Oh my.

I want to kill a bitch...namely my 11-14 years old self.  

Did you ever re-discover your middle school Xanga?  I didn't do this recently, but I'm currently talking about the moment that I did.  It had to be one of the worst days of my life.  Not only was I so angst-ridden and lame...but I filled out all of those stupid surveys designed for 13-year-old girls.  UGH.

It's like everything I hate about children combined and was me.  I seriously can't understand what I had to be so annoying about.  It's not like middle school had hard homework or really anything of value.  I also don't know how I had any friends.  I must not have.  Because I think I was that annoying.  

Now, by no means am I saying that I'm a beacon of vivacity and brilliance today, but I like to think that I'm not a bratty prick.  I can actually remember one of my backgrounds...wait for it...Britney Spears.  UGH.

This is the worst part...my username.  No lie, it was.....onelonelytear.  KILL ME NOW.  Seriously!?  I throw machetes at emo losers with screennames like that.  UGH.  I wasn't even emo.  My hair was short and not black and I most certainly wore colors.  I mean, I still have some of the clothes.  

I don't think Edith Wharton had these kind of problems.  But then again, she was too busy being really really rich and talented.  

This must be what anyone who survived the 80's feels like when they look at their old pictures.  

Utter shame that I channel into anger for no one for kicking me in the face.  It would be the friendly thing to do.  So I promise that if anyone I know is acting like a whiny emo bitch, I'll smack them.  Or at least give them a sarcastic 'Please.'  

P. S.  There goes my shirt up over my head...oh my oh my.  Anyone remember that song?

Food NEVER Judged Me!

I realized last night while I should've been falling asleep that I understand Star Jones.  (Cue gasping audience!)  I mean, I don't understand being on The View or what she actually does for a living (I know she's a lawyer, but PLEASE) or why she married that obviously gay man, but the food thing...I got you babe.  This is because I'm on a slippery slope to becoming morbidly obese.  I must've eaten 1293081290321809312 calories this past month alone!  And that's not good.  I'm not really active.  Michael Fucking Pot Smoking Phelps would be fat on my diet.  And I'm convinced I gained weight.  Unless there is some immaculate conception going on (and it's have to be SUPER immaculate), and I'm about to give birth to maybe a 10-20 pound baby, I'm not happy.  No no.  I'm like that crazy fuck that was screaming to leave Britney alone except I'm yelling about me and I'm talking to fat.  

And it's true, okay, food never judged me.  It never said, "Bitch please, do you really need this much ice cream?  Who you trying to kid?  Your metabolism ain't that fast, child.  CHECK YO'SELF."  Food doesn't really speak to me at all.  It just kind of cries out:  EAT ME I'M DELICIOUSNESS INCARNATE!  And I obey.  It's an abusive relationship.  I just hope I'm strong enough to break free of it and have an amazing comeback that maybe involves some fuck-nasty wigs and my legs mysteriously never looking better.

You might be saying, what does love got to do, got to do with it?  But Tina was talking about sex, probs, not food.  Love has everything to do with food.  I'm not going to go all Oprah and say that food fills a void in my life where a significant other and a soul would reside.  Nuh uh.  I'm gonna break it down when I say that I love to eat.  I truly enjoy it.  It's one of the favorite parts of my daily routines, up there with showering and sleeping.  

I just don't know.  I only hope that one of my crazy friends that are becoming doctors will magically decide to be a plastic surgeon.  Because boyfriend's gonna need a tummy-tuck.  Pronto.  

Which brings me to my final point.  I don't understand why Star Jones lied about her gastric bypass.  WHATEVA.  You thin-ish, honey.  Who cares how you got there?  I mean, you did it without crack cocaine aka TrimSpa!  COUNT CHO BLESSINGS.  Now you're not even on that hot mess The View.  Elizabeth Hasselmotherfucker still is, for crying out loud.  Baby, food doesn't judge, but I do.

WISH

Dear Sutton Foster,

I don't know why you are not yet worldwide famous.  Okay maybe because no one appreciates musical theatre actresses anymore unless they happen to appear in shitty movies or on TV (here's looking at you KChen).  But still.  Your new CD, Wish (who woulda thunk!?), is sublime.  And you're genuinely nice.   Furthermore, you're a normal person!  You're kinda lanky and awkward in person, but onstage, you're a dream.  It's phenomenal...almost like anyone could become a theatre sensation (if they could sing like a lark and dance circles around most—minor details)!!!  Maybe a music video?  Does anyone watch videos anymore?  A youtube series?  A vlog?  Or even a blog!?  I just wish you got more recognition.  Even though you're really not a secret...anyone who has a half a brain in regards to theatre ought to know about you and your 42nd Street-esque discovery.  *fawn*

Love always,

Wally

P. S.  I almost want to see Shrek because of you...almost.

If only you could put a hit out on a book...

