litelysalted

I've Moved...

2008-07-30T15:38:00.000-07:00

Well, not really. Same domain, different host. If you're reading this, update your feed/links to litelysalted.com.

I am Pathetic

2008-07-28T12:05:00.000-07:00

So much for my moratorium on wasteful spending. I just returned from the PetSmart where I purchased:

• Bag of Science Diet OralCare food nuggets. ($13)
• Three plastic frisbees @ $1 each. ($3)
• Checkout donation to animal shelter. ($1)
• Stuffed toy from my favorite PetSmart commercial (above). ($10)

Not that I mind spending money on my dogs, but they're just as happy with stuffed toys from the dollar store as expensive PetSmart brand toys. It is a really, really cute fucking dog toy, though. You have to admit. Come on!

This Made My Day

2008-07-28T10:13:00.001-07:00

From Prisco's 2008 Comic-Con coverage:

Derek Mears plays Jason, and he’s a huge dude, but very well-spoken and seemingly nice. Of course, I just saw him impale a guy on a busted up cop car, and come rampaging out of the woods about to split a chick’s head with the machete. Jason isn’t a lumbering stalker in this one, he’s fast, and menacing, and violent. Whatever. And for Stacey, Jared Padalecki is a charming motherfucker. He was totally hilarious, and easily the only worthwhile part of the panel. Not enough to make me watch “Supernatural,” but still, he’s pretty cool.

Almost as good as a reader who last year sent me pictures of Jensen Ackles from the "Supernatural" panel. I think I'm starting to be famous purely for my love of all things Jared and Jensen. Which would be cool except that I'm almost 31. Ah well. And don't forget: J-Pad is also an animal lover. See? Obvs an all-around awesome dude.

Just Hook it to my Veins

2008-07-27T11:09:00.000-07:00

I finally did it. I broke down to the peer pressure from the internet, TV, Prisco, Beckylooo and the rest of the universe, decided to get an iPhone. I stopped at the mall on my way to the gym this morning and ordered it. Later during my workout, the immediate vicinity around my gym was hit with a lightning and hail producing thunderstorm of apocalyptic proportions, and I decided that it was God punishing me for buying the iPhone. (Which is silly, of course, because I don't believe in God!)

I made the decision on a whim, which is how I make all of my important, life-altering decisions. For the longest time I've resisted in going for a smart phone, for two reasons. One being that the times I'm not actually sitting in front of a computer are so few, that I cherish my personal time -- and two being that I didn't want to pay an extra $30 on my phone bill a month for the privilege of losing said personal time and completely succumbing to technology. However, after arriving home from my recent vacation to find over 200 emails in my inbox, I started getting the itch. Still, I was considering a cheaper model. But Blackberrys are ugly, and after perusing the Palm Centros at Best Buy yesterday, I decided that I didn't like the keypad and that the screen was too small. So it only made sense: I should get an iPhone. Right?

The logic is thusly. I'm usually a pretty frugal spender, but lately I have been completely irresponsible with money. Literally, here is an itemized report of money I've thrown down the toilet (or at least, spent very, very carelessly) in the past month or so:

• $50 in late fees for my J. Crew card. (Really? They do that for being one day late? Live and learn.)
• $200 on five new summer dresses. (I got good deals on them, but yeah: Five.)
• $65 on getting my keys out of my car. (See recent.)
• $17 on a glass vase shaped like a bird. (Purchase fueled by a half bottle of wine consumed at an expensive crepe restaurant down the street from store vase acquired from.)
• $30 on ill-fitting Pittsburg, NH souvenir sweatshirt that came down to my knees on vacation after leaving my favorite red hoodie at home. (Although I ended up giving that to Dustin, only slightly used and covered in dog hair, so it wasn't a total loss.)
• $20 on finger puppets. (Yeah, I don't really have an excuse/explanation for this one.)
• $2 on a bottle of water at the gym today. (Because I left my reusable one in the freezer at home, two strikes for being bad for the environment.)

So why exactly does blowing $384 (not even counting what I consider to be justified purchases like a new kayak and camera) constitute that I should spend another $200+ on an iPhone? Well, if I have a new iPhone, I'll most likely feel somewhat guilty about the purchase. This means I can whip it out and admire it lovingly whenever I get the urge to blow my self-made tuna sandwich for lunch at the local Mediterranean restaurant, or buy an extra half dozen bottles of wine that I like just because it's on sale for like a dollar off. See? My logic is astounding! Aside from the sweet GPS and internet at your fingertips, buyer guilt is one of the less publicized features of owning your very own iPhone.

Plus? I've had the same pink Razr for almost three years now, and I actually spent the same amount on that as I did on the new iPhone. And you know what? They've been giving away pink Razrs for about two of those years, making me feel like a stupid chump. Fuck that. At least I know that Steve Jobs is too much of a greedface to ever give away anything for free. (Although if they come out with pink ones in the next year, and they probably will, I'll be pissed.) So as I walked out of the mall today, texting Mr. Salty on that pink Razr and knowing it was one of the last times I would ever feel totally lame texting from a pink Razr in public, I did feel pret-ty damn good.

I Has a Bucket

2008-07-25T05:33:00.000-07:00

I was drinking a big cup of water when I opened this and it made water go up into my nose. True story.

(Source)

Sixty-five Bucks

2008-07-23T09:18:00.000-07:00

Well, it finally happened: I locked my damn keys in the car. I lost my original set of car keys about four or five years ago in some kind of black hole which appeared in my house just long enough to eat them as I was running late for a doctors appointment. To this day, they've never been heard from again. So I've been using my spare key/keyless entry fob, and every year or so, I think to myself, "I should really make a copy." And of course, I never do because I'm lazy.

Last night I was again running late for an appointment -- this time with my hair stylist -- and I jumped out of my car at the salon, grabbed my purse, grabbed my cellphone, smacked the lock button on the door and slammed it, only to realize at the exact moment the door was slamming that my keys were still danging in the ignition. Fuck!

I don't know what was ultimately more degrading: having to shell out the biggest waste of $65 for the whole three minutes it took the locksmith to open my car door; or having to do so wearing hot pink capris and a button-down shirt with cherries on it, which is a cute outfit for a young looking 30-year-old to be wearing... Unless this 30-year-old had just had her hair cut and styled into a teased bouffant, (I don't know why she still insists on doing that, dammit) in which case, made me look like a young old lady-girl named "Flo."

Research Fail

2008-07-11T07:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was responding to a commenter over on Webster's, and basically the long and short of it is that the commenter expressed for her wish for Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag to shoot one another with their newly acquired firearms. I started to respond, saying that if it didn't happen, I was going to seriously consider disowning the concept of "ironic foreshadowing." Then I paused for a moment, stopping to consider whether or not "ironic foreshadowing" was an actual concept in itself. So naturally, not wanting to look stupid in front of my readers, I did a perfunctory google search which yielded this result. Hmmm. I'm seriously reconsidering how much I stock I take in the google research I do in the course of my blogging.

Also, for as sophisticatedly funny as I (try to) come off on the internet, this is secretly the kind of thing that makes me laugh. Oops, secret fail.

All By Myself

2008-07-02T18:04:00.000-07:00

So maybe this doesn't seem very impressive... But if you successfully parallel-parked for the first time ever at age 30, you'd be damn sure to capture it for posterity, too.

What the Hell is Wrong with Pink? Dammit.

2008-06-14T17:24:00.000-07:00

Mr. Salty and I were driving home from getting milkshakes at our favorite dessert cafe earlier this evening when he asked me: "If you could have any color car in the world, what would it be?" Without skipping a beat, I said "pink." He snaps back, "You didn't even think about it!" So I did, for a moment. "No, pink. But like a cool pink, like the berry pink of the wall of my office." And he said, "Well what if you had to factor in that I might have to drive it sometimes?" to which I immediately responded, "Ain't my problem!" And then he said, "You know, you'd never be able to sell a pink car." (Don't you love how this imaginary scenario has so many stipulations to it?) But I was like, "If I had a pink car, why the hell would I ever want to get rid of it?!"

But then I got thinking about it. Of course you could sell a pink car. If there's one thing us bitches love, it's shit that comes in pink. And given the supply (nonexistent) as compared to the demand (at the very least, moderate) not only would one be able to sell a pink car, but -- now think about this -- if just like one car company came out with a model in pink, there would be a feeding frenzy. Come on! Picture something hip, fun and sporty -- like a VW Bug, Mini or Smart; or even something on the economy side like a Honda Fit or a Toyota Yaris? There would be a waiting list out the ass. Remember when Motorola came out with the pink RAZR? Let me tell you, it was completely redonkulous. It took me like two months to get my hands on one of them, and I paid almost $200 for it. Of course, now every damn phone comes in pink, and they give RAZRs away for free with a two year contract.

The fact that car companies refuse to take cues like this under their wing makes it apparent to me that these car companies are obviously run by men, who are forcing us women to live by their patriarchal standards of what a car should look like. (Yeah! How 'bout it, feministing?) And I, for one, am officially calling bullshit-anigans on this. Hear me, car companies? Bullshit-anigans!!

(Note: Header image custom paint job I acquired via internet.)

Post-Holiday Weekend Male Enhancement Spam

2008-05-27T05:41:00.000-07:00

I'm totally confused by the quotation and underlining usage in this one.

NO NO NO! Even Better!!

2008-05-22T05:38:00.000-07:00

WHAY THEY ARE SO HAPPY?

BECOURSE THE HAVE NO PROBLEM IN SEXUAL LIFE!!!

Best Spam Ever

2008-05-21T06:49:00.000-07:00

FOGET YOUR SEXUAL PROBLEM!

My Sister is Gonna Be On Oprah!

2008-04-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

So, my awesome sister Beth does volunteer work with the non-profit organization Main Line Animal Rescue. The organization's founder Bill Smith, who won the ASPCA lifetime achievement award in 2007, recently went on a crusade to get Oprah to do a show on puppy mills (since she's always bibbedy-blabbing about her dogs and such) by erecting a billboard outside of Harpo Studios pleading for her cooperation. Well, it worked and Friday's show will feature Smith, as well as pre-taped segments from the MLAR facility which Beth will more than likely be appearing in. Anyway, despite my excitement over the sis being on TV, it's a really good cause, so check it out. I'm breaking my lifelong streak of "never having voluntarily watched an Oprah" to do so.

Oh yeah, and Oprah is dedicating the show to her dead cocker spaniel. Oh, fuck you Oprah. But anyway, still watch.

My 10 Favorite Things About the Rocky's Pizza Menu:

2008-03-30T14:04:00.001-07:00

(Click to enlarge)

1. Where the celebrities go for their pizza? False!

2. Okay, so maybe some "celebrities" have been there, on occasion, for PR or photo ops or whathaveit. But I've never even heard of Reno Mahe. He must be like one of those football players who only plays when someone important gets hurt.

3. Yeah! Make me a pizza, bitch!

4. Italian stereotypes = awesome.

5. I can't put my finger on why a movie about a sweaty, beat-to-shit boxer inspired Italian cuisine. But clearly someone thought it was a good idea.

6. They're not even "Oley Famous." One step at a time, Rocky's Pizza.

7. This is a picture of Philadelphia. Because they're practically located in Philly -- you know, give or take 50 miles.

8. Okay, this is a pretty sweet deal. I'll give them that.

9. (On back of menu) The "Yo Adrian" pizza contains ground beef, bacon, cheddar, hot sauce, jalepenos, ranch and mozzarella. This sounds disgusting. I don't think Judge Dredd would eat this pizza, much less somebody training for athletic competition.

10. Fuhgettaboudit!! Still awesome!

Open Letter to People Who Bring Kids to Wineries:

2008-03-30T13:59:00.000-07:00

Fuck you. No really, fuck you. Oh, and your kids are jerks.

Oh, Puke.

2008-03-27T06:07:00.000-07:00

When the Mister and I built out house, we did bamboo hardwood floors throughout the entire place, except for the master bedroom, which we decked out in wall-to-wall, speckled white berber carpeting. We've been moved in since mid-October, and I've been biding my time. I knew it was only a matter of when one of my wonderful little barfbag puke monsters would unload a steaming pile of half-digested kibble on our beloved carpet. And that day finally has come. I was getting ready for work, blow-drying my hair with the Violent Femmes blasting, and didn't even hear the preliminary hurl noises. Instead, when I finally peeked out of the master bath, I saw my Australian Shepherd, Sophie, guiltily cowering over a fricking enormous pile of brownish-pink vomit in a pool of yellow liquid, already saturated into the carpet. That's always fun to see when you're trying to get out the door in the morning. But anyway, for whatever reason it's so far never even occurred to me to purchase carpet stain cleaner. Suggestions, anyone?

Good Gravy

2008-03-17T07:17:00.000-07:00

About a year ago, I blogged about cutting a friend loose. In the initial post I didn't get into specifics, but in the comments section I elaborated the following, to try to give some insight into the situation:

Me: I'm building a house! From scratch. Mr. Salted and I designed it ourselves, and we're really excited and proud of it.

Her: Well, let me tell you for the 40th time about my fabulous apartment! It's totally better than your house because it's within walking distance to the mall! Which is better than the mall near you, by the way.

Me: I live down a backroad, on a private wooded lot, I don't even like malls and I do all my shopping online.

Her: Yeah. It has, like, 200 more stores than your mall. You would love it. By the way, would you like to hear again how much money my boyfriend makes? Next week I'm probably going to dump him for a nightclub security guard, but when I take him back again because he misses me so much, I'll have to make sure I update you on his salary when that time comes.

So imagine my complete and utter shock -- shock!! -- to find out that this friend (which, update: dumping unsuccessful!) exists in Saturday Day Night Live recurring character form. Wow. Just, wow. This is pretty much her, to a T. Not even really an exaggeration. Can you imagine why I'd ever want out of this?

Search Engine Fun!

2008-02-19T13:25:00.000-08:00

Like Dan and John, I decided to give you guys a glimpse into what draws people to my little corner on the internets, despite that I barely have time to keep up with it anymore. I'm not making any of this up whatsoever:

cartoon mouse fucking cheese
audio of timothy treadwell and his girlfriend being eaten by bears
stinking happy time
power rangers incest
bret michaels going bald pictures
american gladiator theme song
i hate everything syndrome
ghostbusters molester scene
mother and i fucking in the swimming pool
Dustin Diamond dildo
skinniest feet
lickey boom boom down
fucking girls even though you have warts on your feet
pedigree dog food commercial: too sexy
johnny damon talks weird

Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds

2008-02-04T05:52:00.000-08:00

Oh, yes. I did. Click here for the review.

I Hate Everything

2008-01-30T06:37:00.000-08:00

My hometown of Phoenixville, PA has seen a ton of economic growth in the past five years or so, mostly unsurprising and inevitable for a suburb outside of Philadelphia. Some of it's been bad, as in the strip malls which are popping up left and right, and some good -- as in the historic downtown area seeing a complete restoration and resurgence.

However, the fate of two landmarks: the Vale-Rio diner and the historic Fountain Inn, have been hanging in the balance for some time now. There were rumors the properties were going to be sold to developers, protests and town meetings to address such rumors, zoning issues, etc. But it looks like the diner and bar/restaurant are finally closing their doors to make way for a -- wait for it -- Starfucks and Walgreens.

