Jingle bells, y'all. And all that good stuff.

Keep it safe. Thanks for being awesome.

Okay. For those Tivo'ed it, I won't completely spoil what was essentially a pretty fun episode. Cheesy, yes. Predictable, in some aspects. But fun. A few spoiler-ish thoughts:

1) Thank God we finally figured out why Kit was the worst detective ever. She couldn't catch a cold if it introduced itself first.

2) Who else thought the tranny looked like an atrocious-looking vampire? And what was that cut around the top of her head? Very distracting...from her HIDEOUS FACE. No really. Ugly.

3) Where did freaky racist girlfriend go when her daddy started going AWOL? She just decided to go to McDonald's or something right in the middle of family peniscuttery hour. Cliffhanger #1.

4) Your penis is cut off. For some reason, you only scream bloody murder for a lil' bit. Then you have the strength to rise up from a grave like a vampire Michael Myers, swing a shovel AND shoot someone...without screaming more about your penis. Impossible. Even for a vampire. I call shenanigans.

6) He/she's a freakin tranny vampire. That's the only explanation.

7) There's nothing more hilarious than AIDS chicks trying to fool dudes into thinking they don't have AIDS for a little booty. He even thought about it for a split second. But I commend Christian for being nice and not bringing up the obvious answer, "Yeah, but aren't you a little AIDS-y?"

8) Julia has got to have a Corky in the oven. Cliffhanger #2.

Is to be rid of Nickelback's "Photograph."

I'm not joking, man. It's stalking me. I heard it for about the 87th time in a month while shopping this past weekend. I thought stores were supposed to keep shoppers happy during the holidays (with rainforest sounds, dolphins and crap), but I was wrong. NICKELBACK!!! So I walked outside the store I was in to escape and someone walked out behind me humming it. NooooOOO!!! It's driving me crazily insanely crazy insane. No joke. Since I've nicknamed the lead singer Blah Blah, I've resorted to singing "blah blah blah" whenever I hear it to block out the bad sounds. So if you see someone in LA covering their ears and talking to himself while shopping this week, that's probably me.* I'm not retarded. Just sick of Blah Blah.

*I also might be coughing. Not from a cold. But because I'm still trying to fool people into thinking I'm the Mystery Ricola Cougher. Everyone's doing it at work, too. I believe I've started my a trend.

A sample email:
"DUDE, DUDE!!! LOOK AT THIS PIC!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Uhhhh...okay. Just so the endless emails will stop, a vagina lesson.

Now...back to the TV production dungeon.

I had the geekiest dream of all time last night. It revolved around one of my favorite bloggers dying and not updating for months on end. In my dream, I blamed Bloglines because every so often it breaks and I get a little exclamation point beside the blog name which means they effed up in some way. But once I went to the actual blog address, I realized that it was true. They hadn't updated. I clicked on the comments to find this, left by some random person:

Sorry guys. He died.

And that was it. No other explanation. Nothing. Just dead. And being the neurotic person I am (even in my freakin dreams, man) my mind started to race. Holy shit. What happened? I'm sad. I need some closure. This vague comment isn't enough. I'm going to order a stuffed crust pizza from Pizza Hut and eat the entire pizza. And then I woke up. So that's why I promise, if I ever die, I'll have someone leave a more detailed comment about my death. Maybe even a picture. Because Blogspot is 4ever.

What does this all mean? I'm not dead or dying. But I have been sick with something a little more than a cold and a lot less than the HIV. In all honesty, my insides might be melting. Also, my TV show is almost in edit (which means CRAZINESS!!!), the computer is sucking my will to live (see Electric Dreams) and the fact that I'm on drugs and STILL can't drink caffeine makes me very BLECH. So if I disappear for a while, those are the reasons. Good news: I had my first CAT scan ever today and made a Total Recall joke to the lady who pushed the button.

"If I am not me, den who da hell am I?" I said.

I don't think she got the reference.

But this dog in a hat did.

Because he loves that movie.

p.s. Hilary Duff isn't even trying anymore.

Facts about my Christmas tree (my first real honest to goodness one in over 7 years)

1) It's got blue balls.

2) It's got butterflies on it. Not my doing, but hey. Whatever.

2b) In my mind, those butterflies are mean as all hell. And they'll kick you in the face and cuss at you if you try to laugh at them.

3) Since the stand is all screwed up, a Harry Potter book (one of the unreasonably long ones) is holding up the tree from falling through the wall and, perhaps, into my neighbor's bathroom. Thank you, Harry Potter.

4) Its name, like everything inanimate in my apartment, is Steve.

5) It's about 7 foot tall. Yes, it can dunk.

6) Its lights blink really really fast and give me seizures.

Merry Xmas tree to all!

There ya go, Los Angeles.

If you want to take care of your poop like Paris Hilton takes care of her poop, Total Health Connection is the place. And if you mention during your 1st visit that you came after seeing this pic of Paris coming out of the office recently, they might give you something free. Like a toothbrush. Because that's what enemas do to you. They make you want to brush your teeth. Okay, I admit. I have no idea. But I do feel icky.