Dear Twilight Series,

GO DIE.

Love always (and by love always I mean with loath eternally),

Wally

P. S.  Stephanie Meyers (sp? I don't care enough to check), you made your buck, now CUT THE SHIT.

P. P. S.  Teenage novels with not-so-secret religious agendas are SO PASSÉ...so passé that THEY WERE NEVER IN.  

P. P. P. S.  It doesn't even make sense.  Vampires can't have babies.  DUH.  No one turns 80 year olds into vampires.  How are there legit old people vampires!?!?

P. P. P. P. S.  When you die a slow and painful death, Twilight series, can you take Taylor Swift with you?

Oh, Michael Cerveris!

I saw Hedda Gabbler today and I realized that I need to stop falling in love with tragic female characters.  Clearly that's not going to work out.  That's like living with your boyfriend before going on (#U$JDLKSFd of Love.  Please.  Ugh.  Anyway, I really liked it.  Mary-Louise Parker was wonderful.  She's a petite thing!  Geez.  That other girl was not very enjoyable though.  No, no.  I didn't know if she was just bad or it was a really awkward character choice.  haha.  Oh well, Michael Cerveris was Mr. Tesmond and GREAT.  As always.  : )

OMG DIANE!

First off, a quick little fun fact.  My parents now have a Skype account.  Kill.  Me.  Now.

Second, apparently my vivid dreams may mean that I'm pregnant or getting too much vitamin B6!  I mean, that's just illogical.  I don't take supplements dammit!  But this article said something about taking control of your dreams, and that sounds just amazing.  I can just picture it now:  chocolate fountains, lots of sex, Beyoncé, Ella and I scatting.  Ugh.  Sign me up!!!!!!  I'd be on that shit like herpes on Bret Michaels.  (Which, BTWz, Rock of Love Bus girls, I really really really hope you use protection.  Maybe even a dental dam.  Because although normally I think dental dams are a little ridiculous, I wouldn't be surprised if you had open sores in your mouths and he had potentially 4 STDs...allegedly.)

Which sort of brings me to my final point...this was the Yahoo! headline: "Popular reality show gets busted for illegal activity"--it was that History Channel nonsense Ax Men.  Hold up, popular?  Please.  And how is it that out of all the crazy reality shows on TV that's the one that gets busted?!  C'mon.  COME ON.  Although I did recently read that there were fights at a recent NYC Top Model audition.  Priceless.

Pick up on THIS.

Today was like show explosion for me.  I watched last night's Damages via iTunes and OMGz the last 5 minutes.  Shit, I thought I was like having a heart attack or orgasming.  Okay not at all, I certainly know the difference, but I mean, c'mon!  That was intense.  I just wanna know what's up!!!  DAMMIT.  I wish I were as close to Glenn as I am to mah girl B.  Because I think Glenn must be such a sweetie, and she could advance me the episodes.  She knows how much I love the show and how I generate such press for it.  She'd be like, "Wally, please, I'm ashamed you asked.  You know I love you, babe."  And then we'd make out and watch the last few episodes hand-in-hand.  But since my fantasies never come true, I'll have to wait a few weeks more.

Meanwhile, Ugly Betty is trying to weasel back into my heart!  Mary J. and I were all like "Bitch, back the fuck up!  I said no more drama in my life!"  And UB was like "BUT I wanna be a drama now!  A dramedy?  C'mon!"  There were shanks drawn, it was ugly.  I almost had to pull a Li'l Kim and lie when my entourage shot show bitches up...which would've gotten me onto Dancing with the Stars.  Fuck!  But I didn't.  And now UgBet is definitely getting a little bit funnier.  Vanessa Williams is a dream.  She's got such an amazing body, I can't even believe it.  And funny, too!  Such a dream.  Too often funny girls look like Lisa Lampinelli instead of my idol Madeline Kahn.

And Grey's was kinda decent, too.  Shocker!  I liked the fact that there was some progress in the Izzie storyline.  That shit was getting to be the Dave Williams syndrome on ABC.  But we got SOMEWHERE.  We know what she has.  FINALLY.  And DAMN, my sources were off.  But who would've guessed that?  C'mon.

Anyway, too much sitting!  Too many shows in a row.  GAH.  It's time to bust a move.  Hit it Spinderella!

I can't believe I'm saying this...

Dear Lady Gaga,

Even though you dress horribly—like worse than a crack-addicted, crabs-infested street-walker from the 1970's—I have to admit that your message of "Just Dance" is quite relevant to my life.  I tend to just say fuck this shit and I dance around.  I don't know if it's productive...Hell, it's probably not, but thank you.  Can you please buy a pair of pants now?  Thank you.

Love always,

Wally

I don't know why y'all actin' like this!

