't carry much weight. Unlike Simon, who carries a little too much weight to be wearing such fitted tee-shirts. The worst part of the whole thing is listening to the three of them attempt to be funny by making the same tired references about bad karaoke and singing waiters. I mean, isn't that basically what Paula did in the 80's?? For the love of God, just say yes or no and move on to the next unfortunate shower-singer. I don't spend two hours of my life listening to the inane babblings of Ryan Seacrest just to watch a doped-up prom queen argue with a British prick and a ghetto buffoon, I could stand on the corner of 42nd street and hear that any time. Hell no, I wanna to see as many tone-deaf fools humiliating themselves as possible.

So please American Idol, stop filming your D-list celebrities and start making some STARS!!!

Advice from Romantics Network

Just thought I'd share a column with ya'll, seeing as how my readership is mainly female and I want you all to benefit from the questions of a few...

Dear Queenan,

I have been single for about a year now (out of a long running relationship that ended, thankfully, amicably). However, I think he may have been the last nice boy in NYC though. Well, at least the last boy to actually follow up on his word. I have met, dated, kissed and subsequently been disappointed by nearly every single boy since... my question is, why do these boys waste our time with the lip service? Why do they feel the need to lie when they never intend to call? Also, Manhattan, albeit inhabited by several million, is a small little island, and the circles are small - you're bound to wind up running into that girl you said you'd call but didn't at some point. And when you do, you're going to feel like a dumbass!

Queenan, why do boys bother?

Disillusioned in NYC
______________________________

Dear Disillusioned,

Darlin' the answer to your question is so very simple -- boys are dumb. At some point in their adolescence, which they are still trying to outgrow, they learned through trial and substantial error that girls get their feeling hurt very easily. Moreover, once a girl has her feelings hurt, she will cry or pout or send her friends to harass you during lunch period or find some other way to make you feel even more uncomfortable during the already your awkward faze of life riddled with braces, acne, and body odor. In the very Darwinistic society that is high school, the fittest males survived by keeping keeping the females at bay. Because the Y-chromosome is naturally handicapped with defunct communication skills, it found lying to be the best method of quelling a female's tantrum.

Honey, men are awkward, from their oddly positioned and randomly misfiring anatomy, all the way to their often unused and randomly misfiring brains. Most often they tell you they'll call just to make sure you don't cry (all males live in fear of the welling woman), which is ridiculous of course as we'd never cry in front of them over something so trivial. Sometimes, though, they say they'll call because they fully intend to but are subsequently plagued by the idiocy of their species and lose either the balls to dial the number or the paper the number was written on. More than one great romance has died in the swirling waters of the washing machine.

Now your question about why they would not follow through knowing they'll run into you again, well, sweetheart, it's simply not valid. You see, they don't know they'll run in to you again, and yes, they are that stupid, sorry to keep repeating myself. When a Y is uncomfortable, he can't think beyond getting himself out of the situation unscathed by tongue or tears, hence his ability to process rational thought is replaced by the fight or flight instinct. Alas, we remain such primitive beings. We women know Manhattan is a Small Town After All, but men refuse to see how an island 13 miles across might be a bit confining.

What I don't want to do, however, is leave you thinkin' that all Ys are trying to run away from you or that your Ex was the last good man in the whole of New York. Men are stunted, bless their hearts, but they are not inherently evil. In fact, most of them just need a little training, oh yes, and to be over 30 years old. If I were you, I would not cease my search just yet, I mean you'd have to start buying your own drinks and that will just not do! The truth is that you may have to put forth a little effort yourself. I know this is contrary to every rule a good Southern girl is taught, but honey, this is New York in 2006 and there ain't nothin' in this world coming to ya without a little work. Besides, I find it highly insulting that some man would think I was gonna wait around on my couch for his call. If I want to go out with someone, well then I'm going to tell them to take me out. You need to empower yourself and pick up the damn phone! My god, why on earth would you leave your weekend plans in the hands of a sex so clearly incapable and yet so easily manipulated?!

The bottom line my dear, is that you need to stop bemoaning your fate as the forgotten and start kickin' ass and takin' names!

Royally,
Q

Romantics Network

What exciting news do I have to share on this lovely Monday morning? Well, only that you are now reading the blog of the official Love Advice Expert of Romantics Network, your romantic resource for love and relationships on the net.

Well how about that for prestige?! So now I will be serving up my sassy advice, with a side of sweet Southern charm to unlucky lovers the world over. It's about time more folks started asking me for advice. You, my dear readers, are either learning from my daily ramblings or are too afraid to hear the truth. I dare say you all have perfect love lives, because they simply do not exist. Even Sweetpotato and I occasionally encounter a snag or two, though I expect things will right themselves in the next two weeks when this football season has finally dragged itself into the end zone, Praise The Lord.

