Vanity in Peril!

We're Back--- July 2013

2013-05-07T10:50:00.000-07:00

Vanity in Peril is Re-Launching July 2013!!!

Tell your friends... tell your ma... tell those two people at work that you don't even like. (You know the ones)

----Until We See You Again

VIP

Love Your Body: 2012 Poster Contest Winners: Category 4 Winner

2012-07-20T12:13:00.001-07:00

Love Your Body: 2012 Poster Contest Winners: Category 4 Winner

Evoluer House Offers Summer Camp Program For Career-Minded Teens « CBS Philly

2012-07-16T17:45:00.001-07:00

What has VIP been doing with our summer vacation? Well, this and watching True Blood.

Evoluer House Offers Summer Camp Program For Career-Minded Teens « CBS Philly

Much Ado About Nothing?

2012-04-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

LOL cat is now pissed off about Timeline-cat.

March 30th Facebook rolled out their new Timeline for all users. Whether you liked it or not, you were grandfathered into the new way of doing things in Zuckerberg-ville. Much to the consternation of a few of my friends... and the friends of my friends... and the friends of those friends... and before I knew it, Facebook had become more unreasonably negative than that time I was too lazy to change the channel on the Basketball Wives. Which I didn't really understand. See, the thing about Facebook for you and I (your average Joe user) is that Facebook is free. I don't pay to use Facebook. Not one dollar. Zero cents. Oh sure, there are those that say we pay and pay big when we log in and give Big Brother, Hussein Obama and whoever that man is behind the curtain that wants you to pay no attention to him the opportunity to snoop on us. All those likes and comments don't just live in a vacuum. That information is going somewhere and it's being used (probably) to the detriment of our entire society. Oh how the towers of Babel will crumble and all because Mary Smith in Tuscaloosa likes Tide with bleach alternative. Oh the humanity!

Way to ruin democracy, you strumpet!

The fact that Facebook is free (and always will be, according to their front page) is only the second most important point, mind you...

*clears throat and gives what can best be described as a Rick Ross grunt as she jumps up on her soap box...

ATTENTION LADIES AND GENTLEJERKS: THE INFORMATION YOU GIVE UP ON FACEBOOK IS VOLUNTARY. YOUR USE OF FACEBOOK IS COMPLETELY VOLUNTARY. IT IS NOT A GOVERNMENT MANDATE! YOU ARE BY NO MEANS REQUIRED TO USE THIS POPULAR FORM OF SOCIAL MEDIA. IN FACT, YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO TURN YOUR COMPUTER ON. YOU CAN FADE BACK INTO THE ABYSS THAT IS NON-FACEBOOK LIVELIHOOD AND LIVE YOUR LIFE 100% TIMELINE FREE... or you can always rejoin MySpace.

Sure is lonely in there. Aint it, Tom?

Look, I get it. Nobody likes change. I was kind of bugged out about the whole thing too when I first saw the beta version a few months ago. But then I decided to stop being a loser, nut up or shut up and give the dang thing a chance. And it's actually a cool enhancement to the site. It's not (as some of my friends have been shouting from the hot tin rooftops they apparently hang out on) a complete infringement on our rights as Americans. I could see being majorly steamed if your city decided to change all the roads and highways in your commute to work while you were sleeping. Our taxes dollars go toward those types of things and we should definitely have our say in things like that. But Facebook? Come on folks! And even while half of their users have been in an uproar about Facebook Timeline (even though it's been widely publicized, should have been anticipated and is very user-friendly) I get the slightest feeling that we've all somehow been here before. These protests seem familiar to me. Like that time when I was a kid and threatened to run away from home because I couldn't have cake for dinner. Where was I really going to go? I mean, what are these people really mad at any way? Timeline in no way disrupts the default page layout of the main page after a user logs in. Sure,the information on timeline is aggregated so that friends can search different milestones in your life with greater ease (and maybe embarrassment) but the information was stuff you already provided in the past anyway and users have the control over who can see what content with the simple click of a button. It may be a pain in the tuchus to have to go back and add certain levels of privacy on all your old posts but why weren't we thinking of that when we originally posted them, right? I don't buy how Timeline makes this any more of an issue than it already has been for people to get access to things from your past you may not want them to see. If someone wants to bad enough they are gonna find a way to get all up in your beeswax. Especially if you were so lax with your security settings that a simple click and drag unearths your deepest, darkest secrets.

