No Stars at Oscars

Y'all will have to forgive me, I'm a bit groggy this morning because I stayed up waaay past my bedtime watching the most boring Oscar show ever! My god, if they showed one more freakin' montage. I mean, you wanna show clips of the folks who died last year, ok, but there's no need to reminisce about the winners of the foreign film category cause we didn't see 'em in the first place, so we don't give a damn. I did however get a good chuckle outta the whole Dreamgirls medley, complete with lighting, choreography and gospel choir gettin' shown up by a tuxedo-clad woman with a guitar.

Alright, let's get on with it... so overall the Red Carpet was about as exciting as the show itself. It seems blush is the new black, which is really sad news for us fair freckly folks. It is, however, excellent news for Miss Jennifer Lopez.

I never thought I'd be complimenting JLo, but my girl got herself to-ge-tha. Not bad for ol' Jenny, whose block has apparently moved from the Bronx to Fifth Avenue. Who'da thought lil skinny, sickly-looking Marc Anthony could get her to cover up and glam out with such consistency? And while I do occasionally miss the JLo of the green-dress-held-on-with-double-sided-tape, I must say this time she got it right.

Quite unlike Kirsten Dunst, who was abhorrent from greasy head to feathery foot. What the hell is going on with this dress? I don't care whose vintage nonsense it is, she looks like she's wearing three different dresses at once. Like Ginger Rogers got mixed up with a Vegas showgirl who wanted to be a school teacher. Not only does the dress threaten to induce vomiting, from the neck up is all wrong too! That puny little pitiful excuse for a bun and those wretched bangs. Y'all know how I feel about bangs in the first place, and stringy thin ones aren't helping to change my mind. And Kirsten, the whole red lipstick thing is for grown folks going for the 1940's glam bombshell look. You, bombshell...uh no. Bomb went off...maybe.

Now Ms. Hudson, I know you haven't been around long, but you should make a note that it is inadvisable to appear on the Red Carpet dressed for a Star Trek convention. Sweetpotato even cried out in agony as you began the biggest night of your life lookin like you'd stole your jacket from a skinny Klingon. You can't just take the word of a designer, they make mistakes too. You're gonna need to go talk to JLo's folks, cause she too has a big ass and a propensity for blingy things, and yet, she looked like a movie star and you looked, well, more like an actual constellation.

And now for Gwyneth. So the thing is, there's nothing particularly offensive about this dress, and I'm sure someone somewhere is writing about how fabulous she is right this very moment, but I just can't stand it...or her really. Look at her, all ice princessy, and the gown, while figure-flattering, is again rather mumsy, with the sleeves and the lack of anything sexy. But you know, she has always struggled, even back when she did expose her shoulders and her boy-like chest. She really just needs to get some new people, but then I guess she's being dressed over in her new motherland, Great Britain, and we all know they're still struggling to overcome the bad hat epidemic. We should probably just be grateful she didn't arrive with a plum sprouting from her head.

So all in all, very safe, very dull, VERY poor jewelry, and probably the longest Academy Awards show ever. Tinseltown may have topped out a few years ago. I mean, if all they're really doing is recycling story lines what good are they? At least throw us a bone and dress outrageously, otherwise, what have we got to live for?

Get Some Game!

You know, I have been sayin' for the past couple years that there's nothing wrong with the dating market in NYC. I mean, I was in it for a bit and I met my Sweetpotato, so I figured other gals could meet a spud too....after last night though, DUD is the better term.

Fashionslave and I met up at our favorite Irish pub from our days in the Hell's Kitchen walkup, for some nachos and beers (did I mention my pants ripped recently? whatever.) So we're having a de-lightful time, as we always do at this place, when the two guys next to us start chattin us up. Not wanting to be rude, we allow ourselves to be dragged into what can only be the most pitiful waste of my conversational skills I've ever been subjected to in a 5 minute period.