But I digress. I just wanted to let you all know about this wonderful little addition to my site, you'll find a cute little link to the Romantics Network, in case you need to look for lingerie or romantics gifts. I am also warning you that as I will surely be flooded by requests for my sage suggestions, my time will be very limited. I would never neglect you though, my dearest readers, as we have come so far together.

So wish me luck friends as I go off to save the world, one love-sick puppy at a time!

Oh Dear

Well I just got so caught up in bashing celebrity couples that I didn't even comment on the outfits at the Golden Globes. I know it's late at this point, but I would be remiss if I didn't at least mention Mariah Carey. My god, what a joke!

I mean first of all, I don't know what the hell she was doing there in the first place, as her only cinematic endeavor, Glitter, spent about a minute and a half in the theaters before being placed on markdown at Blockbuster. Now I hear her album is selling well, which saddens me because it means that so many folks are supporting her habit. For all I know one of my fair readers could own their very own copy - I choose not to believe this of any of you, but you never know.

So anyway, her red-carpet outfit. Could she have been sausaged in that thing any tighter? Reminded me of my swimsuit competition is that horrible county pageant. You know Mariah goes through stylists about as fast as she goes through Twinkies, and not a one of them can get her ass in a pair of pants that don't look like the buttons are gonna spring free at any moment. She's put on a few, and you know I'm not one to judge, but when your thighs and your hips have the same circumference, you might not wanna wear the jean shorts cut up to your hoo-ha.

And can someone please tell her that she's not thirteen, so the butterfly shit has got to GO! I mean seriously. You are a grown-ass woman covering yourself in diamond-studded insects. You look like a fool. I don't know what kind of meds you're on, but honey you need to start snappin' those pills in half and take a hard look in the mirror. I know "classy" is not your forte, but you have too much money to go about like trailer trash- it's insulting to mobile home owners everywhere.

Someone needs to tell this woman: The days (and the figure) of the midrif top are long gone, and you'd do well to find yourself a loose-fitting robe and call it a day.

TomKat

Okay, it's time. We MUST discuss the stomach-churning, media-whoring, tabloid-selling relationship of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. As a former resident of Dawson's Creek country, I felt a certain kinship to Katie, even though she does talk out of the side of her mouth and slouch in a most in flattering fashion. Regardless, she seemed rather sweet and innocent, away from the clutches of the Hollywood machine. Alas, when the show ended and she could no longer find work as an average-looking awkward teenager, she turned to prostitution. I mean, let's just call it what it is.

Now look here, Tom, no one believes for one second that you are any less gay now than you were before you started this ridiculous couch-jumping campaign. In fact, the few people in America who actually thought you had sex with Nicole Kidman are now totally convinced you swing the other way. Take poor Sweetpotato, for example. I mean he bought into your whole macho fighter pilot/race car driver crap, until the Oprah incident, at which point he determined your behavior to be totally unacceptable for any straight man. I mean he luuurrves me and all, but he's never bounced on the furniture about it. So anyway, we're all on to your buy-a-bride scheme - find an actress whose career needs a boost, parade her around at press events, part amicably after pre-determined time period. Repeat as necessary. This time you went so far as to have her knocked up, which must have cost you considerably more than Nicole or Penelope.

Anyway, we get it, you're in "love," you bought a sonogram machine (freak), you're all spiritual now. Whatever. I would just love to see Katie have a little postpartum and you tell her to go for a nice jog. I hope she stabs you in the eye. Ya'll just need to go away, which judging by the direction of your careers as of late, may not be so hard to do. So why don't ya'll just ride off into the sunset and wait out the remainder of your contract in a silent room wearing your matching sunglasses (which, by the way, they are incredibly rude to wear during an interview).
Again, let us say a little prayer for the unborn child of Katie and whoever donated their sperm, for a life of schizophrenic Scientology awaits.

Britney and Kevin

And now on to couples who have not split up...yet. What happens to child stars who achieve ridiculous levels of fame before their 18th birthday and are given excessive freedom for adult-like behavior? Well, they lose their minds of course! Now here we had the hottest little blond pop star, who despite that fact that she lacked a certain vocal ability, was able to dominate the Red Carpet by virtue of her body and her rhythm. I mean the girl could dance, and at one point she seemed Madonna-esque in her sexy, slithering rise to power. But then, she crashed. After one 36-hour marriage, she shacks up with a corn-rowed father of two known best for his work as "second guy from the left" in her string of back-up dancers.