Although I don't live in Phoenixville anymore the Fountain Inn (a.k.a the Lazy Dog Saloon) is my favorite watering hole when I go back to visit friends. They fill your wine all the way to the top of the oversized wine glass and it costs like three dollars. (And sometimes if you're really lucky, there'll even be a dead body in the parking lot!) Not to mention the diner which was a staple growing up, and also featured in the camp horror movie The Blob.

The whole thing just makes me really sad. And frustrated. And powerless. The diner, especially, is kind of like the heart of the town, and means so much to so many. The level of greed and callousness is just mind boggling. And this is exactly why I live out in the country, and plan on moving further out if development warrants.

Bleh. Sorry for the depressing post. I promise, more funny next time.

Life Sucks and Then You Die

2008-01-29T12:10:00.000-08:00

My first totally serious, non-cracking jokefest review of the AMC series "Breaking Bad" is up at Pajiba. Good lord is this show intense. Check it here.

Who's the Biggest Idiot?

2008-01-25T13:12:00.000-08:00

If I told you that I got tricked by a spammer to post a link to a "penile enhancement" website on my gossip site, would you think I am just a run of the mill idiot; or like the biggest idiot in the whole wide world?

Ohhhkay, biggest idiot in the whole wide world, then? Yes?

I have to admit, it was pretty brilliant. Somehow the spammers are getting smarter, like terminators or those super smart dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. This is what I got in my email this morning:

Hey,
My husband and I are a big fan of your site, even though he hates to admit it :) . Recently he did reveal his true gossip queen side. He showed me an interesting thing he found on a site that he asked me to confirm. The site is called link purposely omitted and it has britney's paparazzi boyfriend adnan as one of its product reviewers. Maybe this was something that he was doing on the side before he got all the media attention? I always thought that he was a sell-out, but this is going to a whole new level. Was he or is he still really a test monkey for a male enhancement review site? I wonder how much they paid him? Is there any way that you can verify wether it is true or not?

Here is the link to where his info is:
(link purposely omitted)

I know you have a lot of e-mails to reply to, but please let me know if you find out anything more about this

P.S.- My husband was really excited when he found out that I was going to email you about this because he feels like he is contributing to the gossip community.

Thanks.
Mary & John

So before I could even contemplate the validity of said prospect, I already was crackin' away, with visions of Us Weekly and TMZ and widespread exposure dancing in my head, announcing to the world, "Webster's Is My Bitch was first to break the story..."

Sigh.

Better luck next time.

Kibbles and Bits

2008-01-18T09:10:00.000-08:00

I've let you all down. At a month and a half, this is the longest I've ever let the blog sit idle. Maybe I'll make this my half assed, late to the party New Year's resolution to update at least once a week.

So here's some random things that have been going on with me in the past month and a half.

Twin Peaks
Mr. Salty is a huge David Lynch fan. Me? Not so much. His films, while visually interesting, frustrate the living shit out of me to the point where I want to hurl the remote out the window. However, since I am since I am a television fan I decided to sit down and watch "Twin Peaks" on DVD, after picking up the second season for Mr. Salty for his birthday late last year.

And you know what? I fucking loved it. We watched -- no, inhaled -- the entire series all the way through between Christmas and New Years. Between the quirky, soap-opera'ey storylines, creepy-ass mystery, fantastic characters, (Agent Cooper, Leland Palmer) retarded characters to make fun of (Stupid James and Leo) -- it was like someone took little pieces of everything I love about television and crammed it into one series. I briefly considered doing a comprehensive series review for Pajiba but ultimately couldn't collect my thoughts adequately enough. I was a little miffed about the finale, though. Although I won't get into in detail since I know at least one person out there in the process of watching the series -- I will say I understand and appreciate it, but personally didn't care for it much. Thoughts?

Exer-ma-cising
Attempting to get back into some kind of respectable shape as well as motivation to get my damn ass to the gym in the first place -- I started working out with a personal trainer once a week. In addition to training with him on the weekend, I also follow a circuit training schedule he developed for me on 2-3 days a week. So far it's been working out swimmingly, despite frequently missing sessions due to inclement weather, Christmas-a-palooza, and one long weekend of an ass-exploding stomach bug. I've been lifting weights and strength training for over two years now, but it's amazing the difference it makes when you, y'know, do it the right way.

The Fucking McNuggets Commercial
This commercial has been the bane of my existence for the past several weeks. It makes me dread turning on the TV at night. I guess the story goes -- and fuck you, I'm not doing research so if I have this wrong than so be it -- but I guess these two asshats uploaded this rap they invented on YouTube and now McDonalds is torturing the masses with it. So, good job on that, marketing fuckwits. I just hope the good people at Yoohoo don't ever decided to hire Tay Zonday or we're all doomed.

So that's about it, in a nutshell. And if I can't keep my promise hopefully that'll hold y'all off for awhile.

Fa la la la lahhh! french vanilla!

2007-12-03T07:43:00.000-08:00

One thing I love about the holidays is how advertisers really jack up those stupidity levels. It's like they save up all year, by just being moderately stupid -- and then pull out the big guns for the clusterfuck of rampant consumerism. However, it seems like every year there's always one standout holiday commercial that especially makes me want to put my fist through the TV, and this year the crown goes to Lowe's.

I couldn't find a clip of this anywhere, because for some reason the kids aren't in much of a hurry to upload Lowe's commercials to YouTube. But the premise is such: Doofy white male goes to Lowe's to buy his wife a Christmas gift. Okay, unless your wife is Rosie the Riveter, this is probably a bad idea right out of the gate. And because men are apparently so stupid they can't be trusted with the simplest task of finding their lifelong partner a suitable gift, hilarity ensues when Doof accosts an attractive blonde Lowe's employee to pose as his wife and help him pick something out. Being that it is Lowe's after all, he predictably picks out the usual assortment of tools and lawnmowers that his wife obviously wouldn't want, only to finally happen upon a rack of giftcards which gets a big smile and thumbs up from employee-wife.

This commercial is just so wrong on so many levels. First of all, giving someone a giftcard is usually a big helping of "I don't care enough to put thought into this gift" or "I don't know you well enough to find a satisfactory gift." Be that as it may, it's a perfectly acceptable thing to give almost anyone with the exception of your spouse. Second of all, if you're a big enough schmuck to give your wife a giftcard, I would hope to hell you could think of someplace better than a goddamn home improvement store. So Lowe's, my hat's off to you -- thanks for pushing the idiotic envelope.

And now -- and I say this without a trace of irony -- my all time favorite holiday commercial: French Vanilla Cool Whip. Don't miss the last 3 seconds, I promise, it's worth the wait.

LOL DOGS: Too Much Turkey Edition

2007-11-26T05:56:00.000-08:00

Fun Facts About Your Web Mistress

2007-11-06T17:02:00.000-08:00

I wasn't invited to play, and I don't think anyone reads this stupid website anymore -- but fuck it. Here are seven ~~fun~~ facts about yours truly.

1. I didn't learn to drive until I was 23 years old.
I have about a million excuses for this, but not a single good one.

2. I have been involved in four motor vehicle accidents since the age of 23.
Only one of them completely wasn't my fault at all. See? I always knew I wouldn't be good at driving.

3. I was born pigeon-toed.
I think I may have covered this once before. My parents wanted to have my legs surgically corrected, but I guess the doctor talked them out of it on account of the cruelty and all. This was later self-corrected after the hellish two years of Jr. High took their toll on my self esteem.

4. I watched Vice Versa starring Fred Savage and Judge Reinhold this weekend.
That's right. I watched it, because I love it -- so go fuck yourselves, you elitist barfbags.

5. I pierced my ears 13 times in high school.
Except for the first two on each side, I did all the rest myself. Because I was and always will be punk as fuck. Also? Stupid as fuck -- because as a result I have horrible scarring all up and down my ears as an adult.

6. I am almost legally blind.
Bet you guys didn't know what a freakshow I was, huh? Contact lens prescription: -7.50 (left) and -8.0 (right). Someday I plan in getting lasik but knowing my luck my vision will continue going downhill.

7. My sister and Mr. Salty's brother are married.
Yessss, incest, gloooorious incest. Well, not really. Anyway, this is a fact that never fails to fascinate people, so I thought I'd include it. Yes we come from a small town.

Ask Ms. Salty 11/05/07

2007-11-06T08:00:00.000-08:00

I would like to apologize once again, for the lateness of this edition of Ask Ms. Salty. The thing of it is, this column has been a rather spectacular failure due to both lack of reader and author participation. If anyone out there would still like to send in questions, by all means. Eventually I'll get around to answering them, but due to other projects which have recently found me -- it just might take me a little while.

Dear Ms Salty,

I'm having what can only be described as "issues" with a couple of women that I work with. Neither work with me directly, although I do end up seeing them both on an almost daily basis. The problem I have is this both of them seem unable to help themselves when it comes to butting into my life with completely unsolicited advice, and not just advice but criticism. The first takes issue generally with "health" issues - what I'm eating, how much exercise I'm doing etc. I have the added problem that she is married to my line manager so turning around and snapping at her is not really an answer here. The second is a girl that I see socially fairly often as well as at work. Her level of interest seems to fall into the category of my "love life", rather than snide remarks her tactic is to physically drag me out of a conversation to reprimand my behaviour (talking to someone I once slept with and with whom I remain friends - my God!) or to rather loudly warn me to be careful around someone who is horrifyingly still in ear shot.

I am aware that compared to both of these women I may be considered relatively young - they are both only about six years my senior - but surely as a grown woman I should be exempt from any mothering instincts they have? The bitch in me is a little put out at not being able to snap back at women who are criticising areas of my life that aren't too good in their own either. Any suggestions on how to deal with them without a) putting me in a negative light with my boss and b) ostracising myself from my work social circle?

Signed

About to Snap

Dear About to Snap,

Nosy work bitches, eh? Unfortunately, as a young woman entering the workforce, it's more likely than not that you're going to be subjected to that sort of thing. But mothering instincts?? I sure as hell hope that's your words, not theirs. There should be no kind of mothering fuckery going on in the instance of a six year age difference. Hell, that's just creepy.

At any rate, to answer your question. I've got some experience with sort of thing myself, so here's what I've learned to do. Convince these women that you're a total fuck up -- just a complete lost cause -- and I think you'll find it alleviates some of the pressure. For example, when I started my last job, it was a small office environment with a few "mother hen" types. Perfectly nice ladies, but me being a late 20-something cohabiting with a man -- it was only a matter of time before they started with the inevitable breeding queries. Now I don't ever plan on having kids -- ever -- which I made abundantly clear right from the get-go. Did it stop the questions? Of course not. So one day when one of them asked me, "Well, what if it just happens and it's an accident?" I think I responded along the lines of "No baby will ever come out of these loins if I have to reach up there and rip out that goddamn fetus with my cold dead hands."

Haven't heard a word about it since. Ladies at work getting up in your grill because you ate fast food for lunch? Loudly pretend to purge in the bathroom shortly afterwards. Nagging about your lovelife? tell 'em you fucked some guy you met at TGI Friday's and now you've got a rash "down there." It's amazing what "TMI" can do. You've just got to make those ladies see -- not only are you not any "fun" to give advice to, but you're just past the point of conceivable advising altogether. Hope that helps.

Adventures in Pomegranate

2007-11-05T16:38:00.000-08:00

Recently I read in the Fitness magazine which gets delivered to my home every month, that while you can get some of the nutritional benefits from drinking pomegranate juice -- there really is no substitute for eating the fruit itself. The short article was accompanied by a delicious looking split open pomegranate, which singlehandedly inspired me to grab a $2 pomegranate I noticed on a produce display while stopping by the grocery store on my way home from work earlier this evening.

Biggest two dollar mistake ever. As I tentatively approached the fruit, it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what the hell to do with it. I tried cutting it in half and eating it with a spoon like a grapefruit. Delicious, yes. However I soon realized, one white t-shirt later, that what the article had failed to mention was that one attempting to eat pomegranate ought to wear some sort of smock or protective clothing much like an eight year old attending elementary school art class. I ended up cutting it like an orange, juice squirting out like a geyser, and eating it over the sink with reddish-purple juice dripping down my face and hands onto a -- now completely stained -- pair of Victoria's Secret flannel pajamas. And that was only half it. I conceded defeat and put the other half back into the refrigerator, presumably where it will stay for the next two or three weeks until I throw the rotting carcass into the trash.

So yeah, while the fruit itself is undeniably tasty, from now on I'll enjoy pomegranate the way God intended -- in a $3 per 8 ounce glass bottle, thankyouverymuch.

Webster's is my Bitch

2007-10-30T06:12:00.000-07:00

I know you've all been wondering where the hell I've been lately, and what this big secret of mine was. Well, finally the cat is out of the bag. With the help of my Pajiba colleagues, I bring you: Webster's is my Bitch -- hands down the best damn S&M/dictionary themed gossip site on the entire internet! Please visit and tell your friends and have your friends tell their friends and so on.

I promise we'll make it worth your while!

Email Transcript of the Day

2007-10-25T11:12:00.000-07:00

Me: GODDAMMIT. Someone take the internet away from Dad.

Sis: Haha I actually got the Halloween pets email from Thedy before and sent it out to a couple people. The fwds today could have been worse, for sure...

Me: I know. I got the Halloween Pets one, and I was like okay, I can see this. But the second one, now he's just being ridiculous.

Sis: I consider myself lucky every time I open one that doesn't say something like, "If you send this to 10 people, you'll get your wish!!"

Me: Good point. I guess when it comes down to it, neither of these made me totally question if I was the product of an extraterrestrial genetics experiment.

Sis: Yeah...c'mon...who doesn't love puppies?? Evil people, that's who.

LS + WC = BFF

2007-10-13T06:33:00.000-07:00

Squee!

Faithful Pajiba readers are probably by now familiar with me singing the praises of ~~Winnie Cooper~~ Danica McKellar -- and so as one may imagine, I was beyond thrilled to get the opportunity to listen to her speak and subsequently meet the woman herself, when she came to speak at the local University (which happens to be my alma mater) Friday evening. I've never been starstruck before, but I have to admit when it was my turn to go have my book signed I felt a little like Ralphie in A Christmas Story. Some words spilled out of my mouth about how I write for a pop culture site and how much the readers all love her, and what an awesome person she is -- and she told me my sweater was cute and graciously thanked me for writing about her.

If I thought Danica was an amazing person before, my adoration has increased at least ten fold. I grew up with "The Wonder Years" and even today it remains as one of my all time favorite shows of all time, which is saying a lot coming from a total TV junkie/critic like myself. In the past decade or so, I've loosely followed her career, both in academics and acting, and have always admired her for the path she's chosen. But listening to her speak really drilled home what a warm and caring person she is. Maybe math isn't my, er, forte -- but hearing her speak about it so impassioned was refreshing. Both the president of the University and the professor who put the event together both emphasized just how darn nice she is -- and I was blown away with the same impression. During the Q&A session she cordially and thoughtfully answered both serious questions about the education system and questions about her television career with the equal amounts good humor and heartfelt honesty. When someone went so far as to ask her why Kevin and Winnie didn't end up together, at first she talked about the writers were maybe trying to capture the bittersweet nature of the show, and then laughed and said, "I don't know -- I didn't write it! I would've had them end up together, though."