The first moron starts up the conversation by asking who we supported for the 2008 election. Um, what? I said, buddy, you seriously wanna start talking politics in a bar with two women you've never met? Clearly this guy don't get out much. And then, if you can even believe it, he continues down the political path extolling the virtues of the REPUBLICAN PARTY!! This is '07 not '87, the Republican Party ain't fairin' too good these days, number one. And number 2, this is New York City for cryin out loud, the place where you're basically guaranteed to be able to bash the president at any given moment and get a pat on the back from the first person who walks by. If you wanna talk GOP, you need to head to the Red States buddy, cause we ain't interested.

Meanwhile, moron #2 slips around to Fashionslave, throwin' out his best game, which leads with..."my friend and I met in Community College..." Look, I'm not trying to insult community colleges or their students, but you don't lead with that! I mean, make something up for the love of god, or better yet, unless you've just graduated, no one needs to talk about where they went to school. This fool had been out for 10 damn years and couldn't let it go? Troubling. But not so troubling, as a few minutes later when he turned to another friend and said privately, yet within earshot, that he really needed to get laid. Ummm, duh...and I wonder why?

So that basically ended their interview. They didn't do well...they had to GO. But I just can't get over how complete and utterly appalling they were. I mean talk about no game, it was as if it was their first day on earth and they were just getting their bar legs under em. I'm not sayin' there aren't any good guys in Manhattan, in fact I'm sure there are great ones 'round every corner, but clearly not 'round every bar.

Bald Brit

I know folks across the country are bashing Ms. Spears for her recent acts of apparent insanity, but I would like to give her a bit of praise.

Congratulations Britney...you have actually made your ex-husband look like a suitable parent for your two therapy-prone children. I mean this is a man whose claim to fame is wearing a wife-beater while spending your money, and you've actually succeeded in convincing most of America that he would be the better role model.

Don't you just know K-Fed's lawyers are the happiest people in the world this week. Here they thought they were gonna have to prove that a man without any marketable talent, viable skill, or discernible taste was a fit parent, and here you, Britney, have gone and done it for them by the "lesser of two evils" principle. Those lawyers might not even have to get him to put his hat on straight or find a pair of pants that fit. As it turns out, K-Fed's unshaven smirk will actually bring in an income....YOURS, you dumb bitch! You might shoulda stayed in rehab for longer than 5 minutes.

It's a damn good thing you're gonna be saving money on hair products, cause you are gonna be keeping K-Fed and all his wannabe thugalicious friends in Escalades for the next 18 years. I'd say it was sad if is weren't so damn funny!

Alright, alright, it is rather tragic that a woman so young, with so much "talent" could crash and burn like this in a few short years, but then that's what comes from the excesses of celebrities. Oh, and Britney, where is your Momma? Who the hell is letting your bald head run around to tattoo parlors anyway? Looks like even your kinfolk cashed you in and headed for the Caribbean.

Britney, there's really nothing left to say, except...GET YOURSELF TOGETHER!

The Rip Heard Round the World

Yesterday I got up, put on my favorite jeans, and because they were fresh out of the laundry I'm sure, I began the ritual procession of swats and wiggles, designed to shake oneself into every possible crevice of one's pants. It was mid-squat that I heard the tearing sound sure to strike fear into the heart of any woman with only one good pair of jeans.

Alas, my pants had ripped. Now, they didn't split up the seat, but just below my left butt cheek at the inseam. This could only mean one thing....my ass has gotten so big it is actually trying to escape! There, spilling out from between the fibers of my very favorite jeans, was my inner thigh, that bulgy, squishy part of your leg that gets the chafe when you wear skirts in the summer.

I mean you can imagine my distress. First of all, these were my best jeans, you know the ones that hold your parts in all the right places and always make your backside look like it's just the right kinda round. Apparently, though, even the best jeans can hold your ass in for only so long...even denim can't stretch far enough to accommodate my expanding assets...perhaps they should look into increasing the lycra-to-cotton ratio in jeans today.