Sure, blame the baby. Whose idea was it to put the cookies on the floor anyway, huh?

I'm not even going to get into the narcissism we all must be experiencing to think that every one else has nothing better to do than to stroll down our memory lanes all day. After all, someone would actually have to go onto your profile page to see the new Timeline. I bet you most of these people who are complaining about this spend more time on their own Timeline than any of their friends and frenemies combined. To re-quote the Temptations movie and the hilarious Panama J over at VSB, Aint nobody coming to see you, Otis. And that's the pickle, Tommy. All this fuss about who's stalking our Timeline page and the only people stalking it look strikingly similar to that dude/chick that meets us in the mirror ever morning. I say, let's dump the delusions of grandeur, up our privacy settings if we're all that worried and stop living like rotary phones in a smartphone world. Because the times, they are a' changing, baby!

Or we could just all jump to Tumblr.

--- Vanity in Peril

The Age of Whocareius

2012-03-30T14:40:00.000-07:00

Andy Warhol so eloquently stated that in the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes. If reality television is any indication, I think ol' Andy boy was on to something. There is literally a reality show about every thing. EVERY SINGLE THING! There's only a matter of time before cameras start to follow you and I in our daily comings and goings. Is that a boom mic in my shower? Pretty soon, everyone is going to be on t.v. and then we'll have shows about people watching shows about people watching shows on t.v. Don't believe me? Here's the proof, pudding! There are currently two shows (2!) about hillbilly hand-fishing. I don't even need any other supporting documents to back my argument up, counsel. Case the eff closed. In fact...

--- Vanity in Peril

(just kidding)

But in all seriousness folks, the simple fact that producers thought that only one show about toothless wonders grabbing gross catfish out of the murky waters of the Deep South was playing it too safe should serve as all the proof that we need that the end is near. Yes, upon realizing this fact I surmised that we have truly reached the end of days. Wait a sec... isn't there a show about people who are preparing for this very Apocalypse? Why yes there is, boys and girls! It's called Doomsday Preppers (on NatGeo) and the "cast members" seem to have the combined SAT scores of a bowl of room temperature ice cubes. We should have been better prepared for this complete saturation of reality t.v. Heck, back when CT was still just a Real World cast member with severe rage issues, who woulda thunk it? Not me I say! But Andy... o Andy! He warned us. And the only thing worse than all this reality t.v. ruining entertainment (not to mention our personal baramoters on what is crap versus what is worthwhile to pay attention to) is that fact that it seems now reality icons are in on the joke. It's Skynet all over again people! These vapid reality stars have gained awareness! Now we have cross over, super meta concepts like Long Island Medium and Shas of Sunset. And as if that wasn't bad enough, these next crop of reality shows to fill the spring/summer season should really get your tush working on that bunker. Save me a spot, por favor? :)

America's Next Top Bottom

Forget Tyra. Forget Ru. America's latest sensation will be about finding the next great butt model. (get it?) But don't send in those back shots (rim-shot) just yet. We're not just looking for the person with the loveliest of lady lumps. To claim victory, contestants must also bring to the table the ability to... well... bring it to the table. Or put it on the glass, to be more accurate. Season highlights include a challenge to see who can create their own name-brand low-rise jean with built in thong (with guest judge, Trina!), fun with body paint and a wall canvas and a lip sync for your life that you've got to see to believe. Hint: if you're a fan of ventriloquist acts where the dummy sings while the performer drinks a glass of water then this show is for you!

Our anacondas don't want none.

Amazing Mace

Jeff Probst hosts this nail-biting new live-action reality adventure where ten teams of two are brought together to see which couple can make it cross country in the fastest time while being simultaneously maced in the face by a team of riled up NYPD officers who think they are there to break up an Occupy Oakland sit-in. Watch for the laughter, the drama and the tears.