So yeah, I got to meet one of my idols, and it was awesome.

Sometimes I Even Surprise Myself

2007-10-12T12:50:00.000-07:00

Just so you guys know -- today might be my last day contributing over at Yeeeah! I may be back for a day next week, but I'm uncertain yet. But just in case today was my last day, I just want everyone to know it's wasn't because I may or may not have made remarks to the extent that Heather Mills is a "legless piece of shit." Or that I allegedly called her names such as Stumpy McShitface and PegLeg the Gold Digging Skank.

No -- my leaving Yeeeah! is completely amicable, and also for super secret reasons I cannot divulge quite yet. (But trust me -- it's gonna be good!)

Midgets, Manskanks and Thugs -- Oh my!

2007-10-10T11:25:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is folks. The pièce de résistance of my career -- my enthralling review of "I Love New York 2."

Spoiler alert! This season New York has 18% more fake body parts. Just turn your brain off and let it wash on over.

Crazy Magnet

2007-10-08T06:20:00.000-07:00

So there's a new crazy person at my gym. Well, I shouldn't say "new" as if to indicate that there was at some point an "old" crazy person at the gym. The Gold's Gym I go to tends to draw the more serious athletic types -- which made it even more surreal to see this guy meandering around while weight training Sunday morning. He was an older fellow -- I'd have to guess in his 50's -- and kind of disheveled with balding messy hair and an unkempt beard, in kind of a Bill Murray way, only if Bill Murray wasn't rich an eccentric but just some regular old poor weirdo. But it was the was how he was dressed that fully caught my attention. This man was wearing, to the Gold's Gym: bright blue pajama pants with ice cream cones and popsicles on them, a coordinating plain blue T-shirt, blue flannel shirt, (worn open over the T-shirt) a pair of red crocs with gym socks underneath, and wrap around silver shades with mirrored lenses. I am not making this up or exaggerating in any way whatsoever. Naturally, I was instantaneously amused and fascinated by this man, and climbed up to the assisted chin-up machine located conveniently in the middle of the gym floor, as to better observe my specimen.

I stayed there for about 10 minutes, doing about twice as many sets of chin-ups and dips as usual, watching him circulate around the leg and ab machines before I grew bored of my game and decided to call it a day. In the locker room on my way out, I ran into a woman named Mary -- a tiny, 5'2 female bodybuilder covered completely head to toe in tattoos whom I've become friendly with -- and we gossiped and giggled over the freak of the gym. We walked out together, and were still chatting about Cap'n Pajamas as she followed me to my car parked right out front -- at which point we both became distracted by the fact that someone with an identical car as mine had parked right next to me. Now, I drive kind of a noticeable vehicle: a bright blue (Malibu blue, to be precise) Ford Focus hatchback. This car was the exact same car -- same year, make, model and color. The only differences were that mine had a skull and crossbones vanity plate on the front and a custom stereo system inside. I laughed and said, "Oh, how funny! I bet she parked there on purpose. Or, I assume it's a 'she' anyway, since this is kind of a girly looking car..."

No sooner had the words come out of my mouth, Cap'n Pajamas exited from the building. And of course, I don't need to tell you where he was headed, right? Because how else could the comedic tragedy of my life unfold if the crazy man didn't have the same car as me? At this point, I already had my door open and had put my stuff down on my passenger seat, so there was no masking the fact that this was, in fact, my car. As he entered the vehicle, staring at us both, my voice wobbled as I tried to make some bullshit conversation about training or whatever as my cheeks blazed red and Mary stifled a laugh. So Cap'n Pajamas gets in his car, rolls down the windows all the way, cranks some crazy dance or disco music -- and proceeded to pull around in a circle in the parking lot, stopping about 15-20 feet away from us. Then he just sat there, (very conspicuously, what with the music blasting and all) watching us from his open window for a minute or two -- probably compiling whatever crazy data and mental notes in his head of the girl in the hot pink sports bra who had the same car as he did. What a turn of events! Suddenly the observer had become the observee.

After Cap'n Pajamas rolled off and I drove home, it suddenly occurred to me that I had met this man before. About a year ago, Mr. Salty and I were approaching the Saltymobile after leaving the Bed Bath and Beyond when some "retarded" guy came up to us to say that he liked our stereo system, and asked where we got it. (Mr. Salty customized it for me by powder coating the stereo console the same color as the exterior of the car, and found a mount for my iPod on ebay to connect to the stereo -- it's pretty bitchin', actually.) It was a little off-putting at the time, being that it was dark out, and the crazy man wouldn't have noticed the stereo unless he went up to the car and intentionally looked in the windows. I had completely forgotten about that -- but I bet Cap'n Pajamas didn't. So it looks like I may have made a have a new friend. Or admirer, or stalker, or potential future murderer. Actually, if you don't hear from me for a few days, you may wanna call the authorities.

Why Won't a Handsome Man Ever Make Smushy Monkey Kisses With Me?

2007-10-04T11:48:00.000-07:00

"Pushing Daisies" spoiler alert: loved it!

Stupid Sexy Duchovny!

2007-10-03T09:39:00.000-07:00

As some of you may have gathered -- when David Duchovny isn't busy being sexy in movies or having sex with loose women on his new television series -- he keeps himself occupied as spokesperson for Pedigree dog food. I have mixed feelings about these commercials. Now as much as I adore David Duchovny and dogs -- one thing I don't like is being manipulated and having my emotions toyed with. See for yourself:

Exhibit A: We See Love
This is a new spot I caught this morning. Aren't dogs wonderful? They are such perfect, idyllic creatures who do everything to please us -- and nothing we do in return will ever come close to compensating for that. Unless you maybe feed them Pedigree® brand dog food. But probably not even then.

Exhibit B: We're For Dogs
Look at this! See all of the different ways dog are great? Well just so you know -- Pedigree® brand dog food wholeheartedly supports dogs and their feats of canine greatness, you human piece of scum.

Exhibit C: We're For Puppies
This is pretty much the same thing as "We're For Dogs" -- only it features puppies because nothing on this earth can tug at a heartstring the way a puppy can.

Exhibit D: Dog Adoption Drive
Okay, now if you make it through this last clip without tears welling up in your eyes -- well, my friend -- you are either made of stone or hate the animals. Which is it gonna be?

Verdict: Who am I kidding? I love these fucking commercials. Duchovny, you magnificent bastard, manipulate me all you want!

See You In Hell, Pier 1 Gift Card

2007-10-02T10:58:00.000-07:00

About a year and a half ago, Mr. Salty and I wandered into a Pier 1 store and saw the most perfect white deco style couch. At the time I was enrolled in Discover Card's cash back bonus program, in which I could put said bonus towards vendor gift cards such as Pier 1 -- with the incentive to use $40 reward money for a $50 card and so on. And so, I ordered a $50 card to use towards the purchase of the couch. However, as luck would have it -- we ended up finding an online coupon to the tune of $50, which couldn't be used in conjunction with any other offers or deals, including the gift card. So we thanked our good luck and saved it for another purchase.

That was a year and a half ago. In the past year and a half, I have learned that our stylish couch with the clean lines and nice fabric was a complete and utter fucking anomaly -- because Pier 1 is the shittiest retail store in the history of home decor. No less than 10 times have I wandered into that store -- at first optimistically; later determinedly -- to spend these fifty motherfucking American dollars. And every goddamn time I leave empty handed. Why? Because I have no place in my life for mosaic candle holders, faux tribal artwork, Buddha statues, or lacquered wicker anything. And every damn time I fail at my mission to unload the contents of the gift card I leave the store in a homicidal rage after having my senses assaulted with earth tones and inoffensive home themed adult contemporary music like Crosby, Stills & Nash's "Our House" that I want to put my fucking fist through a fucking wall.

Today was no different. And not only could I not find a single pillow in their huge arsenal of throw pillows to put on my new daybed -- but they were in the process of unloading their tacky Christmas decorations to add insult to injury. Yes, Christmas decorations -- because why not? It's October 2nd, already. But this time I've had it -- if ebay can't make this thing go away, I'm going to chalk it up at a loss and just give this damn monkey's paw away to the next hapless and unfortunate soul.

Johnny Damon: Master of Wordsmithery

2007-10-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

During the 2004 baseball season, I was one of legions under the thrall of one Mr. Johnny Damon. I loved him. Loved! I loved the commercials where he danced around in his underwear. I don't even remember what they were advertising. Was it underwear? If so, kudos! Going through my closet the other day, I came across my homemade ebay-purchased WWJDD T-shirt. It was awesome. I wore it to work on casual day during the '04 ALCS playoffs. I felt like the coolest kid in school.

And so, I guess it goes without saying that my former Johnny Damon obsession is not unlike my ill-fated "Chumbawamba Liking" phase of '98. (C'mon! "Tubthumper" was a damn catchy song -- to say otherwise would be a bold faced lie.) But, yeah. There was that whole embarrassing Queer Eye debacle, and then some other cheesy crap followed by the inevitable move to the Yankees at which point he became officially Dead To Me. And then everyone just stopped caring about Johnny Damon altogether. But apparently, it didn't dissuade him from writing the token ghostwritten autobiography -- a fact my sister brought to my attention over copious amounts of wine this weekend. You see, she works for a wholesale indie bookstore, where Damon's Idiot: Beating "The Curse" and Enjoying the Game of Life is a new arrival. And by "new arrival" of course I mean is that the publisher unloaded a couple million of them for 3 cents a pop and her bookstore is now selling them for 3 bucks.

If the user reviews on Amazon are any indication, it's got to be chock full of unintentional comedy. But I'll just settle for the reviews. Take this one, for example:

"Amazing, Fun, and Exciting"
Anonymous 7th grade book reader.

This book is amazing. The book Idiot is an awesome biography about Johnny Damon's life. When he was a kid, teenager, life in the Minors, as an adult, and life in the majors.

As a kid he played baseball with friends and in a league. As a teen he played football, and as a senior in high school he was on an all-star team in baseball. In the minors he got to shake hands with Bill Clinton. The majors were tough starting with the A's. He hit his head, and got a concussion. When he got to be on the Red Sox every time they would try to get players the Yankee's got the player first. To find out more about Johnny Damon's life read the book.

Johnny Damon did not use any special writing. His language is not appropriate for people under 12 years old.

I feel that this book is a masterpiece. I was surprised, because he used sware words a lot.

To read this book you cannot stop in the middle of a chapter. You also cannot stop and not read the book for a few weeks.

Any Red Sox fan would like this book. You still should be at least 12 years of age.

This book is different from other genres because it is not just a book about baseball. The Boy Who Saved Baseball a fiction book, that is completely fake. This is why Idiot is so amazing.

Most biographies go on and on about the same subject, while this one is fun and exciting.

This author is different than any other author, because in Holes, by Louis Sachar the book does not push the limits. In Idiot they push the limits.

The story is set from Johnny Damon's childhood through almost present day, and is set from coast to coast.

Johnny Damon is a great baseball player, and has met important people, and other great baseball players. Johnny Damon did many great things in this book. He pushes limits. He also keeps your attention. Find out more real great things about the book, by reading it.

The book Idiot is a great book and you should read about the many experiences in his life.

Outstanding. It's like they're related or something. Anybody want a copy? I can get you one for 3 bucks -- minus a 20 percent employee discount -- plus shipping from 19522. Can you really afford not to buy one? Your coffee table will thank you.

Eff You, Amazon Dot Com

2007-09-24T09:59:00.000-07:00

I did not -- repeat not -- buy "Two and Half Men" on DVD, and I really do not appreciate the lying claim otherwise. Additionally, I do not care for the insinuation that I would enjoy "The Big Bang Theory."

(Click to enlarge.)

Jerks.

We Know All Your Secrets

2007-09-20T12:16:00.000-07:00

In a word -- how would I describe the CW's new series, "Gossip Girl?"

How about ass-tastic? Or shit-riffic? Or spec-turd-ular?

More coherent thoughts in the review. Enjoy!

Weeds Season 3 -- My Thoughts

2007-09-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

Spoilers abound, so if you catch this on DVD -- you may want to opt out now.

Still with me? Okay, so "Weeds" is probably my biggest TV obsession du jour, even though I'm not totally in love with the third season. It started out good, riding on last season's cliffhanger, but let's face it -- it does have some issues. Maybe it's because I'm not a quote unquote drug lord, but I really didn't understand the whole thing with Nancy and Conrad owing U-Turn to begin with. I mean, sure maybe after he paid the Armenians off, but the bottom line is that U-Turn tried to jack them for pot that they didn't have. And then the pot got ruined, so if anything I'd chalk that up to more of a "failed robbery attempt" so much as "lost income." But I guess drug gangs don't abide by the same rules and logic that the rest of of adhere to, so whatever.

Regardless -- like most viewers, my tolerance for the whole U-Turn/Nancy/White Slave plotline had just about worn it's welcome when the unthinkable happened. U-Turn started to grow on me. First with the drive by scene in episode five, which was hilarious -- and then more so with the whole burgeoning mentor/student plot last night. And so naturally, with U-Turn becoming remotely likable, what happened was the only thing that could happen: U-Turn needed to die. But at least he died for a good reason -- laughing at Marvin for going to Dreamgirls.

If U-Turn's demise means more Marvin -- the most entertaining new character this season -- than I say bring it on, because the other prospects ain't lookin' so good. Last night we were introduced to Mary Kate Olsen's character, who I already hate with the firey passion of a thousand suns. My reasons being:

1. Mary Kate Olsen can't act. I know she did all those direct to video movies about solving mysteries in the playground or some shit, but "1/2 of a twin sleuthing team" did nothing to prepare her for "evangelical pothead."

2. Her stupid big flat vapid-eyed face looks like a stupid cat's face. It's just creepy, dammit.

3. Has Mary Kate Olsen like, ever really been intimate with someone before? The way she was grinding on Silas made her look like she was having a seizure. It had to be one the most unsexy teen sex scenes (OK I know they weren't actually doing it, but whatever) since the end of Kids. Grief.

Moving on, I've been suspiciously tolerating Matthew Modine's character. He's kind of funny, but kind of annoying -- and I've marginally enjoyed his sexist/sarcastic report with Nancy up until now. In fact, the only thing that could ruin that chemistry is if they actually put those two together, and oh shit. That's probably happening next week. Fucking Christ. Oh vengeful, merciless gods of TV -- why do you hate me so? I guess really when it comes down to it, the best I can hope for for the rest of the season is more Underpants Andy. Bring back Underpants Andy!

Adventures in Customer Service

2007-09-17T06:51:00.000-07:00

The following is a conversation I had with my friendly ~~Cingular~~ The New AT&T customer service representative. Enjoy!

AT&T: What can I help you with this morning?

Me: Um, yeah... I noticed a discrepancy on my August bill under the x1973 number? There's a charge for ten dollars for something called 'Bid4Prizes'?

AT&T: Okay... let me look into this for you. Ma'am, could you hold one moment?

Me: Sure, thanks.

......

AT&T: We found the charge in question. It's from a company called "Motricity" -- it's one of the services like you see in TV commercials for ringtones and games... It was probably ordered on their website.

