Things you should NOT do in the locker room

On Saturday, a girlfriend of mine and I were drinking pineapple-infused vodka at a party. (One bottle Absolut + one drained can Dole pineapple rings + five months sitting on a shelf = frighteningly delicious liquid yumminess). As she, I and our respective mates tore into homemade hummus and spinach dip, H's eyes lit up like my on-the-fritz dashboard and she practically screamed through a mouthful of baby carrots, "OMG I have to tell you what I saw in the locker room today!" With those words, the boys made a hasty and rather Pavlovian departure from the kitchen to watch football, allowing H to embark on her story involving this horribly anorexic older woman at our gym (I've actually complained to management abut her before because she is brink-of-death thin and I don't feel it's safe to have little girls in the locker room exposed to that kind of imagery. Management, of course, has done nothing.)

Anyhow, apparently the woman decided the bathroom was, ya know, too private and sanitary a place to do her business and H was confronted with the image of her bent over, totally naked, affixing a pad to her underpants.

This is wrong on so many levels, from the fact that my initial reaction was, "She still gets her period?" to the health issues involved with inserting/applying feminine hygiene products out in the open.

My scary sanitary pad saga comes at a particularly fortuitous time, no matter how gross, because on Thursday of last week (which seems like eons ago, after this weekend of blessed relaxation, debauchery and - coming soon - some insanely exciting news - my friend FitSugar emailed me to let me know she'd blogged all about locker room antics in honor of Locker Room Diaries.

She writes:

"After reading her book, I have noticed how different women approach changing and showering at the gym. So now I am wondering about how you all feel about getting naked in the locker room? Are you comfortable with it, or do you change at home? The showers at my gym are communal, and I have seen ladies wearing swimsuits while washing their hair as well as women shaving all sorts of hair in the shower. Do you shower at the gym? How about the sauna or the steam room? Speak up and tell me how you feel about getting naked in the locker room."

What my book cover SHOULD HAVE looked like.

Responses ranged from "I hardly have enough courage to drop the towel to jump in the pool, let alone shower or change in front of others" to "Why do some women take the opportunity to walk around a public locker room either butt naked or topless and in a thong? I mean, really, I'm curious WHY they do that? What are they trying to prove?" to "Honestly, I don't have a problem with it. Just slip on your clothes and keep moving. It's not a big deal. There are other pressing issues in the world. Sometimes we (Americans) can be a bit prudish about something as simple as nudity."

I think you all (or, at least, anyone who actually cares about me has read my book) know my stance on this: I get naked in the locker room but don't prance around. I often will dry my hair topless if the AC is on the fritz and it's just too hot, but my nether parts are always covered...usually with some very sassy, one-liner-type undies that read "I play mind games" or are covered with black and white images of gay male phone sex ads. And I shall never, ever touch a stool or other piece of furniture with my bare ass. (This happens, and it's horrifying.)

Don't know how many of you hit the gym this weekend but if you did, tell me - Do you get nekkid in the locker room? Hide in the stall? Sashay around with all your bits flying? And what's the most horrifying thing you've seen? No judgment here! Just curious.

Brenda had back

My friend Amanda just returned from her honeymoon in Greece where, she said, the absolute only U.S. show in English to grace her hotel TV was Beverly Hills, 90210. (Not that she spent her ‘moon vegging in front of the tele, but you know how it’s just nice to have the TV on while you get dolled up for the night.) This unexpected chance to refresh her memory of all things Secret Diet Pills (ooooh!) and Gelled Pompadour (Oh! Brandon!) sparked her memories of how unbelievably moral the show was. All I remember is Donna lighting a bazillion candles and dressing up in white lingerie and “giving” her virginity to David – AS LONG AS HE USED A CONDOM! (Her daddy was the show’s creator. Ew.)

Anyhow, this got me thinking about the hormone-soaked frenzy currently taking place amongst my friends when it comes to the new 90210. I’ve been seeing the ads and it’s Just. Not. The. Same. What jumps out at me the most: How glaringly different the girls’ bodies are. I know the times, they-are-a-changing’, and everyone on TV looks all Gossip Girl now (Hi, Serena! Love you!) but do you remember what Brenda, Kelly, Donna and Andrea looked like?

Here’s a reminder:

Two, four, six, eight, Donna Martin's Mom jeans are GREAT!

Sure, Donna was twiggy with big boobs (often framed by faux suspenders) but the other girls had some meat. Yesterday, I watched the episode where Brenda and Kelly go skydiving just to spend time with Hot Don The Instructor and Bren was wearing tight, high-waisted, belted jeans with a red tee shirt tucked in (SO Midwestern!)that (a) showed she had thighs and a butt and (b) unfortunately revealed a slight camel toe issue.

The thing is, back when I watched this show with the kind of religious fervor typically reserved for Christian rock concerts or Miller High Life brewery tours, I never, ever thought Brenda was “fat” or even slightly big. She was pretty and sexy and fighting her way from the naivete of the Midwest to the intensely cliquish ways of Southern California.

But now, compared with the new gals (like AnnaLynne McCord, who I actually loathe, character-wise, because she played a horrible person on Nip/Tuck, one of my favie shows, and despite my above-average intellect, I am unable to separate the actress from the role), Brenda looks like she could eat one of them as a 100-calorie snack. The new cast, in their full, thin glory:

I totally wore strappy, dominatrix-esque stilettos, booty shorts and a head scarf in high school! Well, OK, I did wear booty shorts.

Does this bother you? Make you yearn for the blissful ignorance of yester-high school? Do you not even have a clue what I'm talking about because you have more important things to watch like, say, the Democratic National Convention or Rock of Love Part 3 (it's coming!!!)

Wax philosophical below. Fave 90210 memories? Were you a Steve or a Dylan kinda gal? Did you wish you could work on the newspaper with Brandon, but only if Ahhndrea would let up a bit with her iron fist? And who secretly wanted to sleep with Mr. Walsh??

PS Funny Dan story alert! We were just waking up this morning, lying in our warm bed and talking about the day. He was half in and half out of sleep but, as always, he was calling me by my various nicknames - Lolly, Lolo, Lollster, Lala, and then just random stuff like Peanut Butter Jelly Time or Nakesters Bear or...you get the point. Anyway, he was almost asleep, kind of awake, and he goes, "What are you doing today, Fitarella?"

!!!

I shook him and said, "Wait - you know I have a blogger friend named that, right?" And he said, "I know, I go to your blog, I've seen her name." Isn't that hysterical? Also, once when I was PMSsy he called me Crabby McSlacker.

Too funny! Had to share

PPS: My iVillage editor, Valerie, was on the Today Show this morning, honing in on my turf promoting our new walking weight loss program with expert Leslie Sansone, coach of our Step Up to Slim Down Walking Community Challenge.

Anyways, if you're interested in learning more about the six-week challenge, here's the link.

Mom, why is your butt so big?

Oh. Dear. God.