Try making it to the Mall of America now you hippies!

This is How We Did It!

This Summer, come watch as cameras follow mid-nineties sorta-celebrity Montell Jordan as he tries to relive those two weeks in 1995 when he was famous with a comeback tour. Comedy ensues as Mr. Jordan and that one chick from Brownstone try and revive his career.

Are you sure you're not the guy that played Waldo on Family Matters?

--- Vanity in Peril

Post-Ironic Must See T.V.(whatever)

2012-03-12T11:39:00.000-07:00

Hipsterdom has become self aware. Where is Keanu Reeves when you need her?

"Ironic detachment is great, nothing means anything"

--- Bob's Burger (Fox)

My Sunday evening dance card has been filled to the margins with all things The Walking Dead since the show premiered last season. In fact, I not only watch the show when it runs at 9pm (est) on AMC but I return for the encore presentation at eleven and stay for the nightcap that is Talking Dead hosted by Singled Out's Chris Hardwick. And it doesn't just end there. I sit impatiently in waiting for the morning after so that I can check all the online forums and entertainment sites that choose to recap the show seemingly so that I can compare notes and have my observations validated. For me to do all this is really saying a lot. I don't really commit to much on the old idiot box. Not after that debacle that was a Lost finale, anyway. I won't be burned again. For me to give my time and attention to a fictionalized drama for an hour or more is a tall fete. But there is another piece to this puzzle that I am not so ready to let on to. The truth is... I've kind of been bored by The Walking Dead this season. Ever since they got on that dang farm. At first I was quite okay with the writers using large chunks of time for dialogue and I appreciated the fact that on a show about zombies, the creators knew how to strike a beautiful balance between visceral violence and a touching character study. Again, that was at first, folks. But sometimes... man sometimes I really wanna beat the crap out of this show and not call it the next morning. Sometimes... I despise TWD and want to turn my t.v. off in protest. It's a very polarizing kind of program in that way. You're either going to love it or you hate it.

Except for that is not entirely true. There's a third option that seems to be gathering a lot of buzz lately. There's the type of personality emerging where you may get your jollies from hating this show while also watching this show religiously. I am guilty of this crime, y'all. It's pretty easy, actually. I mean, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS SHOW? It's no Breaking Bad or the Wire. Heck, it isn't even as clever as a summer rerun of a CSI spin-off most times. The pacing moves at the speed of a snail on heroin (did I mention they are still on that damn farm?), they spend more time arguing and finding ways to have the same argument over again spanning multiple episodes that I keep waiting for the commercial bump with the announcer that goes "Like sand through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives" and some of the characters are the worst (hello, Lori) while others are pushed to the background (can T-Dog get a Martha Farkin' back-story already?!)

So why do I keep coming back to this show week after week? Mortification of the soul, maybe? Nah... I'm just a product of my hipster millennial environment. We live in a very apathetic world. A world where good is bad, bad is good and all of it is "meh" anyways. So let's all put on our ironic nerd spectacles and " I ♥ Kimmy Gibbler " t-shirts and see how full we can grow our manly under-beards. Funsies! As I scroll through the comments sections from sites with recappers that seem to share the same love-hate relationship with TWD as I do, I can't help but think we may all have found a better use of our time than this. There are tons of shows to be found on Hulu Plus... for actual enjoyed consumption. Maybe even some that have characters that don't spend every waking hour arguing about petty crap on a farm. SERIOUSLY, GET OFF THAT FARM!!! I know what you're likely thinking as a Gen Y hipster, nouveau trendsetter--- finding something to like genuinely on t.v. seems like a lot of work. And it is. It is much easier to just find a program that gets under your skin to follow and then have a snarky chuckle making fun of it with all of your online friends the next day. I'm pretty sure that's why Glee is still on the air. But when did the line between spectator and commentator get blurred? Why do we seem so willing to do the job of some hack newspaper critic? Don't we have lives to lead? And maybe, just maybe... if we could all open up our hearts a little and tear down those walls we've all put up that disallow us to like anything without putting air quotes around it (see: "I love mid-90's Coolio songs. He's so "good"... in a garbagey kind of way") we could find a little space to let good t.v. shows in.. you know... genuinely.