(My girlfriend already saw the movie.  She said they don't even stay together in the end.)  <3333

So against my proper notions of sanity, I watched Dancing with the Stars.  I have to say that I just don't understand why they're so stressed about it, nor why Shawn Johnson would go on.  You won a fucking Gold Medal...WHY!?  No way my girl Nastia would go on DWTS.  NUH UH.  (Unless there's a Russian edition...)  But watch, Shawn'll probably win.  & Denise Richards...did you seriously cry?  DO YOU HAVE NO SHAME!?  Wait...I already knew that answer.  (ABC just prompted that question two days in a row.  WHOA!)  

Anyway, to the important stuff...Holly Madison (of The Girls Next Door if you're somehow not aware) is fucking THIN.  Like I knew she was on the thin side, but she looked incredibly small tonight.  Geez.  I feel bad...I always though Bridget looked chunky, but she's probably just a human being...who might've slept with Hugh Hefner.  All together now:  EW!  I mean, yeah he's rich...but SHIT.  I just don't know.  Maybe 20 years ago...but not now.  I'm not looking to be jumpin' some octogenarian.  Puh-lease, I'm not that cheap.  

Anyway, at least Holly's not Rose-Byrne-on-Damages-Channeling-Ally-McBeal-thin.  Rose-PLEASE EAT A SANDWICH.  Yes, your miniscule frame makes me feel your grief...but it also makes me feel fat.  Stop it.  Cut the shit.  Or else Glenn will kill you.  

WTF ABC!?

Okay, what is with that Desperate Housewives promo?  That's just stupid.  They did NOT follow through.  I was all excited for it to come to fruition and I mean, I guess it did, but that was misleading.  Shame on you, ABC.  SHAME.

Wait, hold up, this is the company that thought Dead Denny was a good idea.  Nevermind, they have zero concept of shame.

Poor baby

Hey there good lookin' honey.  Can I have back my money?  'Cause I don't want you, anymore.  And besides, I lied.  You're short, stout, and old—an eyesore to behold.  Baby you ain't that cute.  I guess while I'm talkin' 'bout that, I can admit that you're fat.  So can you get outta my life and head to the gym?  That's right.  Get outta my life as quick as you can, but don't run, 'cause you'll look like a man, but, oh girl, head to that gym.  

Truth.

Sausagefest

I just saw Watchmen and it was MEH.  But besides that it was a total sausagefest.  Like whoa.  And I don't mean the 90% male audience.  I mean 9123801 penis shots!!!  Blue penises are weird.  I wanna know if that was that actor legit naked or not.  That takes...balls.  (I'm SO sorry for that pun.  UGH)

They don't KNOW that I'm affiliated with gangs and shit!

I haven't posted in a while, but I figured I could briefly comment on last night.  Watch the HBO special of Will Ferrell's B-way show.  It was wayyy funny.  Western grip.  That's all I'm saying.  But...I have to take back my comment earlier.  He's actually really cute in person.  Like he looks straight out of Elf, not creepy at all.  Yesss autograph!!  

BTW-Renee, I was just asking someone for a fucking DOLLAR!  <333

Yes, I'm About to Relate to Joy Behar

Now this is getting a little bit cray cray.  While I can sometimes understand having a Facebook status that goes something like "Suzanne Somers is MADDDdDDDDdddD SHWASTEY" (and by sometimes I mean never), I refuse to even pretend to understand why anyone would want a status along the lines of this "Suzanne Somers is WANTING TO TASTE WHITNEY HOUSTON" or this "Suzanne Somers is about to kill Paula Abdul" or this "Suzanne Somers is so alone right now and could use a friend."  This, kiddo, is Facebook not DrPhil.com.  (Don't get me started at that fat piece of crap.  I belong to the Kathy Griffin school of thought in regards to him.)  So, please, PUH-LEASE, do not reveal the details of your personal life via your Facebook statuses.  Don't do it.  It's worse than doing coke off of a toilet seat.  Which clearly is vile and way too kinky for anyone this side of watersports.

Yes, I just said watersports.  Ewww.  I'm going to go wash my hands now or use some Purel like Joy Behar did to that skeevy Bachelor's face.

Mmm, Mango.

Hold up, I have a question.  In the song, "I'm Too Sexy," there's the lyric:  'I'm a model, you know what I mean...'  I really don't.  What does he mean!?  What does that mean!?  Is modeling a euphemism I'm not aware of?  Because I'm pretty knowledgeable in that area.  Wait...I'm starting to think like this is some Grey's Anatomy shit.  Maybe repeating it 1230 times with difference emphasis will help.  I'M a model.  I'm A model.  I'm a MODel.  I'm a modEL.  Nope.  Still nothing.

P. S. The title of this blog entry is derived from me being a total asshole and finding an innocent post by a stranger on a Facebook event page hilarious.  I won't say what because then someone could look and see that I am really being a jerkface.