Now I'm not putting down back-up dancers here, I mean lots of celebrities marry working-class folks. I'm sure he took her places she'd never been, like a 7-Eleven, and I know he helped her find her inner trash. Ya'll know I spent my early years in a trailer park, so I know a thing or two about trash, but let me assure you that I have never walked into a public restroom in my bare feet. What the hell is Brit's problem? I mean she has money, and fame, and a product line, yet she chooses to walk about as if she's going to collect her welfare check. I'm not sayin' you have to dress up to go the grocery store, but can't you at least put you face on? You know, Jessica Simpson may be a complete moron, but my girl knows how to wear a pair of sweat pants. And I will not bash a woman for putting on a few pounds right after she's had a baby, but she was chunkin' up before she got pregnant and well, she needs to get herself together soon if she ever intents to writhe about with a snake again. Seriously, girl, you have not been seen in public once in the past year in anything other than ripped jean shorts and faded tank-tops, get a stylist or stay your ass at home!


The two of them are just a disaster, and if you ask me, they're on an express train to divorce. I mean, how many times has she taken his Ferrari away for staying out late? Not that he can afford to leave her until his singing career takes off (snort!), so he'd better start acting right. Can you just imagine how messed up this poor child is going to be? Trashy people with lots of money aren't the best folks to instill values in their children. Alas, there's no accounting for taste, so I suppose these two will continue to grace tabloid covers until their relationship ends in a fiery blaze...anybody got a match?

Jen, Brad, and Angie

It seems everyone has put in their two cents about this love triangle-turned-trapezoid, but as it continues to make headlines, we must discuss. Oddly enough I don't have strong feeling on anyone's behalf here. I mean, Jenny is a cute-by-parts sitcom actress who makes horrible film choices and eats Zone Diet meals. Brad often comes across as having a lack-luster personality and frequently displays questionable grooming habits. Angie, well quite frankly I've always found her a bit scary, and no matter how many impoverished nations she visits, I will not forget that she wore a vial of blood around her neck and was tattooed with her ex's name.

It's rather difficult to muster up sympathy for incredibly rich, good-looking folks who are quoted in magazines saying they don't believe people are meant for only one partner. I mean, didn't that set off any little bells. Read the writing on the wall honey, you wrote it for Christ's sake! I am sure Jenny got her feelings hurt, and it can't be fun to watch your husband play Daddy to someone else's kids, but didn't you see this coming? It must be so nice to have the option of pretending to date another actor just to save face.

And Brad, Brad, Brad...honey get your own personality why don't ya? Here you are designing austere homes for millions of dollars and then you meet some chick with a cause and run off to Africa with a woven beanie on your head! How are you ever going to balance saving the world with attending the Oscars?

Which brings us to Angie. So here we have a woman with, let's face it, a basically perfect body and sexuality that will snap you in half, who has spent her first 28 years being totally insane/sadistic, and is now adopting orphans and attending summits. That's a lovely turn around and all, but who the hell do you think you are Tomb Raider? Just because you have lots of money and naturally huge lips doesn't mean you get to meet with world leaders.

As for the adoption and the pregnancy, I can only wish them well. I mean these kids are gonna have it hard enough trying to decide if they're supposed to eat, or save the world, or write a tell-all. Probably end up posing for Playboy and developing a drug habit; it's confusing when your parents are both rich and weird.

I'm sure they'll be more talk in the coming months, but for now, thanks for the drama, cause movie tickets keep going up, but a whole Star Magazine is only $3.95!

Nick & Jessica

So, Nick and Jessica, now there's a match made in tabloid heaven. Now they were cute and all, back when all you knew was one of the then 13 blond pop singers was marrying a member of one of the then 200 boy bands. But then came the television show, and things just spiraled out of control. I mean of course I watched the damn thing, it was a freakin' train wreck! How anyone could survive twenty years of life being such a moron as Jessica Simpson, I simply do not know, but survive she did, and has now managed to thrust herself into every market in the world - music, film, television, clothing, fragrance. My god, the girl has more subsidiaries than Viacom, in fact, she may have licensed them as well.

Nick, I would love to like, I mean he's got more money than he can shake a stick at, yet he still drinks Miller Lite (beer of my childhood), and just wants to sit around with his meathead friends watching football and eating chicken wings. However, I can't really support him either because, for as much as he's the more "down to earth" partner, he did buy her a Louis Vuitton dog carrier, and that is just disgusting. I mean even if I didn't abhor Louis (who wants someone else's initials all over your hangbag?), $ 1,300 to hold your mutt...I don't think so.