The downside to all of this bad behavior of course is that if we are all watching shows like TWD or Jersey Shore (in its heyday) not because they are quality programs but because of a communal need to gather and throw stones at something, we are still giving bad shows good ratings. Great ratings even! And the network execs don't give a flip if we are watching for good or evil... as long as we are watching. So the more we continue to do this, the more the suits will keep cranking out trash for us to hate (or love ironically) and the further and fewer in between the shows that are actually good will be. So let's do ourselves a favor and tune into Community this week (six seasons and a movie!) and leave biting commentary to the professionals like Joel McHale over at The Soup.

--- Vanity in Peril

Edit: Try as I might, I just can't quit The Walking Dead. Feel free to "like" our T-Dog fan Appreciation page and revel in all that is Tiberius Dogginstein. Until they find a way to kill him off, of course.

Back in the Day When I was Young, I'm Not a Kid Ne-More!

2012-02-26T10:49:00.002-08:00

We've all been there.

When I think of all the cringe-worthy things that I have done, the mind-numbingly ridiculous stances that I have taken and the all in all preposterous events that I have caught myself up in---both invited and uninvited--- from the age of adulthood (that's still 18, right?) to say... 25 years old, I feel so embarrassed. Not just a little red in the face, a little milk spilled, embarrassed. EMBARRASSED!!! Like choking to death on a peanut butter and fluff sandwich on the toilet, embarrassed. Or getting caught by TMZ dining at Planet Hollywood during Oscar weekend, embarrassed. Or this. Mortified. And what's even worse than the knowledge that I have done, said and thought such ridonk things, is the realization that at this very moment I have probably entered into a new stage of life where the new crop of embarrassing things fly below my chagrin radar--- never to be heard or seen of again until a decade later when I realize how dumb I was NOW, like some Bermuda Triangle of stupidity.

Nope! We definitely won't regret hipster glasses. Or Snookie for that matter.

But in the meantime, I'll just have to keep playing the "Oh-no" song every time I remember how bricks I must have been to let the following things slide...

cry ten- thousand leagues of Justin Timberlake rivers when I think of all the pancake makeup, prostitute rouge, Bozo the Sad Clown lipstick and Wet'n'Wild blue (blue!!!) eyeshadow I went through as a young buck, trying to look older. Why baby Jesus!?

Oh how I wish on the hairy chest of a Robin Williams Disney character that I could go back to the beginning of the millennium and tell my younger self how tragic I looked with shaved off eyebrows and foundation that didn't match my skin tone. I looked like a walking set up and the punchline. I looked like I didn't know Jesus... or my father. I looked like at any moment I was ready to throw on a zippered leather jacket and go chase Ola Ray around the cemetery with a cast of dancing background zombies.

Moment of clarity: When I finally realized how even my skin tone could look and bright my eyes could beam when I wiped off all that war paint.
Moment of scarity: The thought that at this very moment I could be making a whole new crop of beauty mistakes. Blood-red lipstick is still cute. Right, y'all?

have a Suzanne Sugarbaker-sized meltdown every time I am reminded of how desperately dense I must have come off in my younger years. And on purpose to boot! See, back before I knew any better, I used to think it was more important to get people to like me than it was to get my point across. Um... that may be the correct way to interact with and influence people, actually. But I was going about it in the most absolute opposite way of reason. When I believed in something or had experience in something, I found no worth in my own story and I would keep a closed mouth on the subject. I guess this was in fear that others would find me to be as silly as I thought I really was inside. Conversely, in an effort to make myself seem valuable to others, I would often speak on topics I knew very little about. When I was discussing a topic of current events with someone, regardless of their stance or their degree of knowledge on the subject, I would stand stubbornly behind my own point of view and pretend to know more about the subject than I actually did by using flowery language and talking points that were the opinions of others. I know, right?! I was the Glenn Beck of sassy black women!

Don't you try and lecture me on why we went to war with Iraq! I know the inside scoop.