Anyway, so distraught was I over the loss of my favorite pants, that I carried myself right across town to my friends Homeslice and Kaiifa's apartment (Fashionslave lives there too, but sadly she had to work and therefore could not spend the day consoling me.) Like the good friends they are, Homeslice proceeded to fry me some tortilla chips, while Kaiifa poured me my first of what would be about 97 Mimosas. I mean to tell you, by about the 4th bottle of champagne, I was totally unconcerned about the rip in my jeans and more than a little concerned about the shortage of spinach dip (which wasn't a shortage 10 minutes before). For a while there I was certain I had discovered the secret to accepting your weight was drinking your weight in champagne. Alas, no weightloss programs should be conceived through the all-day fuzziness of a Mimosa Haze. For though I was livin large yesterday in every sense of the world, I have awoken to find my ass no smaller and my jeans no looser, oh, and judging by the takeout boxes, my appetite no more satisfied. Looks like tortilla chips at noon turned into burritos and nachos by 8.

I'll be at my desk starving myself- and wearing sweatpants- for the rest of the week if anyone needs me.

White Trash Valentine's Pics

Just so y'all know the Sweetpotato and I can do it up right...here are some pics from our White Trash Valentine's Day.



I arrived home to find my darlin' Tater had prepared taters of his own, shown above with pig-in-a-blankets...staples of every fayn-cy event. He even sprung for the Dijon mustard, but we mostly dipped our little dogs in a jar of cheez whiz. Notice how even plating them on a crystal platter from Tiffany can't detract from the trashiness of this display. Of course, the Ritz crackers and spray cheese - the height of sophistication. No appetizer course would be complete without Deviled Eggs...mayo, mustard and relish will never do ya wrong.



Moving on to the main course, you see that while Beans & Franks and Mac & Cheese are delicious complements, a side of Slim Jims is needed to round out the meal. Here we see items from all the major food groups- canned, boxed, and preserved.




Not being as familiar as I am with "foods" that could withstand a nuclear attack, Sweetpotato was a little hesitant, but as you can see Winnie enjoyed it very much.

Happy Heart Day

So today is the day men run about buying up whatever card is left on the shelf, praying that the sentiment expressed within satisfies their special someone for at least another year. Delis are stocked with bunches of flowers, to be purchased by the forgetful on their way home from the office. Women, of course, are waiting expectantly for the delivery trunk to arrive with a gigantic bouquet to draw the envy of their co-workers.

Crap...all of it. Valentine's Day is a holiday cleverly crafted by the folks at Hallmark to guilt people into spending exorbitant amounts of money on flowers and chocolates- both of which will be gone by the end of the week, filling trash cans and waistline to the brink. If you are one of those unfortunate people who don't have DVR and still watch commercials, you've probably been bombarded by images of proposals, jewelry purchases, weddings and other such events, but let me just tell you...manfactured holidays are no time for the "Grand Gesture." Talk about cheese ball. I don't wanna climb up to the top of the damn Empire State Building in the freezing cold with the wind whipping me in the face. This is not romantic, this is hypothermic! All grand gestures belong on their own random days...giving you another anniversary to celebrate of course.

Here are some other things that do not belong on Valentine's Day, contrary to popular option...these are 4 gifts NOT to buy:

1) Red Roses- They are lovely, yes, but come on. Red roses have to be the most over-done flower purchase in the history of flower giving. Nothing says "I am the least original person on the face of the earth" quite like a bouquet of red roses. Go for a daisy, a lily, hell a carnation, but please, spare me the red rose.

2) Cheap Chocolates- There is simply no excuse. I know folks are poor, and I'm not suggesting a $100 box of Belgian truffles, but you can spring for a little Russell Stover. In fact, now that Russell has a chart on the lid like Whitmans, you can't go wrong. There's nothing scarier than an uncharted box of chocolates...unless it's an uncharted box of cheap chocolates. I gag at the mere thought of a store-brand Maple Nut Cream.