If ever I needed birth control and hearing wailing, siren-like babies screaming for lattes in Starbucks wasn't enough, then this story from the iVillage Message Boards is:

"Hi I'm new here -please forgive me if I'm on the wrong board. My 8 year old daughter was out playing with friends and when she came in for lunch she was very quiet. I asked her if everything was okay and she says to me, 'Mom, why IS your butt so big? Mrs. P's butt isn't as big as yours and she's had 3 kids, too. Kaitlin (her friend-Mrs. P's daughter) says it's from just sitting around on your butt all day. Does sitting down really make your butt get bigger?'

I was speechless at first and then wondered if Kaitlin had overheard her mother talking about me. I'm so angry. I told my daughter that it's true I do sit around more than I should and I also eat too much. I never even thought about how I looked to my kids. I'm now determined more than ever to do something.

Should I say something to Mrs. P or just ignore this and consider it a wake up call?" - From: makinitthru

Excuse me while I go stick my head in an over, eat my last crumb of challah and say goodbye to this cruel, cruel world.

Being a kid is tough, and when we don't feel cool, we at least want our parents to be cool. I remember one particularly cruel remark I made to my mom in seventh grade...I was part of the most popular clique in school, The Jennies. It was Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jessica and myself. I was the token big girl and I knew it but hey - if that meant getting my bra snapped by boys ("Ew!! No!!! Stoooooop!! Tee hee hee.") Anyhow, the Js' moms were always done-up, with permed hair, makeup and those matching tie-dyed outfits where sparkly puffy paint was scribbled on the upper right breast and lower left shin, thus pulling the ensemble together. And they were very thin.

My mom was more into things like, I don't know, caring about me. Whether her eyeliner was smudged was not a concern of hers. At the time, I didn't appreciate it because I wanted her to dress like the "cool" moms.. Poor me, right?

One night, when I was being a particularly foul little brat and wanted to be mean, I asked/challenged her as to why she didn't look like the Js' moms. She was hurt and I got no reply (not that I deserved one - it was an angst rhetorical question born out of my own low self-esteem.)

So A) Mom, if you're reading this, I am so sorry. That was a crap move on my part and wasn't about you at all, but about my hating my body and position in the J clique. Feel free to dish on your feelings then...and now...in the Comments section. I know everyone would like to hear. You can also tell them about what a teenaged beeyotch I was at times. OK, all the time.

B) What should makinitthru do? Personally, I don't think talking to Mrs. P is smart or necessarily even right. Nor would screaming at her daughter, who is just a little girl growing up in a world full of buttless models. Moms out there...advice?

I hereby declare this "Love Your Mom AND Her Butt Day." In other words, go do something to kiss yer mama's a$$. Or a friend who's a mom. Call her. Send a card. Send her an e-card (I like this one and this one, but prolly best to avoid this one.) Send flowers. Just tell her you *heart* her and are sorry for all the doodoo you out her through between the ages of 12 and 16. (Hypothetically speaking, I mean.)

PS Tomorrow, August 28, Bally Total Fitness ishaving a fundraiser for ALS (Lou Gherig's). Anyone can go to a Bally club and workout in exchange for a $1 dollar donation which will fund ALS research through an organization called Augie’s Quest. Go workout for a worthy cause!

Best. Headline. Ever.

...in MY opinion, anyways. Click here.

Also, many of you may recall my various nicknames include Lolly, Lol, Lala and Lolo. Sadly, many of you may have witnessed U.S. track star Lolo Jones who accidentally smacked a hurdle in the 100-meter high hurdles, losing her lead. I actually didn't even know Lolo existed until this summer, and now she is my favorite athlete ever. She was so graceful in her post-race interviews, even as she choked back the tears. If you want to learn more about her, her web site is www.runlolorun.com which I have decided will be the inspiration for my next web site, www.writelolowrite.com

We share a name and...well, we share a name.

Hey, as long as I'm a bit all over the place today, let's do a quick round-up of some interesting/bizarre news:

Stem cells are being used for bigger breasts
Hallelujah! Forget Alzheimer’s and MS - we should be focusing on harvesting stem cells for women who don't want to have their DD implants replaced! Now THAT'S something worth waging gigantic politcal and ethical battles over.

Found: The perfect body shape to attract a mate!
According to researchers from the University of Duh in D'oh!ville, women with small bodies, big boobs and long legs are the most attractive shapes for men. What if you're petite? Fret not! If you look like Scarlett Johansson, Raquel Welch or Marilyn Monroe, you'll be OK, too.

FDNY's hunkiest brave (aka firefighters) pose against all odds for fundraising calendar
And by "against all odds" I mean they are challenging the ban put in place over some full frontal action that took place in the the 2008 FDNY calendar (don't worry, my lasses - it's SFW!) How to solve a problem such as this? Harvest stem cells for fake boobs pose with your face barely concealed!

Mr. February manages his crippling shyness by innovatively using his fireproof hat as a shield.

MTV kind of redeems itself after Model Makeover shenanigans
Reader Kia emailed me about this show she caught on MTV True Life called "I Can't Stay Thin," in which they profiled a man with binge eating disorder. I had also seen it (never met a reality show I didn't like) and thought it was eye-opening. Looking to kill an hour? Here is the show, in four installments, including a young woman's weight loss struggle - thanks for the tip, Kia!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

I'm done. No more links. My fingers are cramping into vulture-ike claws. I do it for you.

What salad makes YOU give birth?

When my magic circular triphasic pill pack is plum near run-out of white pills, I know it's time to get serious. Rocky Road and deep dish serious. Chicago's Art of Pizza serious. When that bomb arrives, weighing more than a pile of laundry, its savory-yet-sweet tomato sauce aroma oozing out of the box and tickling me like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, I know things will soon be good. And when I take my first bite - a big, chewy, cheesy, gooey love fest of mozzarella, spinach, black olives, mushrooms and chewy, buttery crust - my world is just better. PMS crisis temporarily averted.

I'll be right back - I need to go eat something.

(Five minutes later...)

OK, I just ate a few heaping tablespoons of jarred spaghetti sauce, a pisspoor but desperate substitute for that 'za. We just got back from Colorado and our fridge is as barren as an Antarctic bank on a national holiday.

Anyhow, I have pizza on the brain because my sister-in-law is due to give birth any day now (!!! Auntie Lolly time!!) and I just read on the baby's web page that Sarah (the preggers one, not the baby) and my brother ate at a restaurant in LA tonight called Ciaoti's, home of the so-called miracle Maternity Salad. According to legend, when about-to-pop mommies-to-be scarf down the “maternity” salad of romaine, watercress, Gorgonzola and walnuts tossed in a balsamic-basil vinaigrette, they start contracting within hours. (Bonus: The baby smells like stinky cheese! Seriously, tho - isn't soft cheese a no-no during pregnancy?)

Anyhow, no baby yet, but it got me thinking: Do YOU have a go-to food to cure a certain mood? I mean, I know pregnancy isn't technically a mood so much as an expensive, tiring and emotional 10-month saga, but still. When you want to celebrate, do you consitently hit up DQ for a chocolate chip cookie dough Blizzard? Is a bag of salty. buttery popcorn the only way you can watch an action flick? Did you once carboload before a half-marathon at a special Italian joint and now you must go back there for pasta putanesca before any major race? Tell me! Im hungry! PS If anyone has a food/dish they swear induced labor, let me know - we want this baby out of my sister and into Aunti Lolly's arms STAT.