Moment of clarity: When after having an hour long argument about how useless martial arts would be in an actual street fight with a coworker (who had a black belt in karate!) my friends decided to have an intervention and remind me that the full breadth of my knowledge on the art included Bruce Lee films and that one time my little brother (who had been taking classes at the time) sweeper kicked my legs out from underneath me, causing me to hit the back of my head and pass out for two minutes.

Moment of scarity: Could I be wrong about my current stance on the GOP candidates? (No, I'm not wrong)

break out in hives just at the thought of all the horrible dates I've been on with boys...

Boys... take you to the movies and forget to open your car door.

Men don't.

Boys... try to impress you with their 50-piece collection of comic book memorabilia. Never-mind the fact that the value of all said memorabilia is worth more than every piece of furniture they own in their bedroom. This includes their single-serving size bed, Wolverine bed spread and the freshly-washed clothes that their mom just brought up.

Men live on their own and impress you with their quiet confidence despite their quirkiness. (see: X-Men Limited Edition figurines in their original packaging.)

Whatdya say babe? Two straws, one Capri Sun and we'll see where this goes.

Boys... like you

Men love you.

That's all I can think of for now without collapsing into a ball of tears or going on a Godiva chocolate binge. I'm sure I'm glossing over many many more embarrassing moments from young adulthood. And I know Marky Mark and I aren't the only ones. Care to share or should Mr. Wahlberg and I just assume you're a liar?

--- Vanity in Peril

Don't Go To Strangers

2012-02-13T11:00:00.001-08:00

Yeah... it's been a heck of a couple of months. The news of Etta James passing on to the Big Jazz Club in the Sky was really shocking, if only because most people didn't realize the gravity of the illnesses that she was dealing with. Or even that she was in fact sick. I've honestly only ever owned one of her albums but every song on it is soulful, heartfelt and cool. From Fool That I Am to Willow Weep For Me every track takes me to a place and a time (not so) long ago. When the struggles and setbacks of people of color could be heard in our music and all of the art that we produced. When it fueled us collectively to push farther and dig deeper until we found our truth. One could fast forward twenty or thirty years and see the fruits of that labor ever present in the works of Mr. Don Cornelius. Even though my generation missed much of the heyday of the creative peak of Soul Train, it remained a Saturday morning staple in many households and a very important part of our culture. Something self-made that we could be proud of. Not only self-made but well-made. Yeah, that brother was cool. In watching video clips of old episodes from the 70's with the well-groomed afros and smiling faces one can not deny that we seemed happier, more at peace with ourselves. A stark contrast to that uncomfortable in our own brown skin feeling that permeates so much of the current hip hop market... no matter how much machismo and grandstanding we use to camouflage it with. It hurt me that yesterday's Grammy broadcast did not take the time to acknowledge the work that this man put in and the great deal of debt that is owed to him for bringing many of "our" artists to the public for mass consumption. Yeah, you'll tell me LL (who I am finding less and less reasons to qualify what exactly ladies are supposed to love about him) and Questlove did right by him with a proper shout out but the fact remains that he was missing from the "in memoriam" portion of the program and their head nod seemed like little more than two guys being smart enough to save face for a set of producers that really dropped the ball. The entire reason I ( and so many others) were even watching the awards show was to see what they were able to put together in tribute of this woman...