Me: Well, we didn't order it. We're responsible adults, and neither of us would ever, ever be interested anything like that.

AT&T: We're very sorry about the inconvenience, ma'am. What probably happened was that somebody accidentally entered your phone number in on the Motricity website --

Me: Wait -- so anybody can just do this?

AT&T: -- what happens is that sometimes people accidentally enter in the wrong phone numbers on these websites. I went ahead and credited your account and canceled the subscription...

Me: Holy crap! A subscription?! So basically, anybody can just enter in anybody's phone number into a website and get them charged?

AT&T: .....

Me: Jesus. Do you get calls like this all the time?

AT&T: Ma'am, I've gone ahead and credited your account for the full amount.

Me: This is crazy. You can just screw over whoever you want.

AT&T: Is there anything else I can help you with today?

Me: Um... no? I guess I'm good.

AT&T: Well thank you very much and we thank you for your business and tell your friends and family about The New AT&T.

Me: Uh, thanks. I'll be sure to do that. Bye.

When to Hold and When to Fold

2007-09-12T06:40:00.000-07:00

First of all, I'd like to apologize for both my absence lately, as well as my neglect to answer the very questions I solicited last month. I promise to do better in the future, so please keep 'em coming!

And hey, look -- I've even got a brand spankin' new graphic!
Fancy graphics = commitment. Right? And as always, send your questions to litelysalted[at]yahoo.com.

Dear Ms. Salty,

I was fired from my job this week without cause or warning, and by email. I work from home (in order to care for my baby), so no nasty scenes were necessary. I took it rather well since the company is really unpredictable and I'm not the first person to get canned without reason. Sure -- I am pissed, but my family is financially stable from my husband's income, so I wasn't in a panic. But apparently quite a few people at my job freaked out when they heard the news -- and all out arguments started with management in both of our regional offices with at least 5 people going to bat for me. Within a few hours, I got a call from an exec saying a mistake had been made and they would like me to consider rejoining the company.

I agreed on a provisional basis, mostly due to loyalty to my team which would have ended up pretty screwed without me. But I honestly am not pleased with how I was treated and I think I'm probably still on the chopping block. And since I don't need to worry about finding another job immediately, do you think I should quit this job? Wait until I find another?

– Conflicted and Pissed

Dear Conflicted,

Having dealt with management eh, "issues" in my past -- I can totally relate to (and applaud) your desire to screw over your employers. It has been my experience in office society, that there's no feeling we drones relish more than giving the big middle finger to ignorant and overzealous management. Having said that, it had also been my experience that in seeking out future employment, it's usually the friends and colleagues I've made that pull through and provide the best leads and references -- and likewise I am always keeping colleagues in mind for freelance or contract work in the position that I currently hold. So in that respect, you might want to stick around for the sake of your coworkers while you have the leisure of waiting for something better to come along. And when that time comes, not only will your coworkers understand your decision -- but the big "fuck you" bestowed upon your employer will feel all the more special and earned.

Dear Ms. Salty,

I believe in fighting for what I want in life. Is this also true in love?

– Swallow Life

Dear Swallow,

Of all the things that we silly humans fight for, love is of the most important and noble causes of them all -- whether it be love for a partner, friends or family. However, when it comes to fighting for true love -- one must keep in mind the feelings of exactly whom it is we're fighting for, and when to throw in the towel. There's a fine line between overcoming personal and physical obstacles, and when the restraining order tells you not to come within 500 feet of this person.

Photographic Evidence

2007-08-30T12:18:00.000-07:00

An update to my previous post: a friend of my sister who lives right near the film shoot scored some photos. Enjoy!

And finally, Larry proudly standing in front of his bitchin' new sign!

Gooble Gobble!

2007-08-29T11:06:00.000-07:00

We're doing "Classic Week" over at Pajiba, and so I present you with this review of Freaks, one of my all time favorite classics. If you're not familiar with the film or just want a little reacquainting, the following clip is a good start.

Hollywood, Pennsylvania

2007-08-29T06:43:00.000-07:00

I haven't seen an M. Night Shyamalan film since Signs in 2002, which I mostly enjoyed, and coincidentally was before Mel Gibson totally went off the deep end. I'm pretty much neutral with his stuff, and just don't care enough to really like it or hate it either way. But here's an interested tidbit -- Shyamalan, who grew up in the Philadelphia area, is notorious for filming in the city and surrounding countryside. But his upcoming film, The Happening, starring Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel, is actually filming (at least parts) in my old hometown. I heard last week that they shut down a major route that runs through the borough and a few of the local establishments were commandeered for filming -- including Larry's Automotive, where I used to take the Salty Mobile for oil changes and repairs; and The G Lodge, where I enjoyed many a greasy hungover breakfast.

I passed through over the weekend, and noticed that Larry got a new sign out of the deal, which is pretty sweet for him -- since previously the building just had the old Gordon's Getty Station sign up, the business which had inhabited the building before Larry took over. The G Lodge, on the other hand, got a sign reading "Filbert Cafe," so I guess that sucks for them.

In addition to being home to the famous movie theater featured in "the Blob" -- this is the second time this year a film has been shot in good old Phoenixville. Earlier in the year, David Boreanaz's upcoming film Our Lady of Victory shot scenes inside the Prima Motel and Cocktail Lounge -- hilariously due to the film being a seventies period piece, and the Prima literally having cockroaches older than that. Unfortunately, Boreanaz wasn't actually in the scene, which was kind of bust for me because I waited in the bushes with a bottle of ether for 12 hours for practically nothing.

Ask Ms. Salty

2007-08-14T11:30:00.000-07:00

For awhile now I've been mulling around the idea of starting an advice column on this site, and have even gotten several requests to that effect. So now, especially in that my areas of expertise such as reality tv and celebrity fashion are increasingly being farmed out to my sister sites -- it seems like now is as good a time as ever. Depending on how popular this feature is, I may try to incorporate it once a week, or as sporadically as the questions roll in. And, of course you are free to remain anonymous! Send your requests to litelysalted@yahoo.com.

And now, on with my first set of questions!

Dear Ms. Salty,

So, I had a terrible interview the other day. Beyond humiliating. I want to write to the guy and tell him I've been offered employment elsewhere (I haven't) and tell him off; my question is, should I do this? I figured the queen of feisty-ness and snark would have the answer. I'm a big ol' pussy, so I'm sitting here thinking of all of the consequences and other general reasons I shouldn't do it (number one being that he doesn't deserve any more of my time...though if I don't write it, I'm just going to stew over it). He's a total douche, and I think he should be told as much. If I wasn't wearing heels after a summer of flip flops, I would've gotten up and walked out of the interview, but I was afraid I'd make this bold statement (even bolder for me!), and then walk out in sitcom slow-motion. Just picture that uncomfortable and awkward silence. Crickets.

-- Should Have Gone with Casual Footwear

Dear Footwear,

It's hard for me to draft an exact response to a humiliating interview without knowing the extenuating circumstances -- such as what happened during the interview to make the guy act like such a dick in the first place? Or was he just inherently a douchenozzle?

Regardless, if you know you can get away with it without burning any bridges within professional networks, I would definitely hand this guy his ass on a platter with a side of collard greens. Just think, it's only email! You can't turn around and trip over a trash can, or stutter, or do any of those unfortunate things that is the quandary of face to face verbal bitchsmacking. What's the worst that can happen? The most likely route is that you probably won't hear anything back because of required professionalism (or maybe not?) on his end, or perhaps just a short and sweet "thank you for your feedback" note. Go for it sista, I think you'll be amazed at how wonderful and empowering it can feel to eviscerate someone via email.

Dear Ms. Salty,

Sometimes I go to school dressed in my Superman outfit, and all the jocks make fun of me and call me names like "retard" and "queer bait" and push me on the floor when all I'm trying to do is show off my sweet Superman moves. What am I doing wrong?

-- TK

Dear TK,

Don't let anyone stop you from being your badass, flamboyant superhero self. Next time the jocks pick on you, trying incapacitating them with a move I like to call the "Groin Kick of Justice" -- however it's important to remember after employing the the "Groin Kick of Justice," that once a jock recovers, he's going to be ten times as pissed as he was when he was tormenting you in the first place. Best to spend the rest of the day squatting on a toilet seat with the door locked in the girls bathroom.

Mission: Mand Band? Can't Hardly Wait!

2007-08-09T14:53:00.000-07:00

Can... Barely... Type! Too... Excited!

Despite constant promos during my beloved Rock of Love and it's snerk-inducing name -- I have largely been ignoring the new VH1 program, "Mission: Man Band." This is due to the fact that I thought it was just another one of those 'White Rapper' type shows, which I was completely indifferent to and not entertained by, the one or two times I caught it.

How wrong I was. How gloriously, wonderfully wrong I was.

It has come to my attention that "Mission: Mand Band" is actually a collective of former boy-banders, brought together to attempt to recreate their former glory in a new ensemble called "Sureshot." (Oh, the irony kills!) Oh god, if only they could have gotten that douche from NKOTB that starred on a season of "The Surreal Life" -- but we'll have to settle for the N'SYNC'er that looks like a dreadlocked muppet, two guys from LFO and 98 Degrees, and last but most certainly not least -- the motherfucking guy from Color Me Badd!! COLOR ME BADD, people! As if that in itself wasn't brilliant enough, the guy from Color Me Badd looks like he ATE the guy from Color Me Badd! And he's a drunk!

Just incredible. In an instant, I have gone from not giving the slightest shit about this show to having my entire existence bane on it. This clip will tell you everything you need to know.

Note: I tried to embed this but unfortunately ifilm is rather unforgiving towards blogger, so you will have to click here to view it!

Note #2: Do you guys totally love how they're pulling a Wilson-Phillips in this promo shot by making the fat guy stand in the back? Pure. Gold.

I'm Big in New Zealand

2007-08-07T05:38:00.001-07:00

And when I say "big" what I really mean is that they're burning me in effigy right now. Here's the sitch -- one of the gossip items I posted on Yeeeah! last week got picked up by a big New Zealand legitimate news organization. Well apparently, New Zealanders are fans of both Mena Suvari and shaved heads. Smarmy American gossip bloggers? Ehhhhhnotsomuch.

If you don't feel like scrolling through them all, here are a few of my favorites:

"Get out from behind your anonymous blog you fat ugly bastard! Typical American male chauvinist drivel."

"Why don’t you shave your hair off and when you’ve done that have a lawn mover run over your face."

"Who cares who is the more talented actor/singer with shaved head, they have more talent in a gram of their shit than the waste of space jealous slag who wote this shit. Get a haircut and find a real job douche."

"You f’n americans - when are you gonna grow up. Short hair on a girl is very cool, very sexy!"

"litelysalted SUCKS SHIT !"

No death threats, but fortunately they didn't have access to my personal email. So mayhap my publisher is getting those little nuggets. However, I would just like to say in my defense -- I have short hair! I've had "lesbian" yelled at me before by college kids passing by in an automobile. I don't care! I even think it's kind of funny, because I can laugh at myself.

I make fun of Mena Suvari because A.) it's my job and B.) I don't care much for Mena Suvari. I read once that she's a right-wing nutjob. And whether that's true or not the girl just bugs. Is that a crime? Jesus. They probably don't even know what a "flowbee" is in New Zealand, because if they did they'd know that's comedy gold.

Guess I can scratch New Zealand off of the list of places to see before I die.

Gossip With Ms. Salty 08/03/07

2007-08-03T13:16:00.000-07:00

Well, I haven't done this in awhile -- so here's some gossip links to kick off the weekend!
Stalker Spice Continues Her Reign of Terror
Mena Suvari is a Bald Idiot
Brangelina Deathwatch Begins
There's Something About Suri

30 Days Later

2007-08-01T06:22:00.000-07:00

At the end of this month, in exactly 30 days, on the 30th of August, I will turn 30 years old. For some reason or another I've spent the past 11 months in a mild state of terror about this. So stupid, right? By this point I just want to get it over with so I can stop dreading it already -- kind of like when I was waiting to have my wisdom teeth removed. Infection notwithstanding, I think that might prove to be slightly less painful. Although -- Mr. Salted turned 30 a few years ago and he's fine! Right? A little worse for wear with some grey starting to show around his temples -- but overall still displaying a level of youthful exuberance.

There is one thing that's making me feel slightly better about this, and that's these photos that recently surfaced of actress Jamie Pressly's 30th birthday celebration. Becuase, damn! She's just turning 30? Man -- I may be old as dirt, but at least I look a hell of a lot better than this haggard tranny. You go girl, it takes a lot of guts to dress up like a Pirate Whore for your old lady milestone. But if you need me on August 30th? I'll be under the covers cradling a box of wine.

"The Else" Hits Stores!

2007-07-31T05:43:00.000-07:00

Since the age of 13 I've been smitten with They Might Be Giants -- and by now I've been a devoted fan for a few more years of my life than I haven't. Suffice to say I was thrilled to finally get my hands on a copy of their brand new album, "The Else," which marks the band's 12th full length studio effort -- and believe me when I say I think I'm kinda in love with it. "The Else" has got a solid rock sound while maintaining the quirkiness and idiosyncratic lyrics which have had fans coming back for two decades now. Although, if it's up to me, TMBG can do no wrong. Flans could probably fart into a microphone for 45 minutes and I'd probably be able to find something redeeming about it.

Bonus! The artwork for the album was done by illustrator extraordinaire Marcel Dzama!

So check out the first video from the new album for "With The Dark" (one of the more mellow tracks) -- masterminded by Mizushima Hine.

Double Your Pleasure!

2007-07-30T12:03:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of updates lately, but here is my Pajiba review of The Two Coreys! It's one of the most god-awful reality shows I've ever had the displeasure of seeing in my life -- but on the upside it makes for a pretty damn entertaining review.

And is it just me, or is Feldman starting to resemble K.D. Lang?

This is Exactly What I Needed Today

2007-07-19T11:49:00.001-07:00

This, and a big ol' glass of Pinot Grigio.

Your darkness is brighter than all of the lights in the disco tonight...

"Happiest Days of My Life" -- My Favorite

Charlie Bartlett Has Offically Won Me Over

2007-07-17T08:40:00.000-07:00

Despite my suspicious attitude towards the majority of current mainstream film, lately I've found myself somewhat titillated by the commercials for this new Charlie Bartlett movie -- which appears to be an interesting concept about a high school student moonlighting as a novice therapist for his peers. (Mr. Salty has oft remarked that I'm inexplicably drawn to movies about teenage boys -- no comment.)

After the first half dozen times I saw the television spots, I couldn't quite place where I had before seen the reasonably charismatic actor playing the title character. Finally, a quick consultation with IMDB tells me it's the kid who had a recurring guest role on "The Practice" a few years back, as the underage gay lover of a pedophile. Man, that kid was a great actor! (And I now remember having the same conversation with IMDB's search engine after seeing the spots for Alpha Dog a few months back.)

Interesting premise, skilled actor notwithstanding, what has finally tipped the scales for me is this fantastic ad campaign they're running. It's like they knew I was a sucker for mod/60's design. The simple, monochromatic color scheme? Helvetica Black? (For the love of God!) And the hand lettered typography in the illustration? Love. It. The faux folding and aging of the poster is an interesting touch, but I think I could do without it. All in all, still a fantastic piece -- the kind of stuff that inspired me to get into the field in the first place, before I had my drive and enthusiasm beaten the hell out of me.