If you hear a faint yodel...

...it's just me, singing from the mountain tops. Am off the Keystone, Colorado for a family wedding. I'm spray-tanned, self-manicured and ready to for an altitude-enhanced dirty martini buzz.

Have lovely weekends, all of you!

xo,
Leslie

My dress is much cuter than this. Which is not to say a modest apron can't be hot.

MTV can make you a model! But could you lose 80 pounds first?

Casting call:

MTV is looking for girls willing to shed the pounds (30-80 lbs), become a model and win $100,000! We are looking for girls with a great attitude, a pretty face and the endurance to sweat off the pounds during a 3 month boot camp style show. All applicants must be 5'8" - 6' and appear between 18 and 25 years old.

I heard about this yesterday when a reporter from ABCNews rang me up. She was sure I'd have something to say...and she was correct-o! Check it out here.

And in 20 minutes, at 9:45am EST, I'm going to be a call-in expert on Fox's America's Newsroom.

Reality TV shows are a dime a dozen and massive weight loss is nothing new, but I wonder how many already-slender model wannabes are going to show up, willing to do whatever it takes to get on TV and become a star? Even if that means dropping 40 pounds in three months.

When I was in eighth grade or so, my mom took me to a local modelling agency. The told me I could model for them...if I dropped about 20 pounds. Yeah, that wasn't soul-crushing or anything.

From the MTV web site:

HOW TO ENTER:

So what does it take to get on the show? “We are looking for beautiful, charismatic women who are willing to put in the effort to become a true model,” says Michael Flutie.

If you are between the ages of 17 & 24, 5'9" to 6' tall, and 130-190 pounds, please send a recent photo of yourself (head shots and body shots in a bathing suit) to mtvmodel@madwood.tv along with your

Name
Mailing Address
Home and Cell Telephone numbers
E-mail Address
Birth Date
Height
Weight
Bust-Waist-Hip Measurements
Dress Size
Occupation

OK, so the top end of the "beginnning" weight range is 190 pounds. The show states contestants may need to shed up to 80 pounds. So that would be...my math skills are sketchy buuuut...110 pounds? And only women 5'9" and up need apply? SO HEALTHY!

So all you readers who live in Pensacola, Florida; St. Louis, Missouri; West Des Moines, Iowa; Omaha, Nebraska; and Kansas City, Kansas - wipe off your makeup and pull on your skinny jeans. Casting calls are coming to your town!

Baby bikini waxing: A sticky situation

You're gonna stick hot wax WHERE?

In the last week, no fewer than four people have emailed me links to a story about young girls getting bikini waxes. Literally, my in-box has been quasi-flooded with messages starting:

"Leslie, So-and-So thinks you would be interested in the following story:"

Moms are bringing daughters to spas for hair removal before puberty

I'm not sure what I've done to deserve a reputation for paying close attention to toddler bikini lines (oh, wait, yes I do—I crusade against this kind of Little Lolita stuff all the time!), but I'll accept your challenge.

In the Today Show story I linked to above, the following anecdote is given by Diane Fisher, owner of Eclips Salon and Eclips Kids Day Spa in the Washington, D.C., suburbs:

“I had a mother who brought her daughter in, pulled up her shirt and asked us to wax the girl’s back. The hair didn’t seem to be bothering the little girl, but the mom was embarrassed and wanted it done. I told the mom to wait until the child wanted it, but she refused.” The girl, Fisher added, was 6 years old. SIX. Isn't that barely past Dora the Explorer age? (Poor Dora, with her coarse, jet black hair. Plus, her olive skin makes her a poor candidate for laser hair removal.) I should add that Fisher and her salon do not wax the bikini lines of ridiculously young girls, though she does have a handful of clients between the ages of 10 and 14 who come in for eyebrow waxing.

A society of (role) models

Ai yi yi. OK, so little girls are clearly hitting puberty earlier and earlier, which means changes like pubic hair and boobs are going to emerge ahead of the schedule most of us were on. And today's girls are growing up in a society where vaginal rejuvenation and breast implants are advertised on TV and pictures of Maxim models pop up on their computer screen screaming, "Click me!" and they see their mothers pretty-fying via highlights or getting Botox or shaving their legs. Even something like the "OHH! Kelly Clarkson!" chest-waxing scene from The 40-Year-Old Virgin is common knowledge for youngsters. So it's really no wonder that tots not only know about these services, but are clamoring for them - getting pedicures at age 8 or hair extensions at 13. And can we blame them? This is what they see. This is what WE do.

How young is too young?

But WE are adults, and they are little beings growing up too soon. Of course parents want to help their daughters and their hearts break at the thought of them being made fun of for, say, dark upper lip hair or ears that stick out. But I just feel like a bikini wax at age 8, while not harmful per se, has the potential to lead to very bad things. It's like a gateway drug—if they are having aestheticians rip the hair from their vaginal area...an act often associated with forthcoming sexual activity (ie a honeymoon or hot third date)...then who's to say they won't be more apt to engage in these acts at an earlier age? No, I don't think giving teenagers condoms will make them have sex (I am PRO PRO PRO giving out condoms. They should hand 'em out with milk at lunchtime.) so I know what I'm saying might sound a bit off. But the act of donning a paper bikini and having someone spread hot wax so close to your genitals, ripping off the wax and attached offending hair, just doesn't seem like something we should be subjecting girls to prior to junior high graduation. It seems too sexualizing, too intimate. And wouldn't some little girls with a newly bare vaginas, just like the sexy ladies in their fathers' hidden magazines, want to maybe show them off?

Is bare beautiful?

Of course, I remember the agony of being embarrassed by my body, of desperately not wanting to wear a bathing suit in front of my classmates because I was chubbier. I am sure having body hair at a young age is just as heartbreaking (OMG this is totally bringing me back to summer camp in sixth grade when my very brunette friend Erica taught me how to shave with those round razor things behind our shower barracks). But is bikini waxing the answer? What about a cute boy short bathing suit? Or, I suppose, a gentle razor and mother-to-daughter shaving lesson if the hair truly is causing the girl to stay away from the beach or ditch gym class or turn down pool party invitations. If I think this latter suggestion is OK, it looks like my problem isn't with hair removal so much as it is the method.

Let's not forget, early bikini waxes instill a sense in little girls that body hair is bad, that being dark is bad, that blonde and bare is where it's all at. Which, of course, is totally true in our Pam Anderson, media-saturated society...but that doesn't mean we have to force-feed it to our girls with an even bigger spoon.

So, what do you think?

Am I making any sense here? I don't have kids so I need to hear from parents what you think. Is the problem here that bikini waxing is too adult, but shaving could be OK? Or do we need a moritorium on indulging little ones in grown-up beautification rituals, like push-up bras (hello, Ali Lohan) or sexy photos (hi, Miley!). Should we let them live with a little heartbreak (after all, my mom didn't get me lipo the second kids started calling me Cow) and do our best to instill in them an iron clad sense of self love and worth? And am I off-base in thinking bikini waxing could be the marijuana of adult sexual behaviors?