My heart breaks all over again just looking at the picture. Not because I thought Whitney was never going to go... we all have to go sooner or later. But because it seemed so out of left field, because of the guilt I immediately felt about joking earlier that evening before the news broke about my anticipation in seeing how SNL guest host Maya Rudolph was going to razz her. Because I had callously forgotten how great of an artist she was and because well, she seemed so real and honest about herself (even when she was lying about her drug use and telling folks to show her the receipts.) It hurt. It seemed like a death in the extended family. It seemed like the figurative and literal nail in the coffin to the last in good music. So many people will say that those times are gone. That music today has lost any sense of immediacy and passion. If you turn on the radio you'd more than likely have a case to make for that argument. Even the other great voices have chosen to let their talent take a back seat to gimmick and showing skin---I'm looking at you Mrs. Cannon. If you watched the entire awards production you may even be tempted to say knowing how to sing is a non factor in today's market---I'm looking at you Ms. Hopeless Place. And you would be right. But you would also be wrong. One of the evening's biggest winners was Ms. Rolling in the Deep herself, Adele. While I personally do not dig her sound and can't see myself ever rocking out to one of her albums, I can admit that the woman has pipes. I do have ears after all. People will tell you that there is no more good music. People who don't understand the flavor of dubstep or who think the last good rock album was Nevermind are rarely if ever going to think what the current trends music has to offer are any good. But pop music has always been targeted toward a youth market. Those who fall outside of those markets, be it because of age or just purely taste, are always going to feel left out in the cold. If we are being honest, several of our fallen musical heros from our youth were making music in the 80's when synthesizers and studios could create a polished sound that not everybody liked. The same people we idolized... MJ, Rick James and Whitney... were making music that our grandparents thought was noise or not authentic. I know this comes out as sacrilege but it's the truth, Ruth! It's our own self-centerdness that makes us believe that music is only valid and valuable if it speaks to us, regardless of whether or not others enjoy it. I don't say that to take away from these artists either. They obviously have left an imprint on the world and their music has lived on and will continue to do so long after they are gone. Not all musicians can carry that badge of honor.

And inevitably, this post comes to this.

Minaj.

sigh

I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I unplugged myself from Twitter for the performance just so I could gauge the performance on my own. Listen, she weirded me out. I mean really really creeped me the crap out. Unnecessarily, even. Anyone who makes a song called Stupid Hoe already holds with them the power to get peoples attention and get folks talking. That performance though... I did not need that in my life Ms. Minaj. I want my money back that I didn't even pay to see that because you did it for free. Please send payment in the form of a money order via Western Union. I don't want to think about where your money has been. I won't! Thanks!

double sigh

It is artists like this that make the naysayers think that they are right. But we know better. For every Kreayshawn out there clogging up your airwaves, there are another dozen artists that are making real music that you can really feel. You just have to go out there and find them. The record industry is different... they aren't going to just go out there and serve your favorite meal up to you on a silver platter. If you are passionate enough about music, it will require you to work. Go find it. It exists. Indie musicians doing their thing are out there just waiting for you to listen. Underground rappers are holding it down despite the brightness of Lil Wayne's lime-colored pajama jeans. Driving around with my dad a couple of months ago listening to Janelle Monae, he paused Cold War to make a comment about America not producing quality eclectic music any more. I nodded in agreement but this assumption was wrong. That music is out there. And thanks to the digital age, there is enough for all of us to find our niche. It's up to you if the validation that comes with hearing your favorite band on the radio or on MTV2 is more important than enjoying good music. If we fail to realize that not all pop music needs to cater to us and our own specific tastes then that is solely our fault for thinking the industry needs to cosign everything we like. It doesn't. Not any more. Now go out there and find great music.

Now Why You Wanna Go & Do That Love?

2012-01-26T21:19:00.000-08:00

No, no Rihanna... it's fine. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this.

Listen, I get it. Not everything in life is supposed to have an easy answer. Or any answer for that. Much of life is a mystery and moves in mysterious ways and yadda yadda yadda but some things on this planet need to be called to the carpet. Like the post picture above. Why for does the Bahamian songstress have "Thug Life" tattooed on her fingers? Did the ghost of Tupac come down from Thug-heaven and personally request she do so? Did she lose a bet with Mike Tyson? Is she planning on leaving this backwards imprint on Chris Brown's forehead as some kind of payback? I just do... not... get... it. Sadly, the answer to this vexing conundrum would probably not satisfy me or most other common sense having people. Hell, I once dated a dude with a Johnny Cash tattoo on his leg so I understand young folks making dummy moves. He got it after we were already going out a while but the fact remains, I dated somebody capable of making such bad decisions. I know that that reflects poorly on my judgement skills all the same. Still, there are things in life that are crystal clear to me. Like why it's a bad idea to strap fire works to one's nether regions and sing I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy in a crowded movie theatre or why trying to cram for the MCAT's the night before the exam with your little cousin's fifth grade level flash cards and the game Operation may not get you into Harvard Medical. Or why dating Snookie is not the best way to keep your genitals rabies-free. I'm not saying all life's whodunits and why need to be solved today. I'm just saying some things this week upset me in ways I can't understand. Like what? Glad you asked...

