I have six months to fit into a size zero, own my dream estate and have perfect children. That probably seems crazy, but I just found out my ten-year High School reunion is one week before Halloween. While I’m excited and all to catch up in person, Facebook has ruined some of the magic of the big reunion reveal. Luckily things are going well.

Mr. Szanto squeezed in Medical School, and I own this estate, and I gave birth this afternoon.  Done!  Award me my superlative please.

They do exist, apparently.  A few weeks back, my friend Maricela and I decided to get a pedicures after work.   We’re hard working girls and toes are just really hard to paint while doing the yoga required to paint them.

She called around to get some price quotes and found a spot with a ten dollar pedicure.   You would think this would have raised the first red flag, but with the current state of affairs, there are deals to be had.  We also speculated it was a misquote as the person who answered the phone was not a native English speaker.

The location should probably have tipped us off too, as El Segundo is fancy, but a few miles in any direction is, shall we say, South Central. By the time we passed LAX, the sun had set and the surrounding area was dimly lit. It didn’t look amazing (neon signs flickering Girls, Girls, Girls!) but it didn’t look destitute either.

I pulled into a parking spot, my lights illuminating a person slumped over in a hospital wheelchair. Stop. Back-up. Re-park.

As I exited the car, a woman comes out of literally what seems to be the underside of my car with a fist full of long Bo Derek braids for me.  We rushed to the door. It’s a security screen door but it doesn’t open.  A woman shouts “YOU WANT NAIL?” We nod. Buzz!  The door opened.

This is when we realize we’re in the less gentrified Inglewood.  Neither of us will admit it to each other that it’s super gross and we wanted to leave, so we carry on as normal.  We are seated on rickety, stained chairs that have seen better days and our eyes began watering from the fumes of acetate and other chemicals I don’t think I’ve smelled in a salon since I was a young child.  A cloud of flies is circling us and a mosquito the size of a dinner plate is looming on the adjacent wall.

We wait for what feels like hours, but it’s actually more like 25 minutes.  It’s pretty clear that some of the technicians are actually working on the nails of other technicians. At this point, if we left, we might not be able to hit up another insectless parlor.

Communicating under our breath, we decided to book it. Maricela walked to the door, turned the knob and paused as 3 technicians dropped everything and began shouting. I’m not understanding why Maricela isn’t opening the door. I smiled kindly and insisted “thank you so much, but we must leave. It’s getting late and we must go!”

And this is when I noticed Maricela is jiggling the knob like her life depends on it. The technicians are still yelling (yelling!) various promises to serve us. And it dawns on me: we’re locked in. They have trapped us. They have no intention of letting us out until they’ve dipped us in toxic waste and get some cash. It makes sense – in this part of town, you probably do have to trap clients and release them only when they’ve paid up – but also, it’s really scary!

For 3 excruciating minutes we beg to be buzzed out in the wild. Finally, a technician presses the secret button. Buzz! I peeled out of the parking lot on 2 wheels and we raced to a better salon where a man is pacing inside talking on his cellphone. The salon is empty but kind of looks open.

Suddenly he noticed us and drew his finger across his throat. You know, the universal sign for I am going to kill you. We decided that this salon is closed.

In other words, I painted my own toes as penance for my vanity.

When I decided to be a Zebra for Halloween this year, it was a thinly veiled rouse: I really wanted a reason to purchase a completely horrifying zebra-print Snuggie and then to laugh and laugh and laugh when I wore it. Snuggies have been the punchline to pretty much every joke I’ve made in 2009. Shipping issues foiled my Halloween plans, but it’s been worth the wait. With my imperfections masked by Snuggie, I have taken the best picture of my life – the picture that I definitely want to run next my obituary:

Phil thinks it’s popularity is because Snuggie can accompany oneself to the restroom (we do not do nor endorse this).  I think it’s utility: once Snuggie’s joke wears out, it’s still useful as a blanket.  I’m also excited by the prospect of Snuggie Pub Crawls (wearing your Snuggie to a bar without likeminded individuals), and but not so much by the Snuggie Sutra.

Isn’t it such a drag to do endless chores for your pet?  Don’t you just wish you could be 6 years old again and just fake promise to take care of the animals?  Great news!  I have discovered a secret that will save you literally minutes a day – freeing up your schedule immeasurably.   It’s called “automation” – setting up systems so that you can put in the least amount of effort while still keeping your pets alive.   This guide is more about cats because cats are more emotionally secure and easier to automate.  

Playtime.

Personally, I find it too much effort to actually move the laser pointer.  First you have to create interesting and varied patterns to make sure your pet is extremely confused and bites themselves.  Really cerebral.   Then there is the monumental effort of moving your hand around.   Not to worry.  Set this Cat Laserbeam Toy on the ground and the machine thinks up ways to plays with your pet.  You get to work on that ham sandwich over there.  No one’s suddenly pretending to be your new best friend.

Food.

This Automatic Feeder gives you 8 blissful days before they start screaming incessantly.   I have heard that most pets can be trained to walk to the store with a $10 bill tucked in their harness.   You must explain repeatedly to make sad faces so that the grocery clerks will understand what they want.    Don’t fool yourself – your pet will seriously never speak English in front of other people.  After a few days of gnawing hunger, your pet will also automatically figure out to bite a hole in the package, and nudge the food into the container.

Waste.

Cats especially love loud noises and rapid movement, so they will love Litter Robot.   Any time you can introduce something noisy and made of unnatural materials, the better.  As an added perk, Litter Robot looks futuristic which is important to animals.  It’s a steal at $315.   You’d end up spending that much on Oust spray and scented candles to cover up that scent.

I have something for dog waste too: Poop Freeze.  This product makes the worst of the worst ice cold so you can pick it up.  Actually just kidding.  We both know you’re totally leaving that on the sidewalk.  The person who steps in it will be grateful you make it rock hard, once they realize it’s not a rock.