PS There's a lot of discussion going on at the iVillage Message Boards on this topic. I thought luvmygirls2007 had an interesting point of view—she writes, "My 12-year-old daughter has been shaving since she was 11. I allowed her to shave her legs when she started her period. I figure if she had to deal with that part of being a girl, she should be allowed to shave. Their dad is Italian so needless to say, they are very hairy! Now she shaves her entire leg, and grooms her bikini area as well. I am impressed that she takes such good care of herself. If she were to want to get waxed, and would pay for it herself (I don't get waxed because I can't afford it) I don't think I would object. But, I look at that as being part of her hygiene. She is not allowed to get her nails done, or get her hair dyed...because I feel she is too young."

Challah at yer girl

Dan and I had a dinner party Friday night for Shabbat - five couples, copious amounts of wine, apricot glazed chicken (me) and salt n pepper green beans (Dan) and a silly amount of appetizers, desserts, candy and fun. I basically spent the whole day running to the grocery store and Costco and, as the time neared 3pm, I realized it was time to get serious, switch off the phone and start making some challah up in here.

I am not a baker, nor do I play one on TV. When PMSing, I mix up brownie batter powder with a few drops of water and slurp the chocolatey fudge sludge from a cup, no oven necessary.

But when, a few years ago, we had a Shabbat dinner and a friend from work (a man, I might add) brought a warm, homemade challah wrapped in a towel and basket like the Baby Moses, I grew obsessed with the idea. What a wonderful, unique yet traditional way to show someone you care - warm, freshly baked bread. I got the recipe and, while my first attempt tasted like cornbread, I have perfected it over the years and now people email from around the world, seeking my expertise. (OK, two people in my building have asked, but still.)

I'm relatively new to food porn, so please forgive me for my relatively amateurish pictures. I can't make/photograph anything like this or this and certainly not this.

First, a sassy pic of me holding the shlong-like rope of dough:

Note the subtle cleavage achieved with Shabbat-appropriate push-up bra and Hollywood Tape.

Next, the raw beauty ready to bake:

And finally, the beast which emerged from the oven - Dan placed a normal-sized apple on top for scale:

Honestly, I had no idea that doubling the recipe would result in this beautiful monstrosity of such epic proportions. Seriously, I turned on the oven light about 20 minutes into baking and let out a loud gasp, as my load had mushroomed to the size of a toddler. When I pulled it out, everyone screamed and yelled like I was flashing them. Never had they seen such a Mother Loaf.

For the recipe, check after the jump. If I can do it, so can you. And people will love and adore you for it.

Ingredients:

One package dry yeast
2 tsp. kosher salt
2 tsp. sugar
A crapload of flour (at least 4 cups)
1 cup very warm, but not boiling, water
1/4 cup butter or EVOO
3 eggs, beaten
Egg wash (i egg mixed with a little milk)

Preheat oven to 350.

Mix yeast, salt, sugar and one cup flour.

In separate bowl, mix water and butter until it melts (may need to nuke it).

Add liquid to dry mix and stir until well combined.

Add eggs and stir again.

Add 1/4 cup flour at a time to mix, stirring each time until well combined.

When mixture becomes stiff, dump it on a board and start to knead (workout time!) Add flour as necessary to prevent sticking. Knead at least five minutes but go for 10 if you feel like it. If it's a little stick, don't worry too much. Drink some Manischevitz.

Put the dough in a greased/Pammed bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let rise for an hour or two until big and beautiful.

Punch it on down and knead (no more flour) for 1-2 minutes. Put back in bowl and cover for 20-30 minutes.

Portion the dough into three section and roll into ropes.

Braid the dough, pinching the ends and turning them under so the seam is hidden. Perfection is essential in this world.

Brush with egg wash. let dough rest 15-20 minutes and place in oven. Bend from the knees!

Bake 30 minutes, kiss Atkins good-bye and devour. Mazel tov.

I have a J. Love/hate relationship

Remember this whole blowout over Jennifer Love Hewitt's humanness butt? The poor woman was eviscerated by the media after some unflattering photos of her in a black bikini surfaced. She was celebrating her engagement and should have been happy and peaceful. Instead, TMZ screamed "We know what you ate this summer, Love – everything!"

If you'll recall, Love got on her MySpace page and wrote:

Current mood: annoyed

This is the last time I will address this subject.

I've sat by in silence for a long time now about the way women's bodies are constantly scrutinized. To set the record straight, I'm not upset for me, but for all of the girls out there that are struggling with their body image.

A size 2 is not fat! Nor will it ever be. And being a size 0 doesn't make you beautiful...

To all girls with butts, boobs, hips and a waist, put on a bikini – put it on and stay strong.

Xoxo

JLH

But this week, there's a pic of her looking teeny tiny on the cover of US Weekly with the headline "18 lbs. in 10 weeks!" Her trainer says with her, it's not, 'I want to look good in that dress. She wanted to start moving around because she thought it would make her feel better." Of course, she pays her trainer, a lot, so it's not like we're going to hear, "She screamed her way through gut-wrenching workouts and ate nothing but green peppers and cabbage to shed those pounds that humiliated her so badly."

Love is getting married soon so this could be a "gots-to-look-thin-in-my-wedding-dress" thing.

Anyway, I hate getting so wrapped up in celeb stuff, but I did want to ask:

PS ANTM starts so, so soon! And my girl Britney (don't hate) might be making a special appearance to redeem herself! Can you tell I read that puppy cover-to-cover?

What I get for watching daytime TV

I am sitting here with a half-watermelon in my lap, spoon in hand, preparing for a day of writing and cooking and The View is on. The topic of discussion is Couples Who Have Plastic Surgery Together. And there is a 15-year-old girl who is talking about getting a breast reduction last year because her chest was so big, teachers were complaining that she was disrupting the classroom.

So she got a reduction and while under the knife, she got lipo, too. Mom-sanctioned liposuction around her stomach. This, the mother says, was a pre-emptive strike against a future eating disorder because all the women in the family have the same stubborn belly pooch and they all hate it so rather than risk her 15-year-old grow up hating her body, why not have it sucked out...thus avoiding an eating disorder?

Huh? Does this make sense to any of you, on any level?

I got the boot

Full disclosure: I wrote this for Huffington Post and was pleasantly surprised to see dedicated WG reader and blogger AzusMom commented...defending me against some other prick commentor. This cross-post is dedicated to you, girlfriend - thanks for having my back.

I used to write from a Caribou Coffee located in a strip mall that was notorious for booting cars. Despite signs on the doors of every shop in site screaming "Do not park in the middle of the lot - YOU WILL BE BOOTED!", people would, almost purposefully, avoid the normal, designated spots and aim for the smack-dab-middle. The limo driver who ran in for a Subway foot-long; the mom-of-two who needed to fax something at Kinkos. I'd watch from my window "office" as a tow truck swung wildly from the liquor store across the street and, in an instant, either boot or tow the car. For a while my innate sense of good and hatred of The Man prompted me to get up and warn those who entered Caribou. I even saved a few of them from bootdom. But a girl's gotta work and I couldn't wear my Anti Towing Cape all the time. It was amazing, the swiftness and, at the same time, the painful slowness with which it all happened -- in the 10 seconds it took someone to lock their door and turn towards Ace Hardware, their automobile was gone or locked down, like dropping a bottle of nail polish remover on your hardwood floors and screaming, slow-mo, "Noooooo---". Splash.