Why are we buying cars from the guy that had heart to hearts with Wilson? The other day I was sitting down to watch the exceptionally heinous offences that take place in the SVU Dept of Law and Order when I noticed during the commercial for the Chevy Shazbot (that may or may not be the correct model) that Tim the Tool-man Taylor was doing the voice-over work. I usually channel surf during commercials or at best go momentarily brain-dead so the fact that I actually was aware enough to notice his voice stunned and impressed the heck out of me. But then again, I did watch a large amount of Home Improvement when I was a wee bit. Jonathon Taylor Thomas was my future husband. Don't judge me. Thing is, why does Tim Allen need to be trying to sell me a car? (yes, I am quite pleased with the sentence structure of that last line, thank you very much) If I need advice on purchasing a car with good gas mileage at a reasonable rate I'll ask my man Mike Rowe from Dirty Jobs. When and if I ever need advice on how to get caught trying to traffic over 650 grams of cocaine (too infinity and beyond, yo!!!) I will give Mr. Allen the old ringy ding ding. I don't want to make it seem like I'm just picking on this particular actor either. In the past six months I've noticed Allen, Robert Downey Jr, Jeff Bridges (The Dude for crying out loud?!) and none other than Mr. Murder Miami himself, Dexter Morgan hawking new wheels. I know companies have used celebrity endorsements since like forever but what's weird about these ads is that they have absolutely zero screen time. They're just providing the voice-over. It's like the ad execs are trying to subliminally persuade us to purchase because the voice sounds familiar. Me no likey.

I'm a horrible person.

Why must the promo for every television show in America include the phrase; "Don't miss the episode you've got to see to believe!"

shuddup.

Have you seen that show on Lifetime called Dance Moms yet? Of course you haven't. Because you're a good person. I don't have the testicular fortitude to weather some wannabe starlet 40 years past her prime screaming and barking orders at child pageant contestants and their enabling stage moms but I have witnessed the numerous commercials that the network plugs in between reruns of The New Adventures of Old Christine. This lady seems horrible. And even worse, she seems proud of it as she stands there in the promotional bumps with her arms folded in front of her and that satisfied look on her face. And then in chimes the announcer with his "this is the episode you've got to see to believe!" malarkey. I think I can believe that a fat, crabby, aging talent agent who's usually crabby and bloaty can be even more crabby and bloaty when the cameras are rolling... especially if it's sweeps. Like it's that tough to make an 8 year old girl cry. I spent half of the third grade in tears and I had no discernible talents whatsoever! This overused and over-dramatized television phrase needs to go the way of the dodo.

Not in my Netflix queue.

Why must every romantic comedy be a steaming piece of Pomeranian doodie? Is it really that hard to make a witty, funny, heart-felt movie about two people getting it on (I'm aware that's not all couples do in romantic comedies. I believe we classify those type of movies in an entirely different category that you need to be over 18 and have a credit card to view)? What's so vexing about the classic tale of boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back that it requires most romcoms to be about as deep as [? Just the other day I watched the commercial for some new movie starring Rachel McAdams and Channing Tatum, who really needs to do his country a favor by going back to stripping for tuition money (be seen, not heard) and I broke out into a damn rash. A rash of anger, I tell you! Really Hollywood? We're actually supposed to believe that a married man upon learning that his boring wife has developed amnesia and no longer knows who he is would spend an entire second act trying to remind her of their marriage vows instead of ... you know, going through their life savings and banging every single girl in the Tri-state area. pulease! Gimme a Break and tell 'em Nell Carter sent you. Granted, there are actually romcoms that aren't god-awful: 50 First Dates, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and 500 Days of Summer spring to mind. All the rest though, crap city. Is it really too much to ask that they stop making these stinkers and finally send Katherine Heigl to the unemployment line where she belongs?

le sigh

--- Vanity in Peril

Nothing Gold Can Stay

2012-01-19T21:18:00.000-08:00

I think I'll just stay home if it's all the same to you guys.