Update: This review suggests that Charlie Bartlett was likely inspired by Harold and Maude -- A.K.A. my favorite film ever. The excitement is growing!

Better Get to Know Your "Rock of Love" Skanks

2007-07-16T06:14:00.000-07:00

Well, you all knew this was coming. As is my tradition of covering VH1 competitive reality shows, "Rock of Love" starring Poison frontman Bret Michaels premiered on VH1 last night. And it... is... awesome. Never have I been so excited about a VH1 reality show since I Love New York. Okay, well I know that's not saying a lot, so just trust me -- it's great.

Basically, the premise is as such: Bret Michaels wants a deep and meaningful relationship with a girl who will share the spotlight with his first love -- wait for it -- rock and roll. But he'll settle for a bimbo he can nail while this show, God willing, resuscitates some semblance of life into his otherwise flailing career. It worked for Flavor Flav, right? As the credits roll we see footage of Michaels riding on a motorcycle, presumably on route to meet the girls, whom he describes as "25 of the most beautiful women in the world." Or you know, 25 of the most acceptable skanks VH1 could wrangle from America's vast array of nudie bars -- same difference. And with that, I bring you the following round-up of the skanktestants.

Brandi C. -- The Frontrunner
Brandi C. is totally the "New York" of Rock of Love. She's vapid, blonde and crazier'n a shithouse rat. She immediately begins referring to Bret as "her man" much to Bret's displeasure. But I have a feeling he'll come around -- the producers will see to that. Brandi C. will probably make it into the "Top 2" only to be rejected like New York and Chance before her.

VH1 Fun Facts: Likes to be naked and wants to be in Playboy; Received "Boobs" as birthday gift from her parents. Okay, so maybe these should be called "VH1 Ridiculously Fucking Unsurprising Facts."

Kristia -- The Follower
Kristia and Brandi C. immediately bond over the fact that they're blonde and retarded -- and Kristia seems just dumb and bland enough to go along with it; content following her counterpart around like a puppydog. They're BFF now, so if Larissa and Shay have taught us anything -- you know they'll soon be at each other's throats. I can't wait.

VH1 Fun Facts: Currently a Go Go Dancer (not exotic). Because she's classy like that.

Cindy aka "Rodeo" -- The Soulmate
Rodeo is immediately dismissed by the other girls for being too manly and wearing a cowboy hat. Fortunately for her, the very reasons she is spurned by the other girls are considered major selling points to Bret, who purportedly knows from experience that a woman wearing a cowboy hat is a turn-on in the sack. Different strokes for different folks, okay people? During a ~~meaningful~~ drunken conversation Bret and Rodeo find out they have stuff in common like illegitimate children and medical conditions. I know it's early in the game, but I'm picking her as a serious contender, possibly even the winner.

VH1 Fun Facts: Sometimes wears cowboy hat in bed. Shocking.

Lacey -- The Wannabe
Lacey -- who I'm dubbing the "Krazy" of Rock of Love -- is the aspiring rock star who is approximately one episode away of being accused of being "not there for Bret." Lacey seems alright in the sense that if I met her at a bar while I was wasted, I would probably be down with her. But ultimately she seems like she's trying too hard and that's gonna get pathetically old real soon.

VH1 Fun Facts: Last boyfriend was a guitar player; Animal lover and animal rights activist. Aw, see? She's an animal person. Animal people are good people.

Brandi M. -- The Badass
See, now this is the beauty of "Rock of Love": Two Brandis. I love it. This Brandi is a stark contrast of the other Brandi. Well, okay she's admittedly a stripper, so maybe not that different. But she puts on a tough girl facade and is covered in tattoos. I will be sorely disappointed if Brandi M. is not ejected from the game for fighting.

VH1 Fun Facts: Mom is her best friend; She can fit her fist in her mouth. See? She's just a sweet Momma's girl at heart... Who can fit her entire fist in her mouth.

Tiffany -- The Wild Card
Tiffany looks like the misbegotten love child of Ginger Spice and a troll doll. Her face literally looks like it's made out of silly putty. I would say that Tiffany is like the "Mr. Boston" of "Rock of Love" but I think to say so much would be doing the esteemed Mr. Boston a disservice. Tiffany gets cut right off the bat, along with the four other fugliest girls for being, well, too fugly. And if you saw the entire cast of skanktestants, that's really saying something. Ever the good little deranged lunatic, Tiffany fights her way back into the house only to get completely and obnoxiously trashed off her ass and chided by the other 20 girls. And for whatever reason (oh, I'm sorry, "ratings") she again gets a free pass after not being picked at the first elimination. I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see what crazy hijinks Tiffany gets herself into next time! Wheeeee!

VH1 Fun Facts: Special Talent: Can bounce her boobs; Caught ex-husband cheating on her with her best friend so she broke the girl's nose. Ding ding ding! There we have it, folks! She's a scrapper!

Salty out -- see you next time, following the premiere of I Love New York 2!

Now With More Inappropriate Baby Humor!

2007-07-15T15:46:00.000-07:00

Gosh I love Joel McHale.

Spook Lane's Number One Threat*

2007-07-13T10:22:00.000-07:00

I live out in the wilderness, and it's not unusual to see and hear a vast array of forest creatures about the property. For example -- earlier this week around dusk, I saw a deer standing about 10 feet outside our bedroom window; last week there was a flock of wild turkeys in the backyard (which, unfortunately for them I didn't see until after I threw the frisbee for the dog in their immediate direction); and the week before that we were awoken by a squirrel who had wandered in and made his presence known at 3:30AM.

Last night, Mr. Salty and I had the following conversation:

Him: Oh, just so you know, there's a black bear around here.

Me: What do you mean by here? Here in Berks County?

Him: No, here here. Tom [co-worker of Mr. S who lives a mile away] took a picture of it outside his house.

Me: And, you didn't think of telling me this before I went for my two mile walk earlier this evening?

Him: ::Silent realization -- followed by a sheepish grin::

Me: ::PissFace McGee::

Him: Well you had the dogs with you! Bears are afraid of dogs!

Me: It's a BEAR. And I went out at DUSK! That's when the bears come out!

Him: Plus they're only aggressive if they have cubs with them.

I think it's the dream of every little girl, to grow up and meet a Prince Charming who is totally indifferent to whether or not she gets eaten by a bear.

* Yes I really do live on Spook Lane. Please don't stalk me, though.

Who Was That Moustachioed Woman?

2007-07-12T13:23:00.000-07:00

I think this is proof, that we humans as a species, have finally run our course: The Pet Moustache Generator. Seriously, we perfected the wheel, harnessed electricity and (questionably) put a man on the moon. If it's come to giving ourselves virtual moustaches? I think it's time to quit while we're ahead.

Besides, this moustache totally sucks ass. I could make one that's like, a thousand times better in photoshop.

Tennis is Hard

2007-07-12T07:16:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in the comments in the post below -- I've been on vacation for the past few days. Due to our massive home construction project we couldn't actually afford to go anywhere this year, which was kinda depressing. Instead we just took some days to do work on the house and play outside and do whatever else is fun to do in the summer.

Well, because we have such fabulous fucking luck, we got slammed with a heatwave from Saturday to Wednesday, which were precisely the days we had off. It was too humid to finish painting, and too hot to do much outside. And since my car is having some kind of heat-related starting issues and his truck (aside from having broken AC) is also having problems, we couldn't so much as take a day trip. So basically, we just holed ourselves up for five days and acted like lazy people.

Pretty much the only thing of note I did all week was taking up tennis. Mr. Salty has been playing with his friends at work for a few weeks -- so on Tuesday we went out to the K-Mart and picked me out a shiny pink new racket. I don't know if shopping at K-Mart is any more PC then Wal-Mart (which I refuse) or Target (which I avoid) but dammit, we live in Berks County, Pennsylvania and where the hell else am I going to get a tennis racket? I'll say one thing for K-Mart's karma, they do employ handicapped people. Although to my discredit, after a long glance at the creepy retarded guy working the cashier with his tongue sticking out, (yes -- like a dog does) I put my soda back in the cooler because "I don't want that guy touching something I'm going to drink."

After getting stranded in the K-Mart parking lot for an hour after my car wouldn't start, (perhaps a dose of my own brand of karma after the soda incident) we got down to business. Now I haven't played tennis in a good dozen years or more (and even then my "skills" were questionable at best) but I figured, hell -- pushing 30 I'm probably in the best shape of my life! I should practically be a like a small, white Venus and/or Serena Williams on the court! I don't know why, but I always presume myself to have exceptional athletic abilities. When I was eight, I got it into my head that I wanted to play soccer. I fancied myself to be a natural at the sport, a virtual dynamo on the field! Which was, of course, reasonable imagined potential for an unusually small, pigeon-toed girl. If my parents were level-headed, responsible parents, they would have simply bought me a soccer ball so that I could carry out my fantasy in the backyard where no one would be the wiser. But since my parents were neither level headed or responsible, they went ahead and signed me up for a co-ed soccer team playing against boys twice my size, to have my dreams of prowess effectually crushed before me. I quit after one practice.

So it's no big surprise that I soon figured out that the fact that I can now run 5 miles in 45 minutes, or do big girl chin-ups has nothing whatsoever to do with any inherent tennis playing abilities. Apparently, being in athletic shape does not actually give you athletic abilities, like hand eye coordination and such. In fact, if anyone had been filming my performance, I guarantee you I would already be the next big YouTube sensation. I can see it now: "Spastic Girl Fails at Tennis." Mr. Salty could barely attempt to return my "serve" he was laughing so hard. Eventually, I got the hang of it enough that we were able to play a game of what I like to refer to as "Guerrilla Tennis," which simply means that there are no rules if you can manage to hit the ball back on the other side of the net -- whether it bounces three times or no times, each hit over the net is a minor victory. As I continue to excel at the sport, I think I may try to indoctrinate "Guerrilla Tennis" into the Olympics... or at least the Special Olympics.

The Kids in the Hall

2007-07-10T16:13:00.000-07:00

So I wrote this Kids in the Hall guide on Pajiba, and you should check it out, eh? Because it's really good and I'm really proud of it.

Side note -- in the guide I didn't mention Brain Candy. I know that Brain Candy is deadpanned among some circles of fans, but you know what? I really like it. Sure it's got some weak spots, but it's also got some killer jokes that pull the whole thing together. But the really hilarious thing? The Kids in the Hall themselves hate Brain Candy. In the DVD commentaries, at least once each season someone brings up Brain Candy just so they all half bitterly and half gleefully trash it. Now come on, boys. It wasn't that bad. Considering that these five guys put together, (since KITH ended) are responsible for some of the most horrific cinematic carnage of all time -- Spice World, The Godson (a Godfather parody starring Kevin and Rodney Dangerfield), Epic Movie, Stealing Harvard, Not Another Gay Movie, and The Wrong Guy? Okay, so that last one was kinda funny, but you get my point. Guys I love you no matter how many terrible movies you make, but go easy on Brain Candy, eh?

Anyway, go read now.

Gossip with Ms. Salty 07/06/07

2007-07-06T12:31:00.000-07:00

Today was a cherry day for gossip blogging. Check it out, ya'll!
Britney Spears Fooled Us All
J. Lo and Marc Anthony Plan a Joint Tour
Avril Lavigne is a Dirty Dirty Thief
Eva Longoria is Off the Market

Even Quickies ruled today!
Quickies: Emotional Eating

The Coleslaw Incident

2007-07-05T08:16:00.000-07:00

One thing that you would probably enjoy knowing about me, is that I am a fucking clumsy ass mess. Really, at any given time or place, I'm a 108lb bull in a china shop. By body is perpetually covered in horrifically unsexy bruises from run-ins with furniture, gym equipment, walls, canines, and any other object that might have a chance encounter with my person. I am not exaggerating this whatsoever -- to the extent that my doctor once prodded me to admit that I was a victim of domestic abuse. The latest crop of bruises include some scabby ones on my wrist and forearm from falling off a barstool. It was not one of my finer moments, considering that I wasn't exactly drunk at the time.

Luckily for me, I'm also fairly resilient. I've never broken a bone despite various feats of injury, which include getting thrown on my face by a wave as a kid, and having my braces insert themselves into my lower lip, getting hit head-on by a truck (a truck!) on my bike when I was 15, and the recent incident with a patch of ice that sent the bone in my elbow tearing through both my skin and a $150 cashmere sweater.

Some of the clumsiness is inherent -- after all, I was born pigeon toed. This was self corrected after the torment of junior high set in coupled with threats of surgery from my parents, who hated having a "defective" kid. But some of it is just plain laziness. One thing I would probably benefit from learning is not to pick up containers by their lids. This morning while preparing breakfast, I sent an entire canister of oatmeal careening to the floor. Sophie looked at the mess, and then with perfect comedic timing, darted her head up to look at me, eyes as wide as dinner plates. Since it was just oatmeal, (and not broken glass like the last time this happened) I laughed. This seemed to rest her nerves, and she tentatively approached the mess on the floor. Only after I said, "It's okay, you can have some" she gingerly tasted a nibble and then looked up at me again, confused as to whether or not she was supposed be be enjoying this impromptu snack.

As I was cleaning up dry oatmeal this morning, I got to thinking about the Coleslaw Incident. The Coleslaw Incident was one of the most fantastically outstanding messes I've ever had the good fortune of making in my entire life. I can't think of too many complimentary things to say about my mother, but if nothing else the woman makes a mean fucking coleslaw. The perfect combination of sweet and savory -- my mother's coleslaw is a finely-shredded (no prepared bags for this lady) work of art.

It was on Easter Sunday a few years ago, and Mr. Salty and I were once again grudgingly spending the holiday at my parents house. We got there early as usual, with the intention of pulling our typical "eat and run." So the two of us sat in the family room, bored out of our skulls while my dad was upstairs getting showered and dressed and my mother was in some stage of holiday meal preparation. It suddenly occurred to me that the kitchen was unoccupied, so I decided to sneak the coleslaw out of the fridge to score a little taste.

It should be duly noted, that when my mother makes coleslaw, she doesn't fuck around with quantity. If she's gonna shred and chop all of the shit, she's gonna make it worth her time. So I pull an enormous, lidded tupperware bowl out of the refrigerator containing no less than a gallon of coleslaw. I am not making this up. I set it down on the counter, and with a serving spoon dug out a heaping spoonful. Instead of doing the rational thing, which would eating the spoonful of coleslaw, and then putting away the bowl of coleslaw with two unoccupied hands, I instead chose to attempt to hold the bowl still with the elbow of the hand holding the spoon while I tried to squeeze the lid back on with my free hand.

Well. As I pressed on the lid trying to affix it to the lip of the far side of the bowl, the bowl did pretty much exactly what the laws of physics would have it do -- which would be shoot out like a greased pig from between my elbow and side, coming to a brief Wile E. Coyote stop in mid air, before plummeting straight down to the kitchen floor.