My trusty Mercury never got towed, as I parked within the dotted lines. I lived a life of smug bootlessness.

Until last week.

I had driven to my cousin's to say hello and fed the meter two quarters. Plenty of time. He even walked me back to my car after 55 minutes to make sure I didn't get a ticket. But as we rounded the corner, our laughter fell silent as our eyes fixed upon that hideous monstrosity of Chicago parking enforcement known as ... the Denver Boot.

What was it doing on my car? I still had two minutes left! I shrieked like a little girl who just had her doll's head popped off my the neighborhood bully and ran over to find a giant, bumper sticker-like notice practically hot glue-gunned to my window. Too many unpaid parking tickets. I had to go to Horrible Government Office X, Y or Z -- in person, right now -- or risk towing and additional fees.

As I cried into my sportsbra, my cousin called the police, who informed him I had ... wait for it ... $1300 in unpaid parking tickets. Yes. Actually, they were my husband's tickets, but he had appealed them all -- sometimes he even got out of them -- so we thought we were safe. No, the operator informed us, we most certainly were not. And now we owed an additional $60 for boot removal.

Chicago law states that after three unpaid parking tickets, you are boot-eligible. Compounding matters, under a brand new revenue-generating plan introduced by Mayor Daley, motorists with only two delinquent parking or red-light tickets will soon face my fate. Da Boot. In my case, the shoes fit, and now I was wearing one. And it was the worst shoe ever -- ugly, painful, clunky, debilitating, hobbling and very out of fashion.

Paying those tickets was great fun. I waited in line with about 30 other Chicagoans who had been snagged that same day. Many of us texted or conducted business in lines; others tried to placate their kids with vending machine snacks or simply sulked. I was informed of a payment plan option but I knew a monthly reminder would simply bring back this horrid memory, so I paid in full. (Hey, at least I get United miles!) After settling my -- our -- gigantic tab, I was told the boot would be removed sometime before 10pm that night.

It was 1pm.

"For $1300, you can't send someone now?" I snapped/pleaded through the glass partition.

The woman did not look amused. She waved me away with a hand that said, "Girl, please. We don't owe you a damn thing." It was a wave reserved for scofflaws; drivers who think they can escape the law with eloquent, strongly-defended letters about broken meters, tree-obscured No Parking signs and too-long but very important doctor's appointments. It was a wave that, in one swoop, took my rent money, my dignity, my hope that karma would circle back 'round from when I saved those Caribou Coffee customers.

You think you can escape The Boot?

You can't.

No one can.

Drive safely this weekend, everyone! I'm cooking for a Shabbat dinner party tonight and may even - yes, yes - take pictures of the food (and me :-) to post! Proof that I can bake challah from scratch! Hollllllaaaaaaaa!!!!

Ooh, ooh - MORE proof we're all going to hell: Newborn retouching

Is your newborn looking a little, well, not-so-fresh? Got some wrinkles or extra pudge? Squinty eyes? A touch of jaundice?

You are in luck, my baby-pageant-entering-friends! Castle Rock, CO-based Classy Announcements will take baby's first picture and turn it into a "stunning birth announcement," with a specially-hired artist "retouch(ing) your photos to optimize contrast, color tone, red eye, and blemishes--photo retouching is included free."

What? You thought a real snapshot of Junior, all healthy and screaming in his/her first breath au natural was appropriate? Silly parent.

Oh, and even if you're really, really excited about creating a human being and ushering that littlle one into the world, wait a few weeks, will ya? ""Newborns less than two weeks old tend to have very flushed and red faces. You'll get prettier pictures once baby is about one month old and their skin settles into a more natural color." Sheesh! Some parents have no respect for eyeballs of others.

Here's an example of what your fresh-from-the-uterus baby should look like:

Little Brooke actually has no hair (SO 90s!), a slightly cone-shaped head resulting from vacuum-assisted delivery, and small bags under her eyes. But you don't need to see that! Certainly Grandma doesn't. Classy Announcements to the rescue!

Olympics singing controversy: More proof we're all going to hell

Why can't I just ogle Michael Phelps' mile-long torso and tear up at Kerri Strug's one-footed landing in peace? Why does crap like this have to happen?

Oh, because we live in a shitty world where little girls in every single country are taught that looks trump talent and heart. That's why. (Debbie Downer in the house. Click here for my fave ever DD clip.)

By now, you've likely heard the news that the Bindi-like cutie pie who sang "Ode to the Motherland" before billions during the opening ceremony Friday was actually lip-synching. And not Ashlee Simpson, I-have-a-sinus-infection-and-want-a-little-backup lip-synching. Basically, Lin Miaoke, age nine, was brought in to faux-sing because the original child wasn't cute enough.

The actual singer is on the left—Yang Peiyi, age seven. China thinks she needs braces before she can appear in public again.

Reportedly, Peiyi's teeth were a bit too jumbled and officials thought her appearance would bring China down.

Oh. My God. That loud bang you hear is my heart exploding into a million little pieces.

According to the AP, this is how it went down: "A member of China's Politburo asked for the last-minute change to match one girl's face with another's voice, the ceremony's chief music director, Chen Qigang, said in an interview with Beijing Radio. 'The audience will understand that it's in the national interest,' (emphasis mine) Chen said in a video of the interview posted online Sunday night."

"The national interest requires that the girl should have good looks and a good grasp of the song and look good on screen," Chen said. "Lin Miaoke was the best in this. And Yang Peiyi's voice was the most outstanding....We combined the perfect voice and the perfect performance."

We all have heard about the extraordinary lengths China has gone to to appear as perfect and hospitable as possible. They reduced the number of cars on the streets and tried to clean the air. Migrant workers and students were sent away to help reduce pollution and congestion. Run-down apartment complexes were covered up to look finished and, as Anita Chang, an AP writer living in Beijing, wrote, "menus at proper eateries now have officially approved English translations. No more 'the temple explodes the chicken cube' (kung pao chicken) or 'fried crap' (er, carp)."

In other words, the charm of the city was erased.

That's what happened with Peiyi. She was erased, pushed aside for a sanitized version of what China thinks a little girl should look like. Meanwhile, her new face, Miaoke, has become an instant celebu-tot.

From what I've read, the ousted singer is handling the situation with untold grace. When a reporter from China Central Television asked Peiyi whether she was sad or upset about being switched out, she said that simply having her voice used for the ceremony was an honor.

I'm just wondering who told her to respond like that. Because anyone else, even someone my age, would be crying.

Note: This is not the first admitted Olympic Milli Vanilli: Luciano Pavarotti's performance at the 2006 Winter Games in Turin was prerecorded because the horribly cold weather made singing live impossible for the singer, who was also in severe pain—this was just months before he was diagnosed with cancer. Pavarotti's situation is nothing like this Chinese fiasco, IMO.

So many boys, so little chance

I don't know what you were doing Saturday at 3pm but me? I was surrounded by hundreds of half-naked men wearing teeny little bikini briefs, drinking giant pina coladas and dancing to techno music.