3) Sappy Cards- Look, if you can't tell your sweetheart you love them, then you might need to work on those issues on your own time, but don't get Hallmark to do it for you. I tell you, the waves of nausea I experience every time I open a card in that place are bad enough. If Sweetpotato ever gave me a card with any of that sappy crap I'd stab him right in his eye. Nobody's love is really "the music that makes my heart dance." How about a card that says what you really feel..."I love you but I'd like you more if you put your dirty socks in the damn hamper!"...or something like that

4) Heart-shaped jewelry of ANY kind- Those of you wearing your diamond heart pendant right now should skip this one. I know it's supposed to mean he loves you, but I promise you I will remember he loves me everytime I put on my tasteful diamond studs. Jewelry says I love you on its own, making it in heart-shapes just says I try too hard. Often presenting the gift with a dozen red roses, the heart-shaped jewelry buyer should be strongly encouraged to think of something different than he gave his 3rd grade girlfriend.


And because I stand behind everything I write y'all, I will share that Sweetpotato and I will be celebrating White Trash Valentine's this year, with a dinner of beans & franks and mac & cheese (of the boxed powered cheese variety), and possibly some applesauce, so as to round out the dinner of my trailerpark childhood. This morning I gave him a tube of Slim Jims and a pack of chewing tobacco...can't wait to get home to my box 'o wine!!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoox

A lesson in musical theater

So y'all know I've been watching Grease: You're the One That I Want with probably a little too much enthusiasm, but you have to forgive me. For those of you who don't know, Queenie moved to New York City many moons ago to be on The Broad-way, only to discover that the road to the main stage starts at 6am in a long line outside a dilapidated studio with the world's most annoying class of people...Actors. (If you have a spare 5 minutes, please read my dissertation on Actors and Why I Can't Be One)

All that to say, I have bit of experience when it comes to judging and being judged in the musical theater arena, so the Grease show is right up my alley. I realize it's not quite American Idol, I mean these folks have to actually dance and act too, they don't get to just plop down on a stool and belt their faces off with a light show behind them. I'm willing to go out on a limb here and say that all the contestants in the finals of Grease are 3 times more talented than any Idol contestant, albeit, slightly more annoying.

You see folks, there is nothing so horrific as a musical theater actor overacting; it often takes on a Disney cruise-type quality of the most nauseating degree. For some reason these folks seem to think they have to look happy and surprised at all times, even when singing lyrics about being abandoned or heartbroken...it's rather confusing for the audience when you look excited to have lost the love of your life.

But really the worst offenses on this Grease show are the song selections. Look, I love musicals, even the cheesy ones, hell I listen to the satellite Broadway radio station all the time (when Sweetpotato leaves the house of course), but I just can't abide by pop songs - musical theater style. There's just something so wrong about singing Hound Dog, Footloose, or god forbid, anything currently on the radio like your on stage at the Wintergarden. I wonder how Joan Jett feels about having "I Love Rock & Roll" bastardized into a lyric tune full of vibrato and well, actual notes.

The point is, if you're gonna be a Broadway singer, sing a Broadway song...trust me honey, I have lost enough beauty pageants to know...no one wants to hear a bad rendition of a pop song...there are enough bad bits of musical theater to go around!

Grammy Night

Alright, so who watched the Grammy's last night? Though award shows are often long and ridiculous, y'all know I have to tune in lest I miss an opportunity to comment on a celebrity's unfortunateness. I'm not gonna go through the whole red carpet, I simply want to mention a few things...