Now this is where the fantastic part comes in -- somehow, amazingly -- the trajectory, velocity, and position of the Earth around the sun made the conditions just right for the bowl of coleslaw to literally explode. It looked like a coleslaw bomb went off in my parents kitchen. There was not a conceivable surface in the room that was not completely covered in coleslaw. It was on the floor. It was on the ceiling. It was on the counter. It was on the underside of the counter. It was in the crevices of the cupboard doors. It was on me, totally caking up my right leg. It was matted in Sophie's fur (who was present for the day's festivities) and from earlier in this story, is pretty much accustomed to the sort of thing happening by now. If Mr. Wizard (God rest his soul) tried to recreate this scene, I assure you he would fail. It was just fucking incredible.

And I was just fucking horrified. I think a little wheeze of air came out from between my lips as blinding panic set in. As I took in the state of my parent's coleslaw covered kitchen, for a moment I completely forgot that I was a 26 year old who could leave whenever I wanted and imagined the obscene degree of ass kicking I was about to receive. But then as the menagerie of animals came running in for their Easter feast, and I witnessed the now two dogs and two cats furiously eating coleslaw off of the floor -- I remembered that I was an adult, so, tough shit mom and dad. Only then did I burst out hysterically and manically laughing before going to find my mother by calling, "Ohhh Mo-om!" in a sing-songy voice.

The the end, there was still enough coleslaw left in the bottom on the bowl (I told you, it was a lot of fucking coleslaw) to salvage for dinner; and I have to say it will probably go down in the chronicles of my personal history as the best Easter ever.

You've come a long way, baby.

2007-07-03T13:27:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to me! Litelysalted is one year old. I never thought it would last more than a month, but here we are.

"I like your style, I was clicking on the next blog thing but I got into reading even though pink sites make me queze." -- How it all started.

Been Caught Stealin'...

2007-07-03T08:07:00.000-07:00

So here's a big steaming pile of horse puckey -- Yahoo has a new site geared towards gossip. Which would be great in theory, because I love gossip. Only problem? Their masthead logo looks pretty much exactly like the masthead logo of the gossip site of burgeoning popularity of which I regularly contribute to. Here, see for yourself:

Yeeeah!'s banner:

OMG's banner:

As a graphic arts professional, I can tell you that the occasional accidental design thievery is inevitable and unavoidable. As human beings in this modern society, our senses are constantly being assaulted with media and advertising. Things seep into our subconscious -- and for one in the role of designer, sometimes we appropriate ideas without even realizing it. I admit, I've even done it myself -- many times -- but always either caught it on my own or have had another trained eye pick up on the similarity.

But this? I can tell you, professional speaking, that without a shadow of a doubt: this is blatant, unadulterated larceny. It's bullshit, and furthermore I call shenanigans. Shenanigans, Yahoo! Boo!

Welcome to Paula Time!

2007-07-02T11:28:00.001-07:00

In case you didn't know, Paula Abdul is pretty much batshit fucking insane. Check my review of her new trainwreck!

Street Cred

2007-06-28T13:37:00.000-07:00

It's totally true.

Salty Dogs

2007-06-28T12:26:00.000-07:00

I'm going to follow in TK's lead, mostly because I haven't posted all week and I'm sick of looking at that fucking plate.

These are the Salty Dogs. And before anyone makes any dipshit jokes -- the fisherman came with the house. Dammit. As to why anyone would have thought a giant nautical themed statue would make an appropriate addition to a cabin in the woods of Eastern Pennsylvania is anyone's best guess. But we decided to keep him anyway.

Moving on! This is Sophie -- a full bred Australian Shepherd. Sophie in a nutshell, is pretty much the awesomest dog ever. We're talking Lassie or Rin Tin Tin quality of dog, here. She has an uncanny knack at following verbal instructions, even if they're spoken in an offbeat, "Sophie, be a pal and go lay down over there" kind of way. Unfortunately for Mr. Salty she only follows my verbal commands, so after getting ignored while pleading with her to do something, he'll usually ask me to grace her with a request, to which she always immediately complies. She also catches frisbees like a pro.

Here she is blending in. I think she thinks she's a lioness...

And here she is enjoying the bed of her human counterparts, per usual.

Ivy is a Pitty Bull/Boxer mixed breed. She's very, very naughty and will often do things such as munch on plants and throw them up all over the house, or run away in the middle of a snowstorm so I get my car stuck in a snow embankment trying to retrieve her. But she makes up for her naughty behavior by being extremely patient and mild mannered, as evidenced by these photos.

"Take this fucking thing off me." Playing dress-up in Mommy's old tank top.

I like to refer to this as her "Mr. Burns" pose because she reminds me of that time Marge painted Mr. Burns naked. I swear we feed her.

Fun With Ebay

2007-06-23T17:32:00.000-07:00

Alright kids, here's your assignment. Who would like point out for me, in no uncertain terms -- what is wrong with this picture?

What's in a song?

2007-06-21T05:37:00.000-07:00

Ok I admit it. It was weird and awkward, but I thought the Soprano's spoof was funny -- honest to God. Bill Clinton with the carrot sticks? Come on! That's good stuff.

Now I'll also admit that I would have happily voted for Hillary Clinton. Maybe not necessary the best of the candidates, but I surely wouldn't have minded her as President. But let's be honest, from scratch she had -- at best -- a 25% chance of winning the primaries to begin with. And even if that were to happen, obviously she's pretty much the only candidate the Democrats could put forward that wouldn't be more or less guaranteed a fucking spot in the White House, the way things are going.

But the Celine Dion campaign song? (Insert sound of a phonograph needle being violently scraped across a record.) The FUCK?! In one decidedly Howard Dean-esque moment, Hillary Clinton probably just sent whatever remote chances she had of becoming the first woman president "triumphantly screaming" down the toilet.

This is kind of a fascinating exercise in political sociology. So Hillary Clinton listens to Celine Dion. She's a 60 year old woman! 60 year old women are drawn to Celine Dion like flies on dog shit. (Seriously, talk to my mom.) Bill can smoke a doob and W can pull a Lindsay Lohan. But if you scream like a girl or listen to crappy music? Well, don't even think about becoming the leader of the free world. Hmm...

This Generation's Best Books

2007-06-20T11:26:00.000-07:00

I only have one admission on the list, because I suck at reading. Not to say that I'm inept at it, or that I don't enjoy it -- but for the past 6 years I've lived in a two room cabin with a manchild and a pair of rowdy dogs. So cut me some slack!

At any rate, it's a really great list -- so check it out f'reals.

Pajiba's Guide to the Best Books of the Generation

Gossip with Ms. Salty 06/20/07

2007-06-20T11:07:00.000-07:00

Here are some salty gossip links from the past couple of days!

Paris Will Fuck Damn Near Anything
Scott Baio is a Memory Ruiner
Pam Anderson Loves the Animals
Larry Birkhead is the Big Winner
Baby Tuesday
Motley Crue are a Bunch of Crybabies

Gossip with Ms. Salty 06/18/07

2007-06-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

Who likes Gossip? You don't say! Well my friends, you are in luck, because I've got the reigns over at Yeeeah! for the whole week!

Kristy Swanson Arrested
Tony Parker is a Shitty Boyfriend
Paris Hilton Sucks at Being a Daughter
Britney Spears Does This On Purpose

Too Punk Rock for Life

2007-06-15T07:20:00.000-07:00

Holy shit.

Frankie from the Real World died. (Read about it here.)

Now I almost feel bad for hating her so much. I said almost, bitches.

Has Pimp My Ride Jumped the Shark?

2007-06-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

With the exception of "True Life" and sometimes "Made," about the only damn thing left on MTV I can stomach nowadays is "Pimp My Ride." It's also one of the few guilty pleasures which Mr. Salty and myself can both enjoy. Well, to be honest I think he likes it a bit more than I do, but regardless. "Pimp My Ride" is kind of a double edged sword of a television experience. On one hand, the customizing of the cars in itself is a pretty interesting to watch, (I especially like when they fix up the classics) and a lot of the stuff they do is so ridiculously badass. Plus, host Xzibit is really, genuinely frigging hilarious -- and not even in an ironic way. You gotta appreciate someone with an art for the reaction shot, even if he probably is stoned half the time.

But on the downside, most of the kids whose cars get their cars pimped are snot-nosed, unappreciative assholes who will most likely go on to assily show off with the cars -- subsequently wrecking them. I've actually seen evidence of this thanks to an "update" show. Plus it's one thing to install a computer, gratuitous monitors, or even a playstation in a car... But I draw the line at snowcone machines and waterfalls. It's like, fucking enough already. I know I certainly wouldn't want all that crap in my car.

Although we still don't watch this show on a regular basis, lately I've been noticing some changes to the format which concern me. For one thing, for the past season or two they no longer fix up the cars at West Coast Custom. I liked the guys at West Coast. They were overall pretty tolerable and entertaining to watch. They've still got Mad Mike, who appears to be the one in charge, but now they're working at some custom shop with a bunch of lame white assholes. Who wants to see that? Especially when they look like this douchebag, whom I believe is going for "Sonic the Hedgehog" with this style.

And then, to add insult to injury, the last time we tuned in Xzibit wasn't even hosting. I can't find any info if this is permanent or not, but I really fucking hope not. Seriously, Xzibit is awesome and if you don't have Xzibit what's even the point of "Pimp My Ride?" Plus? His replacement was some retard named "Chamillionaire," which is absolutely the most idiotic rap name I have ever heard. The last time I saw such a crappy bait and switch was Becky No.2 on "Roseanne." (Bless your heart, Sarah Chalke.)

If anyone has any news about this, please pass it on. My Saturday afternoon television watching outright depends on it.

Thursday Gossip with Ms. Salty

2007-06-14T11:19:00.000-07:00

Well folks, since I haven't been been able to update as much as I'd like, lately -- I figured from now on I'll start linking to my Yeeeah! posts for those of you who need a little salt in your day.

Angelina Jolie is Just Like Us
Everybody Hates Travolta
Britney Spears is Fucking Retarded
Ashley Olsen Looks Awesome

Today's Complaints

2007-06-07T09:29:00.001-07:00

• I've OD'ed on caffeine (again) and therefore can't hold my hand steady enough to draw pictures, AKA my job.

• Fucking Paris Hilton. Aside from being an entitled useless waste of genetic material -- she's really putting a cramp on my Pajiba Love column today by whoring up every conceivable entertainment/news outlet.

• My phone has one energy nugget left because I forgot to charge it this morning, and will likely go dead by the end of the day.

• I hate fucking air conditioning. I've covered up both of the vents in my office with drawing tablets to no avail.

• Somebody get me a haircut.

• I have to go to the grocery store on my lunch, and we all know how I feel about that.

• My semi-new gold ballet flats are already breaking -- the sole is peeling off the left shoe. Fuck you, Steve Madden. And, ebay.

Brain No Work So Good

2007-06-05T06:22:00.000-07:00

Conversation between me and Mr. Salty in the car one day, after failing to remember the details of an event.

Me: I can't remember anything for shit anymore. I heard that multitasking, like, messes up your brain or something. Like with your memory. I think it kills your brain cells. I dunno, I forget exactly what it was that I read about that.

Mr. Salty: How incredibly well put.

Grocery Shopping for Psychopaths

2007-06-04T12:13:00.000-07:00

One of the most vile necessary evils in my life, even beyond contact lenses, menstruation and and car insurance, has got to be trips to the grocery store. Luckily because of where I live in rural Pennsylvania, I do most of my food shopping at Farmer's Markets, produce stands, a small butcher shop on the rare instances when I require meat -- and most importantly a quaint little Mennonite-run natural/organic store where you can purchase whole wheat couscous in bulk for a dollar per pound and natural peanut butter made on premises which is so fresh the oil hasn't even begun to separate yet.

But even so, the occasional pilgrimage to the local chain store is an unavoidable consequence of needing items like dog food, toiletries, Morningstar products and gallons of Turkey Hill Diet Green Tea. If such a thing as purgatory actually exists (and I sure as heck hope not, because I'm likely headed there) I'd imagine it to be not much different than the Weis Grocery Store on a Sunday morning.

Intrinsically, I've got an Bill McNeal-esque split personality which ranges between charming and misanthropic depending on the situation -- And it's always the latter which surfaces during my trips to the store. I'll be in a good mood as I get out of my car, but by the time I'm dragging my feet with the cart behind the trashy, oblivious middle-aged couple holding hands while blocking the entranceway is when Mrs. Niceguy leaves the fucking building. How I loathe these people! The ones who leave their carts obstructing the aisles and let their devil children run free. Ones who have loud, screaming conversations two feet away when I'm attempting to make a quick call home to ask Mr. Salty what kind of Kashi Bars he wants. Those who cut me off with their carts, thinking they can get away with an "Oops! Excuse me!" and polite smile are probably not anticipating the steely, hateful glance I dart back in their direction.

The checkout line is the icing on the cake. To be so close! To stand there, longingly gazing out at the getaway vehicle awaiting in the parking lot! Ohhh, but not so fast! The jerkass lady next in line is going to haggle over a 30-cent coupon, while my frozen yogurt slowly melts away -- along with my sanity. And just when you think it's safe? The same asshole wants to pay with a personal check. And the cashier is "new" and she doesn't know how to "do that" so additional help is required. Serenity now, serenity now!

By the time it's my turn, the fuckwad behind me is up my ass, because he somehow thinks the line will move more quickly if he invades my personal space. I am so livid I begin to hallucinate that I can make his fat head explode with my mind. And then finally, with a roll of register tape coupons, my little journey into Personal Hell is over for now -- and it's back home to Mr. Salty who incredulously wonders why I'm in such a shitty mood all of a sudden.

I'll See Your Brooding and Raise You Angst.

2007-05-29T12:15:00.000-07:00

OK, I know it's really assy to disappear for a week just to come back and immediately promote a review on Pajiba, but thems the breaks. Here it, is -- Supernatural Season Two.

Also, I will be doing the daily Pajiba Love column for the next few months, so tune in for that!

Anita Shower

2007-05-21T07:04:00.000-07:00

Let's get something out the the way real quick. Why yes, I am a horrible person! If you're not a regular, and feel as though you may have a problem with this; go ahead and just skip out now.

Everyone else, thanks for sticking around! From time to time, both on this site and in real life, I make reference to a blind roommate I had in college. Because it's pretty much always a hit, over the past decade I've told the story of my blind roommate more times than I can count. And now, armed with my newfound powers of wordsmithery, I think it's about time I shared the story with the rest of the world.

It was the summer of 1996, and I was anticipating my Freshman year of college. Like most resident Freshman I was eagerly awaiting my roommate assignment, my head filled with fantasies of a new Best Friend or partner in crime. Although more realistically I should have expected that fate and luck would continue to shit on me as it had done much of my first 18 years of life, which naturally turned out to be the case.

Anita was from Leet, West Virginia. The phone number given with her contact information led me to her Aunt's residence, who in turn gave me a number to contact Anita where she currently inhabited at an Institution for the Blind. I was horrified. When I told my parents, my father pitched a fit and threatened to call the school. Somehow that horrified even me more. Inevitably, since my nature to rebel against my parents overrode my not wanting to live with a blind girl, I decided to be Mother fucking Theresa and step up to the plate.