Keeping them out of your business.

Pets are nosy and many are actually thieves.  My cat just takes things.  He doesn’t even ask to borrow them. Animals don’t realize that your stuff belongs to you.  They’re selfish, yes, but it’s okay because there are ways to keep them out of your stuff.   Pet Trainer Alarm works by creating an invisible barrier they don’t know about – when your pet moves closer, the most horrible sound possible is emitted from the device, sending your pets flying to shiver somewhere else.   Indoor Pet Barrier works similarly, except it makes a jolting warning noise when your pet first enters the forbidden zone and then eventually produces “a mild static correction” if your pet pushes his luck.   It probably doesn’t hurt that much.   And if it really smarts, at least your pet will never figure out that you were responsible.   They’ll just assume they were electrocuted by karma. They will ultimately move on, becoming the fiercely independent pet of your dreams.

Please note that opinions expressed in this article are not intended to substitute for proper pet care.   Please treat your pets well. Special thanks to Sky Mall for being an exceptionally easy target.

Unless you still think it’s called Facemask, you’ve probably seen a bunch of status updates about FarmVille (or it’s predecesor Farm Town) on your Facebook feeds. I’d like to think I am immune to being infected by Facebook apps, I’m usually able to ignore things like Mob Toss or Mouse Wars, but I wandered into FarmVille and I kept wandering back into it.  How did this happen?  I seem so smart.

It’s probably because I live in an apartment, and my palatial garden is more like 3 potted plants: the survivors of at least seven plants I have killed. ( Plants crave electrolytes right?)  But I can effectively garden on FarmVille.  In fact, I’m a property owner.  I have fancy pink animals that never leak methane.  Not to mention that there’s plenty of opportunities for my favorite activity: decorating! With graphics!

I guess a few years ago I would have been more embarrassed about tending a virtual garden, but it’s not the end of the world.  It’s soothing and kind of… sweet.  And I’m not alone either.  I’m noticing among my friends that the more urban their location, the more likely they are to enjoy dominion over FarmVille. Are we all feeling pangs toward a pastoral life we can’t have in our glittering cities?

FarmVille love probably won’t last forever though.  The New York Times, notoriously behind the times on technology trends, has a feature on FarmVille.   And garnering attention from the NYT this early definitely means that FarmVille is no longer a secret vice for urbanites.   I’m not sure I’m ready to say farewell to my mansion, tea house and strawberry cows!

Oh, so today I stumbled across a dream job: $10,000 for one month’s work, during Christmas time in Manhattan. The duties? Discussing toilet paper with restroom attendees in Times Square. Sign me up! I love nothing more than discussing minutia. On a whim, I applied with a cover letter that I am pretending is witty and not at all a blight on my reputation. I believe, if selected to be one of the 5 Charmin Ambassadors, I would be the dark-humored, brainy one. It would be the roll of a lifetime. Check out EnjoyTheGo.com and of course, join me in applying.

Time for some beautiful!  Kristin Chenoweth is so darling, so amazingly gifted (and pretty!).  Glitter and Be Gay (Candide) is gorgeous coloratura aria – largely too difficult for even well-trained sopranos to sing – and there she is bouncing about the stage and making you feel at ease with her breathtaking talent.   Even if you’re not into Opera (Ha! I tricked you, this is Operetta),  give it a try.   It’s wonderful.   Those insane top notes – ah!  Have a happy weekend.

According to this document, an unnamed agency released a list of artists and songs that were used on U.S. terror suspects, held at Guantanamo Bay, in ways in which I can only infer were meant to cajole suspects into blurting information. You know, torture. Surely, that’s not the most annoying music we can use to capture Osama bin Laden? The Meow Mix jingle? Are the terrorists dog people?

Most people aren’t excited by their vacuums, but having had the world’s worst, cheapest maroon behemoth violently spit kitty litter and dirt back at my feet for several years, when I finally purchased a Dyson – my life actually changed. It was worth the shocking sticker price to vacuum and later walk across wooden floors that felt like silk, instead of an emery board. I almost love vacuuming now. Almost.

However, Dyson apparently does more than vacuums: they’ve ventured into fans.  Strange, round fans with no blades that seemingly don’t blow air. It’s chic though, and certainly isn’t as fugly as the Vornado, even though my small, small brain doesn’t understand such cooling alchemy. Also good news: it’s only $300! Whee! I look forward to owning one in a decade.

If you like knowing about the future, like I do, peruse away: Dyson explains the face-melting abyss created by their new fan with pictures and video.

I confess: I have a thing for stories about eccentrics, mansions, cats, dilapidated glamor and makeovers – so I am pleased to see numerous Emmy wins for the gorgeous and haunting “Grey Gardens” tonight! I’ve been fascinated by the Edie Beales and Grey Gardens for quite sometime. And of course, HBO and I are not alone. There’s the devastating and charming Broadway musical, well decorated with Tony awards. There’s Rufus Wainwright’s song Grey Gardens. Then there’s Rugrats, the Nickelodeon cartoon where everyone’s crotch is suspiciously, upsettingly wide. You probably watched it if you were born sometime after 1982, or the battery died in your remote at very inopportune moment.

While not exclusively parodying Grey Gardens (dominate themes are ripped more from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane and Sunset Boulevard), Rugrats namechecks Grey Gardens and certainly captures the creepy. Did I mention wide crotches? What is going on down there? [Edit: YouTube videos were taken down due to a Terms of Service violation - if you search, you may find it]

But the best is by far, soap opera One Life to Live’s twisted fantasy daydream, which is a surprisingly well done and direct homage. Everyone could have phoned it in per usual, but if you know anything about Grey Gardens, you can see that many, many people did their homework.