1) I must say Congrats to the Dixie Chicks, who apparently won the same award 3 or 4 times. Can someone please explain the difference in Song, Record, and Album of the Year? They all appear to be for that same "Not Ready to Make Nice" song, which should perhaps become the Dear Queenan theme song. Anyway, I typically stay out of politics, but I understand there are a bunch of folks in the Red States who are pissed about the Chicks' politics. That wouldn't be such a big deal if the majority of your fan base wasn't part of the ever-shrinking 30% of the US population that supports G.W. Who cares though, they won and they always have the most fabulous accessories...look at those amazing earrings;-)

2)Mary J. Blige - A Lesson in the Poor Choices of Youth. You see kids, getting a tattoo seems like a cool idea when you're young and anti-establishment, but then you grow up and try to wear a designer gown and look like you just got outta prison. Her dress was surprisingly lovely (I hear she's got good stylists these days), but if she has come through these hard times and emerged as a classy woman, a tale she bored us with before singing, then she should invest in some long-sleeved gowns. You can't really be considered refined with a 4 inch cross seared into your upper arm, now can you? Look kids, if you're gonna get a tattoo (and let's face it, at least half of you will try) you must have them drawn strategically so that they can remain hidden most of the time. Remember, most tattoos only seem like a good idea at the time, and then one day you find yourself explaining to your grandkids how the raisin on your hip used to be a ladybug, and it's just not pretty.

3) And finally, the man of the evening...Justin Timberlake. I have decided to make him my new favorite thing. I really think he may be on track to be the next Michael Jackson (pre-Neverland Ranch). His recent hits have not quite belied his talent, as they were kind of more chants than songs, but last night he was really showin it out, and we all know the boy can move. I really think he may go all the way, plus, at this point he appears to have all his original facial features and displays no pedophilic tendencies. The only thing is, he's gotta start releasing songs that will stand the test of time...I mean he can bring sexy back all he wants to, but until he gets a "Billie Jean," he's gonna remain on the precipice. But for the record, Queenie is supporting his campaign to dominate pop music. Next time he tours through the Big Apple, I may even brave the teenie-boppers to see his show (heavily medicated of course)

Natural Selection Stupidity

Today in New York City centuries of struggle for equality will be lost for all women by 40 superficial bimbos lookin for a free ride. Some asshole has created a speed dating event where only the 40 richest male applicants and 40 hottest female applicants will be allowed to participate, calling it "Natural Selection Speed Dating."

Now let me tell y'all something. I took a few psychology classes in my day, and I understand that somewhere deep in the human biological psyche there is some need for women to feel taken care of and men to dig hot chicks, but for the love of god can we not advertise our neaderthalic tendencies to the world? I mean, you've gotta be f-ing kidding me! Women have been fighting for years just to get paid an equal dollar and here these brainless pieces of trash think they're gonna beat the system by dating it instead of earning it. It's legalized prostitution masked as a dating game, complete with a matchmaker who is....a woman! So much for the sisterhood. You know this bitch thinks she's gonna turn the tables by playing into society's "innate tendencies" that only she is not afraid to exploit. Look here honey, I will be the first to admit that I like men to open doors and pay for cocktails, but I have worked my ass off for every damn dollar I have and you will NOT throw me down the evolutionary ladder so that 40 unemployed models can get a sugardaddy. I can hoist my titties up as high as the next woman, but I will not use them as currency, thank you very much.

So it's disturbing that this event was even created (obviously by a man with a large bank account and a small penis), but the truly horrifying part is that they've had over 300 women apply! Of course they've had 300 men as well, but you know those bastards see it as their way to finally nail the head cheerleader since they were too busy being acne-prone computer geeks in high school. These guys actually submit their financial records to qualify and all the women have to do is show up lookin' good!

Now y'all know I usually can't be bothered with other people's stupidity, beyond mocking them of course, but really I am about to march my happy lil ass down to this event and stab some folks in the eye.

Come on ladies....who's with me?

The End!

Well friends...I have survived the weekend. I have come back from the brink of death, thanks in large part to the box of chocolates and jumbo Slim Jims that Sweetpotato so kindly brought me from the drug store. He got tissues and medicine too, but they didn't do the trick nearly as well as Russell Stover. I appreciate all your calls and emails of concern, I am certain the knowledge of your devotion is what held me back from taking the final step into the next world.