My first encounter with Anita was at 5:00AM, the day after all the other Freshman moved in. I was sleeping in nothing but a T-shirt and underwear when Anita, her redneck uncle, bleach blonde cousin (wearing jeans with cut-outs going the whole way up the leg) and the Resident Assistant came crashing in without notice. It was a dreadful harbinger of what the next four months were to bring.

Living with Anita was awful. She was for one thing, a nasty and unpleasant person. After a week I gave up trying to make conversation with her. From my observations, I'm also pretty sure she was kind of faking the whole "being blind" thing. She had even admitted to me once that she wasn't 100% blind! To watch her walk by herself, she would breezily swing her cane back and forth; when people approached she would hastily smack it around. I can't even tell you how many times people told me she hit them with her cane.

Blindness notwithstanding, by far the worst aspect of living with Anita was her deplorable hygiene, (or lack thereof.) Anita smelled. Anita smelled bad. Anita didn't brush her teeth, or wear deodorant. Anita didn't shower once the entire semester, hence the nickname. Sunday through Thursday nights Anita would take baths. In the dorm bathtub. Aside from the whole "stewing in your own filth" argument against taking baths; it should be noted that the dorm bathtub was also a shower combo. And for some reason, it was the only shower that didn't go scalding hot when someone flushed the toilet. So since it was being used as a public shower all day long, not only was Anita stewing in her own filth, but everyone elses, as well. And yes, even when it was "her time of the month." Let that sink in for a hot minute while your gag reflex spasms.

Anita also had hair down to butt. I wouldn't call it a style, per se... More like, 'God gave me this hair and I'm just gonna let nature fucking run with it. So after her bath every night, she would attempt to run a brush through the sopping ghastly mess, and immediately go to sleep. Let me tell you, the smell that cultivated from that damp hair overnight... If you've ever bathed a dog, imagine that smell only ripened to the Nth degree by being trapped in a tiny concrete dorm room. And since she didn't bathe at all on the weekends (suffice to say I went home every weekend that semester) when I'd arrive back to the room Sunday night after she'd been holed in there all weekend, opening that door was like unleashing the odor of something dead. I had to wash every article of my clothing after I moved out.

So after hearing all that, it probably won't surprise you that Anita's nutritional habits were equally as appalling. The three food groups were: pizza, Pepsi and candy. Despite being lazy and rather unintelligent, between her low income status and disability Anita was getting a totally free ride at the University. And although her room and board were fully covered, she spent all of her disposable grant money on junk food. To watch the girl eat Skittles was like Chinese Water Torture. Since her teeth were basically rotting out of her mouth, she ate them with her face contorting in pain as if she were chewing pieces of glass.

One day, out of what I believe was a combination of boredom and curiosity at the reckless abandon of a blind person who was so carelessly sloppy and unorganized, I went through some of Anita's belongings. I know. Horrible person. We've covered it already. In the bottom of her closet I found a toothbrush collecting dust, mint in package. In her desk, an unorganized mess of braille papers and the ID card pictured above. I don't know what it was, but something about that slightly confused, slack-jawed expression of a poor blind person getting their ID photo taken made me absolutely squee with uncontrollable giggles. I'd like to say what happened next came as a result of my adolescence, but let's face it; at 29 I'd probably do it again. Apprehending the ID card, I ran down the hall to a friends room, where we both squee'ed with laughter, then ran out to the lobby photocopier and proceeded to copy and enlarge the ID until it was the size of a sheet of paper. Over a decade later, I still hold onto this tattered little scrap of paper in remembrance of this one fond memory of my time with Anita.

Moral of the story? Not all blind people are stinky, and not all people from West Virginia are simpleminded yokels. (Or, I'm assuming, anyway. I don't believe I've ever met any other blind people and/or West Virginians.) But if you happen across someone who meets all four classifications? Do not even think about living with them.

When It Rains It Pours

2007-05-20T13:33:00.000-07:00

Hello dear readers! When I started this site just under a year ago, I didn't even know if anyone would read. And yet I've managed to build up a small but loyal following of awesome readers. Exciting things have been happening around here, and I don't want to give anything away yet, but there are gears in motion. At any rate, I'll keep you filled in and above everything else, will try to keep up with this site. (Even if my posting winds being slightly less frequent.) I totally appreciate all the support I've gotten and hope that litelysalted's popularity continues to grow!

On that note, I'll be posting over at Yeeeah! all of this coming week, so stop on over and see what that crazy Paris Hilton has gotten herself into this time!

-Ms. Salted

I've got nothin'

2007-05-18T10:43:00.000-07:00

Well guys, I had an awesome piece planned for today. But guess what? I forgot to bring an accompanying image with me to work to scan, which is vital to the story. Check back Monday morning!

So instead, enjoy this expletive-laden clip from Curb Your Enthusiasm. Upon my first viewing of this episode, this part made me laugh so hard I couldn't even breathe.

Thanks for Watermarking My Face, Asshole!

2007-05-16T08:17:00.000-07:00

So here's an interesting thing. Apparently now at sporting events they have photographers come around and take your picture, which you can later view on their website and have printed on a variety of tacky crap for an exorbitant fee. As you see, the images are carefully watermarked, (so don't even think of stealing it for your myspace page-- thief!) and embedded so you can't even yank them off the page. As if I don't know how to use a simple screen grab.

Mr. Salted organizes these group baseball events once a year for his work buddies, and makes sure to always plan them on "dollar dog night." The hot dogs themselves are wrapped in foil, kind of burnt and squished, and on occasion shot out of a cannon by that lovable big green nutsack, the Phillie Phanatic. But they're a dollar, people! And that? Is all you need to know.

Q: How many hot dogs can 110lb girl eat in one sitting?
A: That, my friends, is my dirty little secret.

Last night was a bit different than previous years events, because it just so happened that "dollar dog night" fell upon "college night." And you know that can mean only one thing: hot dogs on the field! I learned something else; if you think the average sports fan acts like an asshole at sporting events? (Or is that just a Philly thing?) Try attending one filled with college kid sports fans.

To give you some insight, last night there were a record breaking 11,000 walk-up tickets sold. A particularly meatheaded attendee actually berated the "lemon ice" guy (in a tone of voice which normally precedes fisticuffs) after he told him that there was no "walk up" beer service on account that it was college night; blissfully unaware that he himself had just completely justified the "no walk up beer service on college night" rule.

We made what was probably a sound decision to cut out an inning early. Although we missed the thrilling end of the game, we also missed the drunken post-game rioting which undoubtedly took place. I imagine it looked something like a giant arena-sized Slip 'N Slide made of beer and hog dog mush. Baseball rules.

Uniform

2007-05-10T10:17:00.000-07:00

Over in Meatworld, TK was recently mentioning how his father made him work construction summer jobs as a kid, as it was supposed to "build character." So it got me thinking a little bit about my own illustrious pre-professional career. Let me tell you, I got so much fuckin' character built into my system during my formative years, I've got it coming out my ass!

Here are some noteworthy excerpts into some of the abuse and torment I suffered at the hands of menial labor:

1993-1994: I was 15 when I got my first job at a local pharmacy/grocery/gift type of store. A couple of the 20-something female low-level managers continually harassed me, because apparently they found something threatening in my slight and affable quirkiness. One of them actually threatened to beat me up, standing in front of my register, after I wearily told her to fuck off. Nine months into the job I ended up quitting in tears, mid-shift.

1997: The summer after my Freshman year of college I got a waitressing job at a local seafood restaurant. After repeatedly fending off the advances and gropings of the 37 year old restaurant owner, "Lenny," I was eventually demoted to the lunch shift, (some new, sluttier girls got my weekend nights) which attracted so few customers I was forced to quit.

1999: The summer after Junior year of college I got a job at an Exxon station out of convenience since it was less than a mile from my parent's home. It paid minimum wage and when people stole gasoline it came out of my paycheck, although I'm pretty sure that was illegal. Let me just say, you can't fully grasp the concept of "demeaning" until you've cleaned gas station bathrooms. I quit soon after one of the cretins who worked there drop kicked a stale bagel into my face and almost broke my nose.

1999 (Pt. 2): Since the whole Exxon gig worked out so awesomely, winter break that same year I decided to try my hand at Sunoco. I lasted one day. The guy who eventually became my brother in law will probably tell you his favorite memory of me was walking into the Sunoco that day and seeing me with a coffee pot in each hand and that fruity fucking little necktie they made me wear; my face instantly turning beet red. I started plotting my escape about halfway through the shift.

2000: My last year of college I worked in a grocery store deli/seafood department. Definitely the most outstanding stopping point of our journey thus far. I think every American thinks it's his or her God given right to treat deli counter employees like pure shit. If you want to witness the lowest depths of human depravity, go observe people standing in line at a deli counter. One time two customers even got into a physical altercation in which law enforcement had to be summoned. I'm not even shitting you; one lady actually bit another lady.

It didn't help that the unsanitary practices of this store were nothing short of appalling. I was instructed to sell moldy cheese and rotting lunch meat, as well as lobsters and other shellfish that arrived to the store already dead. (Lobsters, crabs, clams and etcetera have to be alive when you you cook it, or you can get really sick.) When the little tubs of macaroni and potato salad sold on the refrigerated shelves expired, we were instructed to empty them into the tubs behind the counter to sell by the pound. Unsold rotisserie chickens? Went into storage for a couple weeks until we had accumulated enough to pick the spoiled meat from the carcasses to make "chicken salad" out of. Nothing was allowed to go to waste.

In addition to these atrocities, because of the unsafe working conditions I visited the emergency room twice in the three months I worked there. One time I cut the tip of my finger in half cleaning the cheese slicer and another time I slipped on a wet floor (MATS?? Are for pussies!!) and gouged my wrist out on a sharp, ill advised piece of metal sticking out of the wall. Here is photographic evidence of the lovely scar I carry with me to this day. (Next to my bitchin' tattoo, of course.)

2000-2001: In the transition between college and professional employment, I got a job waitressing at an upscale dining establishment, working for a maniacal tyrant who was fond of screaming obscenities and throwing objects at the wait and kitchen staff. On my first dinner shift he threw a bread basket at my head because I didn't know where they were kept. Another time he made me cry while I was waiting on a table which sat my 6th grade teacher. I ended up getting fired after a particularly hectic evening as a result of the kitchen cooking someone's steak wrong and a new bartender telling me that they didn't carry a regular customer's favorite brand of whiskey. It was probably for the best.

And there you have it! Getting through adolescence without at least one traumatizing work experience is pretty much fucking unamerican, so please feel free to add your own stories and anecdotes. Thinking back on it all kinda puts the following 6-7 years of cubicles and petty office gripes into perspective. Moral of the story? Stay in school, kids!

Gone Gossipin'

2007-05-09T07:33:00.000-07:00

I'm over here today, if you'd like to stop in! Otherwise, posting on litelysalted will resume tomorrow. See you then!

My Conversation with Kiki.

2007-05-07T06:58:00.000-07:00

To celebrate my newfound alliance with Yeeeah!, I'm going to start the week off with storytime, featuring none other than Abby's most hated celebritard, Kirsten Dunst– who I am 90% sure that I met in a chatroom as a teenager.

The year was 1996; right around the cusp of when "the internet" became a feature of online services like AOL and Prodigy, and that will be important later. My family was a subscriber to the latter, and being the teenage social leper I was at the time, spent a good deal of time in the Prodigy chat rooms.

On this particular day, I was milling around in my chat room of preference, when all of a sudden some asshole in the room starts going "DOES ANYONE KNOW KIRSTEN DUNST?"

Since apparently, no one knew or cared who Kirsten Dunst was, the person (I can't recall what screenname was used) just kept typing the same thing over and over, in caps, (of course) until I finally said, "Will you SHUT UP already?! No one fucking knows who Kirsten Dunst is!" Keep in mind this is all paraphrased, because we're going back over a decade and I'm pretty sure cursing wasn't even allowed in the chatrooms at the time. Ahhh, the age of innocence!

Now that I had gone and taken the bait, the person instant messaged me stating, "Well, I'm Kirsten Dunst!" to which I responded something mean and snarky about why I should give a shit, and blah blah. It was then that Kiki satisfactorily revealed that she was THE Kirsten Dunst, of y'know, like That Vampire Movie and then proceeds to rattle off a laundry list of other roles she had played including guest spots on ER, Sisters and etcetera.

At the time, the internet was a shadow of the behemoth it is today, and websites like IMDB simply didn't exist yet. So I didn't really understand how this person was getting such detailed information, although the more she tried to prove it to me, the less I even cared. She even went so far as to give me her phone number, which I didn't call since it was allegedly a California number and I would have gotten my ass kicked for making a long distance phone call like that. So after about 10 minutes or so, I grew tired of the little charade and signed off, not giving it much additional thought.

Fast forward to a few months later. Summertime. What happened next I remember very clearly– I was sitting outside on the deck of my family's above ground swimming pool. My sister subscribed to the usual round-up of teenybopper magazines, and I was leafing through an issue of Seventeen where I found a tiny, one page Kirsten Dunst interview. As I read, Kirsten brattily told the magazine how she and her friends enjoyed frequenting chat rooms to screw with people, at which point I proceeded to have a total Colbert-esque "NOOOOOOOO!" moment. And I have hated that assy little fang-mouth bitch-face EVER SINCE.

In conclusion, as much as it has dismayed me to witness Kirsten's rise to superstardom over the past decade, I find comfort in photos of her looking like a skanky piece of trash, like the one seen above, which are published daily by gossip sites who seem to loathe her as much as I do.

Multitasking

2007-05-04T13:00:00.000-07:00

I'm back, motherfucker, back! If anyone has been wondering as to my whereabouts this week, as I mentioned downpost, I had gone to a better place– working from home. And so my time this week was spent: alternating between valid job productivity, (which always somehow manages to elude me in an office environment, ironically enough) watching trashy daytime television (as any of my faithful readers would have undoubtedly predicted) and taking frequent breaks to spend some time outdoors with my dogs during the (finally) GORGEOUS seasonable weather we've been having here in Southeastern Pennsylvania.

If any of you would like any proof as to my whereabouts, please contact any of the 20 men who were performing various feats of drywalling and stuccoing at my home this week. It kept things interesting. Whereas most people might be a bit weirded out to be cooking eggs in their pajamas, and glancing towards the kitchen window to find a strange man peering back in, at the Salted household it just became known as "Friday."

And now for the weekly Airing of the Grievances. Thursday evenings are my Numero Uno Television Happy Fun Time, because my two current faves, The Office and Supernatural, air back to back. But you know what? I have had JUST ABOUT ENOUGH of NBC's wacky fucking scheduling. Oh, look at me– I'm a greedy dick of a television network. I'll just start the show at 8:36 and run it until 9:20... Because if you happen to watch another show on another network after ours, well... Sucks to be you! Because it would be unthinkable that anyone wouldn't stick around for Scrubs, right?

Okay, now I have a confession to make: I just started liking Scrubs. Up until 2 years ago, I did not have a work and/or school schedule that gave me regular access to primetime television viewing for the better part of a decade. So any of my favorite shows that aired between ten and two years ago (Buffy, Newsradio, Freaks and Geeks) I've either caught on syndication or DVD. Arrested Development is an exception to the rule, because that aired Sundays. So, I can be proud to say I wasn't one of the ones who helped kill it.