So here we have a classic case of pretty people who take great pictures together exploiting their relationship for all of America to see in the name of love, oh and lots of press. You see, they were doomed from the word go, and not just because she thinks Chicken of the Sea is actually ground poultry. Why on earth would you put your first year of marriage on display? Living with someone is always a challenge, I mean you know I love Sweetpotato but I swear if he leaves one more cup in my living room... All I'm saying is folks need to work stuff out sometimes, and with a camera in your face 24/7, that's not so easy. And then you have the money, I mean Jessica blew up right after her first nose job, and suddenly she and Nick (by virtue of their marriage license) had more money and fame than they knew what to do with. So when they had a fight he could fly off and party it up in Vegas, which always solves marital problems. I mean when the "dog house" is a penthouse at the Bellagio, who cares! Whereas, Sweetpotato has to be on his behavior because his dog house is the couch, I like to keep it that way.

And maybe her dad is a controlling ass, and maybe Nick did have an affair, and maybe Jessica is a whiny bitch. I see all these as highly probable. They have too much money, too much free time, and too few values. But really, why are we so saddened by the news of their split? Because two bubble-head beauties have parted ways? Come on now, they'll be seeing other gorgeous idiots in no time! It's not as if they were brokering world peace (or could even define the word "broker"), or say, adopting starving orphans like another couple we should mention...

Splitsville

So I think it's about time I chime in with my thoughts on celebrity relationships, don't you? I was so compelled after yesterday's bombshell about the Hilary Swank/Chad Lowe split. Well, I guess it's not really a "bombshell," seeing as how the two of them are usually so uninteresting that they've been able to live in the West Village with barely a sighting on Page Six. I mean nobody cares about talented (Hilary) or unemployed (Chad) actors, unless they're being arrested for drug use. They seem like nice people and all, but they aren't the most attractive Hollywood couple, now are they? Of course her body looked amazing during Million Dollar Baby, but she does have that mouth full of horse teeth, bless her heart. And now you know if I had like 5% body fat and was being awarded an Oscar for putting myself through the riggers of training, I would damn sure be showing my arms off! And what did she wear, but some dowdy high-necked number. Backless, yes, but the spine is so much less sexy than the breast, don't you think?

And Chad, well god love him, he didn't get his brother's looks did he? Of course he might not have gotten his addictions as well. I must be honest, I haven't really followed the younger Lowe's career since "Life Goes On," which was a wonderful program, though his character I always found a little greasy. You know Chad and Hilary once ate at the restaurant where I worked in the Hamptons. I guess they were nice enough, though sorely lacking in taste, seeing as I have a knack for finding the least desirable places of employment within a 50-mile radius. But I digress.

Don't you just love when celebrity couples split and then those insipid entertainment shows go out to random events, where neither member of the couple is present, and ask other celebrities what they think of the split. I mean, half the time these people don't even know each other, and you can tell they don't give a shit and only want to answer questions about themselves anyway. All this to say, that for the next few days I will be devoting some time to the dissection of relationships I nothing about, between people I will never meet, that are probably all made up to begin with. But hell, if Star Magazine can do it, honey, so can I!!

What a Drag!

What did you do this Saturday evening? Watch a little television, order a little take-out, watch a transvestite sing the song your vocal coach told you not to sing because you're not pretty enough?! Well, if you did anything other than attend the world's ugliest drag show, then you just didn't live. Now ya'll know I don't go haulin' my cookies downtown for just anything, but the birthday celebration of one of my nearest and dearest will occasionally motivate me below 14th (this is if I can't get them to just enjoy a pizza on the couch). So, here we are at this restaurant known for their food (meaning it's known you should eat before-hand) and it's waitresses...such as they are. Our server was really quite lovely, but he/she was about the only one. I mean to tell you, all of the men in that room had bigger breasts than I do, displayed in a fashion that would be considered inappropriate for any woman not dancing on a pole. Thank god they had fun cocktails, cause you know I needed a drink after I watched double-drag lap dance performed on some unsuspecting suburbean. Of course I don't actually feel too badly for the guy, because you know those New Jersey-ites drive over the bridge for just such trashy escapades.