That's right - I headed back to my old hood, Boystown, for the annual Northalsted Street Days. I used to live right on Halsted, in the epicenter of Chicago's funnest neighborhood, directly over a vibrator store called Batteries Not Included. It was a fun place to live, to say the least. I never got hassled. Men stopped me on the street to let me know my tag was sticking out of my tank top and by the way, I had gorgeous shoulders. Everyone was accepted and tolerance filled the air like the smell of sugar escaping from a bakery. I was in my "transition" phase, immersed in the club scene and obsessed with wearing as little as possible without being arrested. During Gay Pride parade, I remember getting dolled up in a black spandex miniskirt, a tee-shirt that said "I'm With Dirk" (leftover from a Rollergirl Halloween costume), no bra and a leather dog collar that has the word "BITCH" emblazoned in hot pink. Oh, and I wore my hair in pig tails. And drank from an open container on the street with my friend Trish. I remember almost the whole parade, up until the point a large topless woman with bumper stickers covering her two nipples (which had a chain dangling between them, natch) grabbed the two of us as if we were no more than rag dolls and kissed us. Photos were taken - I don't know what happened to them or else they'd be posted here.

Instead, I give you this:

You're welcome.

This is the kind of stud that I saw everywhere I turned on Saturday. Sure, there were guys who weren't quite so hairless, or ripped, or were actually wearing khaki shorts over their undies. (Prudes!) But for the most part, men were near-naked. I wore a sportsbra tank and Lucy shorts (oh, how times have changes) and went with my cousin who, quite blessedly, just moved to town, along with his new husband - a Jewish doctor! Anyhow, we traipsed through the crowd and I have to say, I have a bit of a new perspective on this whole naked-men-in-undies-thing.

One bar in particular seemed to be extremely popular, no doubt due to the tan, oiled-up, 12-pack-looking 18-year-olds behind the bar. They were just such obvious eye candy and I had to wonder, "Don't they feel objectified?" It was like those girls who work the beer tubs in horrifically cheesy Spring Break bars. Just naked skin for everyone to stare at. I don't know why it surprised me so much - anyone/thing can be objectified. I guess I'm just so used to women being the target that it stunned me a bit to see guys on the other end.

Then we passed a dunk tank with a guy in tightie whities and I saw things I'm not supposed to be seeing and I stopped thinking clearly.

Recession rhinoplasties; low cash flow lipo

A single gallon of gas in Chicago currently costs most than a sandwich, chips and a Coke. A ticket to fly – coach! – to my brother in LA is over $400. Money is tight. People are canceling Netflix, cutting coupons and pinching pennies.

It all makes me wonder: What’s an US Weekly-reading Recessionista to do when it comes to looking her best? If a new Coach bag is out of the question, what does that means for one’s quarterly Botox shots or a post-baby tummy tuck?

I rang up (on a Sunday – free cell minutes!) Robert Kotler, MD, author of Secrets of a Beverly Hills Cosmetic Surgeon: The Expert's Guide to Safe, Successful Surgery and asked him how to reconcile frugality with fabulosity.

In this hard-knock economy, what option are available to a prematurely wrinkling gal who craves a taut forehead but still needs to pay the mortgage?
“We know people like Botox for many reasons, including the fact that it’s very elective. If your budget is a little tight, you can still enjoy the benefits - just lengthen then interval between shots. That may leave you with some wrinkles but it’s not the end of the world. Instead of every four to six months, come in every six to eight months. Make it a little treat. And instead of multiple areas, go from four down to two – maybe your forehead and the frown line between your eyes but take a pass on your squint lines. That can shave the cost a fair amount.”

“The reality is, people like what they get (with cosmetic surgery) and you hate to give up something you like. So you compromise. Maybe you won’t take that two-day vacation to Palm Springs. It is a priority to some people because looks are important to them. And if you spread the cost over the months in which the fillers or Botox is in place, it makes sense. If it’s $750 per session, but it lasts six months, that comes out to $100/month or so. That’s the cost to go out to eat! So eat at home one night. Frankly, for me, a meal is something that comes and goes…this lasts four to six months.”

Your practice is now offering “friends and family” group discounts. Does that mean my mom and I can finally get matching butt implants?
“This practice has been going on for a long time and it works for people. And anytime you introduce efficiency into a practice, that dollar benefit can be shared with the patients. When two sisters come in and want to have their noses done, we can have the consultation with both at the same time; on the day of surgery, [you only need] one single explanation [of the procedure]. They can even share a room for recovery, maybe say, ‘Let’s have a little fun here and stay in the same room.’ It becomes a nice and special event in their life that they’ll always remember.

We had a great mother-daughter duo, both school teachers. The mother accompanied her daughter for the original consultation. The daughter had crooked nose, couldn’t breathe well. When we explained the whole thing, the mother said, ‘You know, I kind of have the same problem.’ We showed both of them what they would look like with computer imaging and they were both interested. Each received a 30% discount. That’s huge. They saved thousands of dollars. And the other sister picked them up after surgery and took them home. Friends come in and the nice thing is, you can support one another. Cousins, couples. There isn’t anybody who doesn’t mind saving money – it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or not.”

Can you get lipo on layaway?
“Absolutely. This is based on the department store Christmas layaway plan. Patients can schedule far in advance and make monthly payments. This was in response to some people who were saying they had trouble with [a flat] payment. This is the answer. Whether it be six months, a year, the patient can make payments, spreading out the burden on themselves and budgeting for it, putting it away. We’re glad to give them up to a 20% discount depending on the lead time because, as the accountants would say, we have the use of their money. We’re giving a discount and can afford to –it’s basic cash-flow money management.”

And what’s a “Stand by” fee?
“Airlines used to offer student stand bys to fill in empty seats. Now, if patients are flexible, they can fill a surgery schedule opening. For example, Thursday, we do noses. And we have four slots, typically filled four weeks ahead of time. But if 10 days before, a patient calls to reschedule, now there’s a vacancy in the schedule. We’re glad, if someone has said, ’If you have an opening, I have flexibility,’ to do that. If they can slide into that slot, they should be rewarded for that. Scheduling is very important - open slots are income lost. If we have a means to fill that, everyone is happy and the patient can benefit, up to a 20% discount.

PS Dr. Kotler has a fabulous sense of humor about all of this and recently sent himself up on Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show. Check it out:

Smushy mushy baby tushy

From WG reader and awesome commentor Emme:

"...when I was out with one of my friends today I saw the iron-on in the attached photo and said 'I can't believe this! I have to send this to Leslie!' (explaining to my friend that you're one of my favorite bloggers). [Ed note: YAYAYAY! But fear not - I will make sure I don't break my arm patting myself on the back.] She was appropriately outraged. The iron-on patch in question?:

Does this diaper make my butt look big?

"Seriously. Why on earth would we subject babies to that kind of mentality? We should be protecting our girls, from the day they are born, against this crisis of body image. Apparently not everyone agrees, though. I thought you'd have something to say on this subject though, and that it might make good blog fodder. So I had to share."