Scrubs, I was determined not to like. Because Zach Barf's non-threatening good looks annoy the living shit out of me and because of Garden State: A movie I loathe to my core, sight unseen. But recently, I gave in and watched a handful of episodes on Comedy Central. And you know what? Everyone was right. It's funny and clever and wacky and smart and touching all at the same time. But Barfo? He can still kiss my ass. That cutesy act doesn't fool me for a second.

There you have it folks, a week's worth of ramblings neatly packaged just for you. Next week I should return to normal posting habits. Also, I'll confirm details at a later date, but it looks like next week I will also embarking on a Guest Editor gig at yeeeah!, helping out the hilarious and talented Abby. Wish me luck!

Dance Party Friday!

2007-04-27T11:09:00.000-07:00

Don't you just love the Pizzicato Five? NO?? Well, tough shit– I do!

Flavor of Love IV: Debutards

2007-04-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

Confession time: When Flavor of Love premiered I couldn't bring myself to watch it. I was all Flav'ed out from both the Surreal Life and the abysmal Strange Love. But after watching footage of the "Spit Heard Round The World" I couldn't help myself but tune into the second installment, which luckily brought back Miss New York so I was all caught up by the time the glorious I Love New York aired.

It was then that I realized something. The Flavor of Love equation actually works better without it's proprietary character, because, you know what? Flavor Flav is annoying as shit. And when you take away the annoying as shit factor, you're left with nothing but marvelously entertaining skeezebags, manskanks, and attention whores.

The formula appears to be working; I Love New York was a smash hit and the trend continues with Charm School, debuting with 5.1 million viewers– a network record. The show is hosted by comedienne (?) Mo'Nique, who I'm not entirely familiar with, although she seems to fill the slot well enough. So I guess technically the premise of the show is to find out which girl can become most ladylike, to be bestowed a large cash sum. But we all know what the real premise is, and that is to watch crazy bitches fight! Hellz YEAH!

Here are my picks so far:

Pumkin: To quote fellow blogger Natalia, Bitches be hatin on Pumpkin already! Pumkin is the aforementioned "spitter" from Flavor of Love 1. (The "spittee" being Miss New York herself.) I don't have too much else to say about Pumkin at this point, other than that she turned up at the I Love New York reunion on the arm of none other than Mr. Boston himself, and for those you who would like to replace your Screech Sex tape nightmares with another visual, boasted of the "great sex" they were having. Indeed.

Saaphyri: Saaphyri's time on The Flavor of Love 2 was so brief (albeit memorable) that she didn't even earn a nickname, although you may fondly remember her as the Lip Chap Girl. In the aftermath of the fight which gets her booted, Saaphyri offers the other girl some "lip chap" and then prays, "Please God don't let me beat down this white bitch's ass again." (It's fantastic, and you can watch it here.)

Hottie: Although I missed Hottie on Flavor of Love 1, she seems be doing a stellar job of filling the delusional batshit crazy void we're left with without New York. By the second episode she's let her inner psychopath out full force, hiding some of the other girls dresses in a kitchen cabinet. Why, you ask? Allow me to reiterate: delusional batshit crazy.

Krazee: Sadly, at the time of this writing Krazee has already been booted from the show, which is a shame because she was probably the most pathetic Flavorette, therefore the most enjoyable to laugh at. In The Flavor of Love 2, Krazee (self nicknamed Nevaeh, which is "Heaven" spelled backwards) demonstrates delusions of grandeur in that she aspires to be a recording artist. Unfortunately for her and her beat-ass demo tape, her pitiful "singing talents" would get her booed offstage a talent show for short bus kids.

Aaaaaaand, there you have it, folks! See you at the next spin-off!

Disillusionment Thursday!

2007-04-26T13:35:00.002-07:00

First, Jessica Lynch Oh SNAP's (No she diiiin't!) Bush's War Lies. (In yo FACE!) Which okay... Didn't happen Thursday but I'm just watching it Thursday so it still gets to fall under Disillusionment Thursday.

And then! A much more ridiculous and shocking scandal of harrowing bravery under adversity: DID Curt Schilling paint his sock red in game 6 of the 2004 ALCS?

That's what Baltimore Orioles broadcaster Gary Thorne claims he heard. "It (the sock) was painted," Thorne said to analyst Jim Palmer during the broadcast. "It was painted. Doug Mirabelli confessed up to it after. It was all for PR (public relations).

"What? Are you kidding me? He's (bleeping) lying," Mirabelli said. "I never said that (to Thorne). I know it was blood. Everybody knows it was blood.""

Source.

Those are some pre-tty serious allegations to be shooting off, all willy nilly. I actually saw a Sox game in Baltimore once. The Boston fans outnumbered the Orioles fans by at least a 4:1 ratio. Hmm.... Jealousy much? Readers?

Take these words and eat 'em!

2007-04-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

I know that in the past I may have... okay definitely have mentioned that my alliance runs towards Macintosh products as opposed to PCs. Well guess what? My beautiful 20-inch work imac is broken! Suck on that, Justin Long's dreadfully annoying 'Mac Guy' character!

Well okay, it's not broken as in broken that I'm not actually typing on it right this very moment. But there is something fishy going on with the power source and it's been increasingly giving me shit turning on in the morning... So, next week— off it goes.

Good news? It looks like I'll be working from home for a little while.

Bad news? This happens mere weeks before our massive home renovation project is completed which will furnish me with a home office.

Good news? I get to watch MAURY while I work!!!! Hooray for Maury!

Dustin Diamond is really creepy.

2007-04-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

How's that for the most redundant headline of the century? And I'm not even referring to the sex tape, which I haven't seen. Although that much should be clear just going by the fact that I'm sitting here typing and not rocking back and forth with my knees drawn to my chest in a padded room.

Defying my better judgment, I tuned into Celebrity Fit Club last night. I swear I'm going to wind up as the blogger known for a relentless coverage of VH1's Celebreality lineup; but unfortunately since there seems to be both a demand and shortage of such, it looks like I'm going to have to be the one to bite the bullet.

Fit Club is not a show I typically watch, because seriously whooooo caaaaares. But this time around my curiosity had been whetted by reports of on-set altercations between cast member Diamond (who makes Danny Bonaduce look well adjusted) and, pretty much everyone; particularly contestant Kimberly Locke. TMZ reported back in January that Diamond had threatened to "make a dildo of my c**k and f**k" former American Idol star Locke with "it."

Based on that quote alone one might assume that we're not dealing with a champion of mental health, but I was still quite shocked by how disturbing Diamond's behavior was right off the bat. If you aren't already aware, he fancies himself a stand-up comedian, although evidenced by impromptu bits on the show last night his "comedy" seems to range anywhere from "pathetic" to "uncomfortable."

Immediately he begins harassing Locke, probably for no other reason than she seems to be the easiest target, laughing and taunting her during the initial consultation with the panel of experts. When it comes his turn to stand before the panel he continues to make ineffectual jokes which leads me to believe that he may have purposely gained weight solely for the purpose of appearing on the show in the first place. Which wouldn't be totally uncharacteristic coming from the guy who allegedly leaked his own porno.

Former child stars whoring themselves out at any given opportunity is fairly commonplace in our society, as evidenced by Barry "Greg Brady" Williams presence in American pop culture for the past 3 decades. Hell, I might do the same the same if I were in that position. There's bills to pay and it's easier than actually working for a living. But the difference with Dustin Diamond is that there's something genuinely deeply unsettling about the guy, and as much as I loves me a trainwreck I have to confess that maybe the public arena is not the best place for this particular has-been.

Memo:

2007-04-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

Readers to litelysalted: No one cares about Sanjaya!

Sorry guys, I promise to write about something better next time. The premiere of Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School, mayhap?

Here's lookin' at you, kid...

2007-04-19T05:56:00.000-07:00

Bad news today, readers. To follow up on my last post: As it turns out, the kind of people who would be willing to vote for an American Idol sight-unseen, solely for the purpose of bringing down American Idol? Are actually the kind of people who are too lazy to vote for American Idol. Who'da thunk?

This is exactly the kind of voter apathy that a conservative acquaintance of mine once told me supposedly won George W. Bush not one but two Presidential Elections. (Or, "won" depending how you want to look at it.) Naturally, I told him to go fuck himself and the real reason is that rednecks are akin to cockroaches, but now I'm starting to think he was on to something.

Let's have it out. WHO DIDN'T VOTE? What... Who, me? I don't have to vote for Sanjaya. I'm an influencial blogger. I'm the one who tells you to vote for Sanjaya. Sheesh. If you don't get that much what are you even doing here?*

*Wait! I was kidding! Don't go! You know I thrive on your attention. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

Is Christian Finnegan Anorexic?

2007-04-17T07:33:00.000-07:00

Admittedly, I don't watch Best Week Ever as often as I used to, ever since I realized that The Soup provides a more effective dose of weekly pop culture snark. But lately, whenever I see BWE comedian Christian Finnegan (on commercials or otherwise) he is looking less and less like himself. Well I just happened upon his photo on myspace and the reason is suddenly crystal clear. He is turning into Fire Marshal Bill. Don't believe me?

Check it out.

Christian, if you're out there: Seriously. Let your inner chubby guy out. You know you want that cookie, bro. All chocolately and crumbley. Go ahead, I won't tell... It'll be our secret.

So he may have committed some light treason...

2007-04-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

Who remembers John Walker Lindh? If you've forgotten, he was the post 9/11 antihero who was the ying to Jessica Lynch's yang. Or something like that. Well, at any rate, Walker is back in the news because they're moving him to the "Supermax" prison in Colorado. This confused me for a few reasons. Firstly, when I heard "Supermax" I naturally thought they were referring to some sort of feminine hygiene and/or menstruation products. But, no... Apparently the "Supermax" is the federal government's most secure prison, where they house supervillains like the unibomber and Magneto.

Is it just me or does this seem a bit extreme for a guy who looks like the wimpy little brother of Chris Robinson? You could probably "lock" him in some revolving doors with a wedge doorstop underneath and he'd be pretty safely detained for the next 15 years. It's not like the guy was a criminal mastermind; rather a stupid impressionable kid who made some poor choices. Sure, some of us dabble in pot and some of us join the Taliban. What's the diff? Cut the kid some slack, is all I'm saying.

An Open Letter To Jared Padalecki

2007-04-12T05:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Jared,

No, you know what? Fuck you, man.

I write about your show all the time. I write about how much I love it, (even when I don't) and even when people make fun of me for it. I even wrote about how you love the animals.

And this is how you repay me? By starring as Thomas fucking Kinkade in a movie named after one of his godawful paintings called The Christmas Cottage?! To think I may have, on occasion, say... fantasized about making out with you. Thinking about it now just makes me want to throw up in my mouth.

Thomas Kinkade? Seriously?! I always knew you were kind of a dork, thanks to the Day in the Life of Jared and Jensen featurette from the Supernatural Season 1 DVDs. But this is just beyond belief. As an artist before a writer, the fact that this man is celebrated for his shitty mediocre "doctor's office" art offends me to the core of my being. Why don't you just take a gun and shoot me, Jared? It would be less painful and over more quickly.

I'm not sure how I'm feeling about all of this right now. But I think it might be awhile before I can see you again, and I hope you understand.

Sincerely,

Your fan (?)
Ms. Salted
PS: I leave you with this photoshop rendition which more accurately expresses my thoughts about all of this.

To Catch a Predator Con Man Shoplifter Jaywalker?

2007-04-11T06:52:00.000-07:00

So... The people at Dateline NBC are really milking the hell out of this whole, "To Catch a ____" franchise, aren't they?

Last week it was To Catch an ID Thief. Which really wasn't as frightening as I had imagined, because much like To Catch a Predator, for the most part the crimes in question rely heavily on the cooperation of total dumbasses. It did make me think twice, however, when I engaged in a bout of verbal fisticuffs with a spammer last week that maybe he was in the process of stealing my photograph from my company website for the purpose of using it to manipulate lonely old men into unwittingly committing acts of credit card fraud.

Oh well, probably wouldn't be the worst thing my likeness has been attached to.

Moving on. Last night To Catch a Car Thief premiered, which was much less funny than either of the aforementioned. For one thing, it didn't feature the ever delightful Chris Hansen; (although it did feature "Big George", pictured above) not to mention it was about legitimately frightening criminals with guns. Lots of guns. Although, the addition of Hansen could have been amusing in the right context:

Car thief shows up at nondescript warehouse looking to unload stolen vehicles.

Chris Hansen: Walks out. Hi, how are you? Why don't you have a seat over there—

Car Thief: We been set up! Fuck this shit! BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!

Car Thief: Yeah. That's what I thought, bitch ass punk!

Oh, I kid. I wish no ill will on my favorite harbinger of unintentional comedy. But on a more serious note, witnessing these very scary criminals in action does beg the question as to why we're not spending more effort on fighting the terror taking place within our own nation rather than going around looking for it overseas? Although I think that is a question for a much more serious and insightful blogger than myself.

Litelysalted hearts Sanjaya!

2007-04-05T09:27:00.000-07:00

I'm about to do something I never thought I'd do in my lifetime: Get behind an American Idol contestant.

Let me get something straight, I hate American Idol with the white hot firey passion of a thousand suns. (Sorry, C!) I watched the show exactly one time for about 15 minutes during the first season when I stayed home sick one night while working second shift. Because prime time TV was a novelty to me at that point, I guess I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Which basically I still didn't get after those 15 minutes. If I wanted to see a bunch of stupid assholes crappily singing songs I don't like, I'd go to a college karaoke bar.

So, fine. I gave it a shot, it wasn't for me, the end. Except...

With each passing season of stupid American Idol, it culminates into a media frenzy shoved into every orifice of my being for the duration of the several months it airs. I can't take a dump without hearing some kind of American Idol blathering. And it's more than just the insane media coverage. A typical conversation with my mother during "Idol Season" goes as follows:

Mom: "Have you been watching American Idol this season?"

Me: "No. I still don't watch it.

At which point my mother invariably interprets that answer as, "No!! I missed it!! Please tell me everything that's happened and don't forget to include your favorites and predictions!"

So yeah, I've grown to resent American Idol. Just a little. Apparently, I am not the only one. Bring in Sanjaya.

At first, when I heard of Sanjaya, I thought to myself, "Ha ha! He sucks!" But didn't really care too much, assuming that ultimately it would just fuel ratings for American Idol. Which of course would lead to more American Idol that I would be accosted with. Although I did think it was funny that assface Gwen Stefani got her panties in a bunch over him singing one of her shit-tastic songs.

But now I'm starting to understand the beauty of Sanjaya. The fans are pissed! They're going on hunger strikes, and camping out on rooftops like this numbnuts I saw on the local news this morning. By now you've probably heard of Howard Stern's campaign with the website Vote for the Worst... I'm starting to believe that there is some real potential for bringing down American Idol! If he won, it would totally destroy the credibility of the show!

You know... I would feel bad for trying to take away something that brings enjoyment to others; but you know, people... If you would have just watched your damn show and minded your business about it, we wouldn't be where we are today, now would we? So you know what this means... I may actually have to vote for an American Idol contestant. Go ahead hell, I'll bring my iceskates.