Now the problem here, was the little "lady" pictured above (image added as soon as blogger server acts right!). Now, if you want to be a drag queen, and honey you know I don't care if you do, but you do need to adhere to certain rules of engagement. You have heard my discourse on doing your hair up for special events (if not, read on below) and while it didn't apply to men at the time, if you are a man who chooses to dress like a woman, then at least have the sense to put on a little lip stick. I mean, we came to see a drag show, not a small Asian man in a mini skirt with tissue paper stuffed down his sequin halter! It's just wrong on so many levels. I mean this man is someone's grandfather (or at the very least their uncle) and here he is prancing about in fishnet hose, when he should be living in a retirement community. All, I'm saying is, that dressing in drag should have a shelf life, lest you find yourself collecting social security in your stilettos.

Hairdos, don'ts, and didn't even trys

So now ya'll know I attended a couple of weddings over the past weekend, and I have to tell you I was sorely disappointed in the state of the women in attendance. I just don't know what's happened to folks that they can't even bother to look nice for a wedding. I mean, I know we're in the era of casual Fridays, hell I look like a homeless person 4 out of 5 days a week, but for a special occasion I can pull it together. The men, well they all wore suits which is easy enough and I won't bother to go into the difference in a nice suit versus a JC Penny suit, because anytime you can get a guy into a tie, I think there's cause for celebration. The women were my main disappointment. For the most part they were dressed alright, one fuchsia backless number not withstanding, but their hair...well, it was a downright disaster. I mean, not a single one of them did a damn thing with it, save the bridesmaids whose coiffures were hairsprayed within an inch of their lives and looked like a curling iron threw up on top of their heads. Alas, this is the price you pay for being friends with the bride. The non-bridesmaids were the issue. I mean, I know these women spent hundreds of dollars on their dresses, and couldn't even be bothered to run a comb through their hair! I mean it's a formal event, put a clip in it for Christ's sake! I don't care how much time you spent shopping for that dress, when you wear it with stringy, flat, poorly-highlighted locks, the whole outfit just goes to pot.

Now I know this would never happen in the South, perhaps because everyone has at least one beautician in their immediate family or perhaps because any prom-like events are treated with the utmost respect, but whatever the reason, Southerners don't leave their homes half dressed for a fancy occasion. I mean, if the bride's family is gonna pay for you to eat and drink all night for free, the least you can do is put on a little lipstick for 'em. Of course, in the end, the lack of hairdos only made me look all the better, but I still just wanted to say to those girls:

"Honey, get yourself together!"

Gray Day

Here I sit, barely able to type for the fluorescent glare, shivering beside the cold pane of my lone window that looks out to the abysmal gray of the trash shoot. Yes, friends, I'm back in my office after 10 days that feel like only a moment. You would think I'd be raring to go, full of rested energy and resolutions for the new year. Well, maybe you'd think that if you didn't know me. Now I do fully intend to shift my piles of unfiled paper (actually filing the paper would be way too great of an undertaking), and I'm even considering creating a digitally organized calendar...but only considering.

You see, many people find January to be a very hopeful, productive month during which they tidy the remains of the last year and set goals for the new one. I, on the other hand, see January for what it is - a cold, boring month where none of your clothes fit and you spend your time dreaming of lying on a tropical beach even though there's no way in hell you'd step foot in a bathing suit. At least in December the cold has a festive feeling to it, but in January it's just cold and gray with no holiday to look forward to...totally unacceptable.

Good luck with your resolutions, organizations, and deprivations...if ya'll need me I'll be stabbing myself in the eye. Happy January!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Praise the Lord, I am back in the land of the living!! After a week of schlepping the Royal Family around the Big Apple, attending back-to-back weddings, and ringing in the new year, I have finally found myself back on the couch and near a computer! I never thought I'd say this, but I'm just about ready for the holidays to be over. I don't think I can swallow one more cocktail or munch one more cookie (please, I know this is difficult for you to accept, but even Queenan has limits).

New Year, yes the time when we all promise to read more, eat less, join the gym, call our relatives, and perform various other acts of goodwill for at least the first two weeks of January. Of course we make such grandiose promises, my god, who knows what gibberish gets sputtered on New Year's Eve, and by the next morning, folks will say just about anything to shut up the brass band in their head. Very easy to give up alcohol when lying with your head in the toilet. And what a way to usher in all things new and hopeful, but with the world's worst hangover. Not sure who decided that December 31st would be the greatest annual amateur drinking night, but it was clearly someone who did not intend to accomplish much in the upcoming year.

I don't typically make New Year's resolutions because, well, they're just one more diet that's gonna fail, but this year, 2006, I think I shall. Now I will need your help with this one because I resolve that 2006 will be the year DearQueenan.com goes National!!! I mean, ya'll know my goal here is a book deal, so let's all work together to make that happen, okay? Thank you darlins...ya'll are just the best;-)