So anyway, I was able to prop myself up long enough to see the Superbowl commercials and I've gotta tell ya, overall I was pretty disappointed. I mean, some of the Bud Light ones were cute and who the hell knew Sierra Mist was so popular? Now the one with Kevin Federline as the fry cook, that was funny...in that such-a-short-step-from-reality-it'll-be-in-Star-magazine-next-week kinda way. I'll tell you though, I bet he got paid pret-ty well for that 30 seconds and someone in that family's gotta have a job. Ol' Britney's bloated ass ain't doin nothin' but eatin' french fries and passin' out at parties. It's a sad, sad day when Kevin Federline is the responsible bread-winner in the family. You know in Hollywood, it's fake it til you make it, and at this point who can tell the damn difference!

The half-time show...what the hell? I mean, Prince?! He is Prince again isn't he. I mean he was still dancin' around on that symbol thingy, but I bet he got tired of not being able to identify himself on the phone just went back to Prince. Whatever, I mean he sounded alright and he might have even been actually singing at some point, but he's just really lost his mystique you know? All the sudden he's showin up to award shows and writing songs for movies and my god the Superbowl, can you get any more mainstream than that? I can't say as he'd have been my first choice to entertain a bunch of drunk meatheads devoted to watching men tackle eachother for a living, but maybe pickins were slim this year. You gotta hand it to him though, it was pouring buckets through his whole show and nobody even slipped! You know my ass woulda been busted up if I'd been runnin around in heels on a slick stage.

Regardless of how it ended (and I am quite pleased that cutie patutie Peyton Manning got his little Superbowl ring), y'all know I look forward to the Superbowl with earnest excitement because as the confetti showers the field, I see the return of my weekends for the next 7 months! I get my Sweetpotato's undivided attention and don't have to spend every Sunday listening to the armchair quarterbacks on ESPN and in my livingroom argue over cry-baby millionaires who can't seem to act right.

Praise the lord, the football season is O-V-E-R!!

Sicky

Hello darlins, did ya miss me? I'm so sorry I didn't let y'all know I was goin away, but with all the Grey's Anatomy drama I had to write about last week, I didn't have time to tell you before I took off!

I spent the last 6 days in lovely Arizona, which is really quite nice this time of year, but so very dry my throat was killing me. I have returned home with the world's most horrible cold and am most probably dying. I come close to death basically every time I have a sniffle, so suffering under the weight of a 50lb brick sitting on my sinuses will surely kill me.

I am, however, an excellent die-er. First, I moan and writhe about to make sure everyone knows I'm dying. Then I blow my nose as often as possible, letting the tissues pile up until someone notices how pitiful I am. Of course there are the frequent requests for fluids (which must be pulp-free light OJ) and popsicles (sugar-free cherry or orange, never grape). Occasionally I eat chicken soup for show, but I prefer burritos and pizza. It is feed a cold, starve a fever...or is it the other way around? Doesn't matter, I feed everything regardless.

So I was dyin' all day yesterday and right about now Sweetpotato is pretty close to smothering me with my extra-fluffed pillows as I lie on the couch writing my last will and testament...he does remember that big t.v is mine, see if I leave it to him! I have called my mother, which I always do when I'm sick because she likes to know if I'm dying and always offers to board the next plane to take care of me, like a good mother should.

Now I don't want y'all to worry too much about your old friend Queenie who is lying at the brink of death, certain to gasp her last breath at any moment, barely holding on to the flicker of life, and gathering her last bit of strength is typing you a final blog. Talk about dedication.

I shall be dying for the rest of the evening and catching up on this week's shows on DVR (so just in case I survive the night I can write about them on Monday). Make sure y'all watch Grease on Sunday, I have lots to say about that one, but I want the images to be fresh in your minds (again, assuming Monday finds me still breathing).

Y'all have a great weekend, I'll be dying, but I wouldn't want you to spend any time worrying about me, no I'll be struggling to hold on, but you go right on ahead and have a good time, don't even think about me clinging to this world with both hands, while being dragged into the next by choirs of angels, I wouldn't want to bother y'all with my death or anything....cough...sniff....gasp....