P. P. S.  I lied.  It's the Rita's Spring event.  

Hootie?

I MISS YOU CARLA.  GET YOUR OWN SHOW.  ASAP.

PS-It's definitely Hootie-Hoo.  I don't care what they say.

Crap, I sound like the killers...

Someone told me that my post wasn't coherent.  I said s/he just didn't get it.  Score.  But, yeah, this is how I do.  I'm generally a bit scatterbrained, and I type silly things as they come to me.  Maybe I'll go off on my crazy tangent a little long, but whatever.  I blame it on the fact that my middle name's Whitney (it's not) and that Whitney Houston just influences me.  Sometimes I can be really sassy and diva-esque, but others, I'm yelling at Diane Sawyer, "CRACK IS WACK!"  Seriously though, crack is cheap, I don't do crack.

I'm a little annoyed at the weather.  In case you didn't notice, it snowed.  Fuck the snow-snow.  I'm grateful it wasn't the 1923018 feet they were predicting, but it's still lame.  I'm a little fed up with this winter bullshit.  I guess when I actually have to walk places, surprisingly I care about the weather.  Who knew?  Like I'm actually willing to jump right into allergy season Spring and have to take all of my crazy meds.  (Relax, they're not the good kind, and I won't sell you any.)  Besides, that means those rabies fucked-up squirrels will be back!  And I'm a bit afraid of Vassar squirrels.  For real.

BTW- I know that maybe 2 people have read this blog, and I insist that you do something special.  Like comment or follow it or something.  So I feel less like I'm either 12 and this is my angst-ridden Xanga or that I'm beyond Whitney and channeling Sybil (Sally Field anyone) and talking to myself.  

You're Lucky I've Got Plans

This is why I wish I weren't such a scrawny fucker or that I had someone on my payroll.  I don't have time for drama but I seem to attract it worse than my girl B and those tacky tacky House of Dereon outfits.  I'm sitting here thinking, 'FUCK!  I'm a highly successful African American woman, what the hell am I doing letting my crazy mom still dress me?!?  I bet Oprah picks out her own clothes.  Shit.'  And then I remember that I'm not actually my girl B and I die a little on the inside.  (Beyoncé, call me!  Girl, I'll flat out wear your mom just to meet you.)  Anyway, I digress.  I may or may not have allegedly gotten a certain piercing done twice over Winter Break.  And since I got back to VC, people have been acting like straight-up fools.  I mean, I know I know 3LW—them hata's gonna hate, but jeez Louise, I didn't realize that my nipples could be such a hot topic.  I'm all about showing them off when I'm drunk!  I'll even talk about the piercing process in general (see below).  But I'm not about random people talking about it to people or being asked about my motives as though I just went O. J. on someone's ass.  Essentially:  CHILLAX.  We've got to respect each other.  Didn't Aretha tell us that decades ago?  Whatever, Spring Break's in four days, and I'm not getting expelled for rippin' out weaves any time soon.  Not like I actually know anyone with a weave right now, but that's a minor detail.

Furthermore, my mom tells me today that there's apparently a snow storm coming.  FUCK THAT SHIT.  And not in some 2-Girls-1-Cup-NASTY way, but in a I-Just-Fashioned-This-Shank-From-My-Toothbrush-While-I'm-Waiting-To-Be-Paroled-For-These-Lame-Drug-Charges-But-I-Could-Still-Stab-You way.  Like my title says, I've got plans.  Renee and I have a threesome planned with that ugly bastard Will Ferrell Friday.  I'm bouncing outta here Thursday at 11 AM Hell or high water.

Last but not least, I need my beauty sleep.  I can get cute on a good day, but without quality sleep, I'm damn close to looking like a case for True Life: I'm a Crackwhore.  You know who you are, stop having Feng Shui crises at 1 AM and learn to dance.  Girl, why you stompin' so much?  Is there some new dance move that I've missed out on recently by neglecting my life partner, Vodka?  I sincerely doubt it.  B would've texted me.  She's a great friend like that.  Like if you were about to jump some bitch, B would definitely hold your earrings.

Mad about Madeline

Dearest Moey,

       I feel obliged to bring to your attention that very VERY few people can actually pull off vibrant color streaks in their hair.  However, you are the exception.  In fact, I have remarked just this, on several occasions.  I'll see several people on campus with various Crayola hues dyed into their hair, and I'll just think, "Wow, you, sirs, suck ass.  I think Moey's the only one who can pull it off around here."  And then, of course, I laugh at said person on the inside and go eat a cookie.  Trust me, Moey, I'm a man of my word.  Hence my first post being all about you.  

Love always,

Wally

P.S. So they measure it, make some marks, and then put a clamp on it.  The needle's hollow so the bar can fit inside.  Then they shove the needle through.  Pulling the needle out, the bar remains, and they screw on the two balls.  Repeat.  : )