Here's what I have to say, Emme: This patch and its message stink like a formula-fed baby butt. Two days old to too young to start little girls out on the pathway to Bad Body Imageville. They're already starting to struggle by preschool, talking about "going on a diet" or asking for Diet Coke instead of apple juice. But at the same time, I want to at least have a sense of humor about these things - I mean, the simple fact that the patch exists...and that people buy it...is ridonc. I can only pray that no parent would purchase this patch for a 13-year-old, when the question actually is being posed by young girls. Either way if I was a mom, no way would my money go towards that patch.

I would, however, proudly dress my fictitious daughter in a shirt with the following on it:

And, I must admit, I am writing this blog while wearing this tank top. It's irony, people! So long as my baby were a staunch feminist with a wicked sense of humor (and if she pops out of my uterus, she best be), I would dress her in a similar, but tinier, version. Hell, I'd wallpaper her nursery with this motto which, Good God!, I also own. I need to get myself out of the message tees, ASAP!

Why do women hate photographs of themselves?

I'm not exactly proud to admit this, but whenever I'm looking at pictures- from a wedding, a party, a vacation - my eyes always go straight to me. "How will I look?" my inner voice says as I scan the pic for my body and face. That's usually followed by, "Oh my gosh, are my hips really that wide!? or "My cankles are out of control in those heels" or "I wish I had full, luscious hair." I know, not stellar admissions coming from a body image expert. But it's the sad truth. When pictures from my friend Amanda's wedding come back, I'm sue I'll care more about how I look than anyone else, including the bride. Barf on me. (On a positive note, I can't wait to see the images of all 10 of us lined up on the median on Michigan Avenue, decked out and posing like celebs, the bursting skyline and whizzing taxis in the background. What a movie star moment for us to have tourists snapping away!)

In June, the fabulously insightful Kim Brittingham guest posted about this topic - about hating the way we look in photos and the power we let that fear hold over our heads. For Kim, it took years and years before she was able to look at that photo of her as a healthy young woman and see just how damn good she really looked.

A recent story in the UK Times Online tackled this oh-so-true topic. The author, Leah Hardy, wrote about returning from a vacation and "squirrel[ling] myself away in my office at home, the door firmly shut so that nobody can see. Privacy is essential as I download the pictures. Or, more accurately, embark on an orgy of deletion." What a fan-freaking-tastic turn of phrase, BTW - orgy of deletion. The author has a friend who, she explains, is slim and pretty, yet admitted, "From looking at our photographs, you'd think my husband was married to the au pair. If I died tomorrow, my children would hardly have a single photograph to remember me by."

Now, internet companies are popping up all over in answer the public's call for perfect pictures: Remember my post on LiftMagic, "the world's most advanced visual face processing studio"? I used the Nose Reduction, Lip Augmentation and, just for some silly, self-obsessed fun, the Weight Reduction function. This what I came up with:

Everyone was so kind, telling me how the Before looked so much better than the After. And I agreed. That newly thin shnoz looked horsey and my lips are quite sensuosly full on their own, thankyouverymuch. Charlotte wisely pointed out, "Good heavens, you could spear fish with that 'after' chin!" (I love it when Charlotte swears!)

Another site, www.digifacelift.com will whiten your teeth, slim you down and fix your hair - they'll even turn your pic into a piece of Warhol-like artwork. Last year, this incredibly creepy website surfaced that retouched children's photos so they looked like little Jon Benet Pageant Robots, only smoother and more lifeless...plus a sick "enhancement" actually called "doll eyes." (This site is now down...maybe it crashed from overuse, maybe the owner had a change of perspective.)

Oh, and let's not forget the infamous Hewlett Packard digital slimming camera, which anyone whose heard me speak knows I call out as being obsessive and ridonculous.

"They say cameras add ten pounds, but HP digital cameras can help reverse that effect. Slimming photos is easy to do" the website promises. "With the slimming feature, anyone can appear more slender—instantly. The effect is subtle—subjects still look like themselves...[but] can be adjusted for a more dramatic effect (of course!). See a before and after version, then decide which to keep."

What the website doesn't tell you is that you have to be in the middle of the frame for the pounds to come off - stand on the outskirts of a group and you get rebound fat. As Debbie Downer would say, waa waaaahhhh.

This seems absurd to me. I remember back in high school, people gossiped about who elected to have their braces or acne airbrushed from their graduation photos - it just seemed so...vain. (Of course, we all secretly wished our parents had sprung for the option, but still...) Now teenagers are running around with cell phone cameras, snapping away and then cropping out certain unwanteds - be they people or physical attributes - before posting to
Facebook.

What's your take? Would you delete a pic of yourself that you didn't like, even if everyone else looks happy and shining and it's your only memory of a great evening or vacation? Do you only frame photos where you think you look "good"? Why are we so crazy hard on ourselves when we know anyone else who looked at that pic would think we look fabulous?

The day I climbed through raw sewage to exercise

Let me back up.

Last nite, I hit the gym for a quickie. Thirty minutes of cardio, in and out, wham, bam, thank you Gauntlet Man.

Little did I know that as I trudged along that mini-escalator to the sky, outside, all hell was breaking loose. Insano, thunderous winds, intense lighting and funnel clouds touched down in Lincoln Park, which is crazy and more proof that Global Warming is about to smack us down like Jim Beam unleashing a boozy torrent on a pimply, stinky frat house. I mean, Lincoln Park is basically like the Upper East Side in NY - not exactly the No Place Like Home Kansasland that is usually primo territory for tornados. Mind you, I was sweating and reading about the popularity of purple eye shadow in Marie Claire and had no clue Dan was texting me from home, e-scraming "TORNADO* - Stay where you are!" (*No relation to MizFit's Tornado).

I showered and changed, checked my phone and learned that Dan was hunkered down in the freaking garage of our apartment building with about 20 other people, including some none-too-happy babies. Sirens were going off, trees were down, fires were raging all across the city. I was clueless. I guess I can really get into a workout when I want to, huh?

I passed some time fixing myself a phat salad from the salad bar, all calm and collected and ready to get some roughage in me. And then I overheard an employee mention the word "sewage."

Eh, what's that?

"The sewage pipe burst outside the front door," he said. Then, glancing down at my flipflops, he deadpanned, "I'd change back into your sneakers if I were you."

Anyone who knows me knows I have a huge fear of wetness of unknown origin - any kind of liquid left on a seat, table or glass freaks me out unless I am the person who put it there. So the thought of poop and pee coursing through the parking lot left me feeling the opposite of enchantee. But I needed to get home - I'm only sleeping at the gym if a magazine feature and big paycheck are involved. I descended the staircase and the smell practically lifted me out of my Nikes. A woman at the front desk told me I'd be led out on a path...remember, people, this all happened to me last night, while you were tucked in your cozy, sewage-free beds!!...and I looked out to see a maintenance worker standing in knee high boots (not the fancy kind we wear), reaching out his hand. The staff had taken three of those big newspaper boxes and turned them on their sides, creating a two-foot-high purple plastic pathway through the refuse. He motioned for me to take a step onto the first box. It wobbled and I gripped his hand until ithe blood drained from it. A nearby crack of lightening caused both of to jump and I felt his metacarpals crack from my vice-like squeeze.