Coincidence of the day:
Paris gets enema ==> Gets brown-nosed by record execs, cousin Perez

Except for when it's as freaky as what just happened to me. I was in our office floor's restroom doing my business when some random dude I've never seen before sidles up to the urinal two down from me. About five seconds in, he lets out the most ginormous fart I've ever heard inside a public restroom. Very gross, kinda wet sounding, but with intensity. Truth be told, I hadn't heard something this grotesque coming out of stalls. And this was standing up at a urinal.

So what did I do? I tried my best not to laugh. But the fact that you don't normally hear dudes tearing ass cheeks while they're standing up at the urinal (unless you're at the trough at a football game) made me lose it. And as I did, I looked sideways (breaking the unspoken dude rule of eyes straight ahead) and, I guess, gave him the WTF glance. Scariest thing? He looked like T Bag from "Prison Break." And what did he do? He stopped, zipped up and pointed at me as he was walking away. "Merry Christmas," he said. And he didn't wash his hands on the way out.

I will be 70 telling this story to my grandkids some day. I just know it.

p.s. Another dog wearing a hat. Xmas, this time.

Without the above photo, the following entry by Izabel into her journal for the "Victoria's Secret Fashion Show" would have been ultra boring.

Shower
I woke up around 8am and took a shower. I said a prayer, thanking God and blessing him. I feel so lucky to be here, I almost have to pinch myself. It's hard to believe.

See? It's all about context. A sad story about how a beautiful supermodel pinches herself because she's lucky to take showers every day is only made more real, more touching and -dare i say - more sensual by the pictures of herself taking said shower. And she wrote "hard." Also good. Since the company Xmas party is tonight (see Open Bar), I'm Tivo-ing this along with "A Charlie Brown Christmas." God bless American television.

Meet "Steve" and "Tyrone." This picture has made me laugh at least a dozen times since someone sent me it yesterday afternoon. Again, with context, you could infer that Steve just won and Tyrone lost. So, to defend his honor, Tyrone flexed until he exploded his innards all over Steve's face. Or maybe they both won in a doubles competition and they're just ultra excited to get back to the hotel and take a candlelit bath together. We just don't know.

The media says this is a new kind of mammal found in Borneo. I say it looks more like a hairless cat with its head stuck in the ground. That Borneo Tourism Board is going to have to work a little harder than this.

And here's some dogs with Christmas hats on. Just for "Mark."

Yes. It's the finals of the 2005 Urbs. Through the miraculous use of the internet (okay, I hit up the local nursing homes...they like "pinchable cheeks"...sue me!!), I am up for three MAJOR AWARDS!!!

1. World's Hottest Urban Blogger
2. World's Most Inane Urban Blog Post
3. World's Best Urban Blog

I've got some pretty stiff competition in every category, but I think I can pull out a W or two. Number one, yes, I could feasibly send Gridskipper a picture of myself for the Hottest Urban Blogger category. Anyone who's met me in person knows I'm not a friggin' troll or anything. Or, at least, not an ugly troll. BUT...wouldn't it be so so much awesome-er if I won with a pic of a blowup sex doll (my ex-cubiclemate Franschesca) representing me. Come on. Really. Number two, everyone hates The Gangs Of Souplantation post. Help me make it a legend of hatred. Please. Number three, if Gothamist wins for Best Urban Blog, the terrorists win. They actually sent me an email detailing this. So, I'm just saying. Vote for me. It's a vote for nonterrorism. And bunnies and puppies and rainbows that never end (which are things terrorists really really hate). They told me all of that too.

VOTE HERE

Also, vote for these fine blogs/blogesses:
Art.blogging.la = World's Best Urban Arts Blog
Girlspoke = World's Best Urban Sex Blog
Overeducated & Underemployed = Best Los Angeles Blog

What other reason could there be for this random dude to be wearing my grandmother's sweater? It's waaay too small for him. And that shirt she's wearing looks like my grandfather's hunting shirt. If only one of them were holding a can of Ensure, this would be like a geriatric Freaky Friday. Yep, my grandparents are both going to be majorly pissed once they see this. Not because they're missing the clothes that Lohan evidently stole through some kind of California to NC portal. Trust me. They'll live. But because they're really trendy and she's probably going to try to take all the "grandma sweater/grandpa flannel is new black" credit. She's crafty, I tell you. Crafty.

Holy crap. I know I was a day late on seeing the newest episode of what is undoubtedly one of the top 3 shows on TV (behind "24" and "Lost"), but daaaayum. The last couple of episodes have been, you know, so-so. But Tuesday night's entry might have been the best hour of TV this year. No doubt. The double-shot (or could it be just a single??) of villainry from the Carver and Quentin Costa must be commended. And adding Brittany Snow as a racist girlfriend to Matt? Very uh huh. If you're not watching it, you're missing out.

p.s. This entry was specifically written just to be sounding board on who the damn Carver is. Let's track this dude/chick down, CSI-stizz.