Alas, he led me to the main lot where sewage was not flowing like crap lava. I ran through the rain, unlocked my car and just as I was about to dive in, my left foot sunk into a hidden deep puddle, soaking through to my bare skin. I screamed. I was very, very sad. Very sad, indeed. The I realized there was no smell and most likely I had stepped in plain old rain water. Still, I stripped my shoes off and drove home barefoot, then hotfooted it to the Whirlpool where I scrubbed my skin raw with Bath and Body Works Cherry Blossom antibacterial soap.

And that was my night.

Subway rage

I've gotten pissed off at various restaurant workers before but usually keep my cool because a) I used to be a waitress - including at a seafood shack in Madison, WI., called the Naughty Gal, which inexplicably served little cups of cookie dough on the side with their salads - so I know how badly it can suck and b) I don't want any one else's bodily fluids making their way into my chicken skewers. And certainly, I've never screamed, ranted or raved at a server or food prep person. Maybe I've made them feel crappy about the fat content of their custard, but that's the furthest I've taken it.

So check out the fiesty balls on Reginald Peterson from Jacksonville, Florida. This dude ordered a foot-long Spicy Italian Sub with the works at Subway. His dutiful Sandwich Artist squirted mayo and mustard on it, but no hot sauce.

So what did Reginald do?

Oh, he called 911. Twice.

Um...you call 911 when you run out of Cookies N Cream ice cream during your period...not for a lack of hot sauce on your sub. Men don't know anything.

PS He was arrested, so don't try this at home.

Body Image Mad Libs‏

Remember how fun Mad Libs were?

You'd try to gross out/amuse your friends by coming up with the dumbest or most outrageous adverbs and names, so when your story was read, it sounded something like, "After waking up in my HOLEY UNDERWEAR and see the CUCKOO BIRD streaming through the window, I stretched my EARLOBE, let out a STINKY SCREAM and SNOTTILY got out of CHEST OF DRAWERS."

Well, now there are body image mad libs, brought to us by an organization called The Joy Project. Try it! I printed it out and did it myself because I'm a loser and have no friends Dan was asleep and my screwy LA-based body clock was keeping me awake. I'll post my results below, but you can/should do it, too. This is especially effective if you're bored out of your mind at work because you're actually printing and writing!!

IF I LOVED MY OWN BODY

If I woke up one morning suddenly adoring my body, the first thing I’d do is become a backup dancer for Justin Timberlake. I’d allow myself to eat fudge and peanut butter when I felt like it because I’d know that moderation, not deprivation or overindulgence, is the healthiest way to go. I’d exercise to have fun and keep my body healthy, (rather than lose five more pounds, or to work off last night’s dessert, or this morning’s binge), so I’d stop three-legged racing and dance instead. I’d finally be fearless enough to skydive*, and I wouldn’t feel self-conscious or bad about it, and anyone who would look down on me is just a/an ninny anyway. When I get home, a romp between the sheets would be brilliant because I wouldn’t be bashful about ripping off my clothes. Hell, I bet it would be better than that scene in Anchorman. Afterwards, I’d burn all of my Spanx and wear a thong bikini
and sexy shoes to a hiphop club. I’d go to Dan's or even Tina Fey's house without even looking in the mirror! I'd even go grocery shopping without a shred of self-consciousness. Or I'd go out to a party and spend more time singing than obsessing about the guac and cheese cubes or clinging to the wall feeling insecure. I might even strip. In fact, if I focused more on my body's
awe-inspiring ability to become a lifeguard rather than on how I look, I’d probably start calling myself The Pink Powerhouse. Plus, with all the money I’d save not buying Diet Mountain Dew, I’d have extra cash to put toward redecorating my entire home in West Elm and Chiasso. One thing is for sure: I wouldn’t give a hoot if my knees started to sag, because I would be too busy toasting my funny!

*Note: I will NEVER go skydiving, Mad Libs be damned. This has nothing to do with body confidence and everything to do with being sane.

Happy Mad Libbing! And Happy National Underwear Day! What are you wearing to celebrate? I'm toying between a pink lace Hanky panky knockoff from the Gap and a black thong with a Rubic's Cube on the crotch that says, "I Play Mind Games." Classy. Oh, and I hate the name Fresh Pair as a brand name for undies. It makes me throw up a little in my mouth. (Though this pic from them most certainly does not.)

Lolly Does Los Angeles

Shout out from LA! Holla! I'm lying back on my brother's couch, watching my dad, mom and eight-months-pregnant sister-in-law put togther a bassinet for my niece-to-be. There are many screws and mobile dangly animals and not-so-witty references to 'insert pole here' being bantered about. Yesterday's baby shower was fabulous...and I'm not just saying that because a) I threw it and b) someone made Sprinkles cupcakes and I was able to swipe the frosting off of one red velvet and two chocolate butter bombs. Poor Sarah (my preggers sissy-in-law) got asked --again -- if she's having twins. She is not and is no longer amused by the inquiry. Friday night we had a huge family dinner at an outdoor tratorria where I drank chianti and ate fava beans (ok, garbanzo beans) and then the entire place erupted in a giant sing along to That's Amore.

Last nite, following the shower, all of the parents and sibs reconvened at Jeff and Sarah's for wine and chatting. Withing three hours, their cat Tony was discovered with his whiskers covered in Tiger Lilly pollen. And guess what? Tiger Lillies are highly poisonous to cats. So off to the emergency vet he went, and where he now remains in kitty ICU, hooked up to an IV and being monitored for kidney failure. Meanwhile, those of us back at the house ate Indian food. (Insert renal failure joke here.) It was my first time eating Indian food and Lolly likey! We had naan, yogurt sauce, lentil something or other and tandori chicken. And more cupcakes.

My last little story comes courtesy of a wildly stoned college kid who my bro and I ran into while making a Vons run for Sierra Mist Free. This kid had eyes like a fiery sun and smelled like a skunk and was about to purchase a box of Franzia. He was behind us in line and just Would. Not. Shut. Up. He was blabbering a mile a minute - asking us if we liked Miley Cirus, inquiring as to our keg stand abilities, telling us about new research showing that Sprite Zero, with its artificial sweeteners, actually acts like the opposite of diet Sprite. He was high as a kite and I just looked at him and said, "My lord, you are all over the place!" At which point his fit-in-my-jeans-pocket-sized girlfriend walked up,kissed him and said, "It's his birthday tomorrow." So I asked, "Oh, really? What year?" As in, how old? But this dumb-ass kid yells out, so excited as he about his birthday, "1989!" And his girlfriend smacked him across the chest with the kind of A-game comedic timing that only comes with underage desperation for booze, shouting, "1986! 1986!" Alas, the cashier overheard the whole thing and removed the Franzia from the conveyer belt and my brother and I drove away cackling, leaving a pack of thirsty 19-year-olds in our parking lot dust.

I'm flying home all day Monday...will be back here (and on your blogs, too!) on Tuesday.
Hope you all had fabulous, kitty emergency-free weekends!
L

PS How depressing is it that kids born in 1989 are in college now, trying to score boxed wine?