I'm a smart-Alec kind of a girl, still enjoying life in my twenties. I'm lucky enough to live in a (relatively) free country and (so far) have been fortunate to not suffer any life-threatening illnesses that might force me to come to terms with my obvious mortality. As far as I know, I'm not the Highlander. I know we all have to check out sooner or later. I'm not an idiot. At least not for that reason. I just always assumed that I would die in my sleep as a 90 year old grandma or (fingers-crossed) would be cryogenically brought back to life by the use of new Sci-fi technology that puts my old lady head on the body of a bionic supermodel. Stranger things could happen! So it came as some surprise to me earlier today when my own impending death took front and center stage in my mind.

Well, that and Laz Alonso... a girl's gotta multitask.

One of the local news stations was running a story about a driver of a mini-van who unfortunately was crushed by a truck today in an attempt to avoid a collision with another car. Now this is surely a sad story and my condolences go out to the deceased's family members but stories like this play on the evening news day after day after day with little more than a lifted eyebrow of a reaction out of me. What made this story any more special than the others? Well for one thing, the location of the accident took place at an intersection that I frequent in my morning commute two days out of the week. And if that wasn't weird enough, the accident took place at almost the exact time that I am usually driving on that road. In fact, I would have been driving on that road today had it not been for a last minute change-up in my schedule. I guess this would be the time the cynics in the crowd will start rolling their eyes at me and I wouldn't entirely blame you. No, I'm not trying to say this was some kind of divine intervention. I haven't been having tea time with Roma Downey and the ghost of Della Reese. I just decided to do something else today. And that something else is more than likely responsible for me not being in my car at that time, on that road and possibly the difference between me being all the way live and dead as disco. That's kind of a big deal to me. I don't know exactly what it is. I just know that it is something. Thinking about my own death or more specifically the precise time that it might happen, got me to thinking about my own funeral. I know, I'm being pretty macabre today, aint I? Thing is though, I've never (not even once) thought about what my funeral will be like. I mean I've given it a purely surface-level overview, like I would hope people.. you know... show up for the damn thing. And even though it saddens me to think that my death would bring pain to my loved ones, I sure as hell don't want to have a funeral full of people hand-clapping and boot-stomping. I mean, this isn't a praise and worship session at Ty Tribbett's super-church. This is my last hurrah on the planet. My last chance to be remembered as... someone who mattered. I'm gonna need y'all to make with the woo woo woos and tear ducts should be activated.

It's okay guys, let it out. I was pretty awesome.

But besides my narcissistic need to make my left behind loved ones sad and a hope that those same people will have something nice to say about me, I don't really know how that day is going to go down. None of us has control over anything beyond the logistics of it all. We can plan for who's going to get what once we're gone but we can't plan for what parts of ourselves people are going to remember the most. Sure you can try your best to be a better person and hope your good words and actions speak for the kind of person you were now that you're gone. But just like with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., folks are going to remember you more for the idea of who you were and what you represented to them more than the human, flawed, unique individual that you were when you were in their presence. And that's the rub! As in control as I'd like to be at all times, when I go that's all she wrote. I would hope that my loved ones remember me as being funny(ish) and genuine. I certainly hope they remember more of my good qualities than the bad ones like the fact that I can't finish a game of Monopoly without flipping the board over (take that, Park Place!) or that I bust out into a fit of nervous laughter whenever Sarah Mclachlan or Roberta Flack comes on t.v. singing about those damn puppies and kittens with their eyes poked out (seriously, who is poking out the eyes of all these kittens?!). I hope they remember some of the things that we as humans tend to forget when we're not around each other. The things that make us special. Our quirkiness. Like the fact that I blow on my ice cream before I eat it but dive right into hot soup or that I sometimes speak in a baby-voice when I'm tired. If I've got to go (and we all have to) I just hope the world remembers what made me... me.

And if you could work in somewhere that I was the inventor of the Post It note, that'd be super.

--- Vanity in Peril

Observations on the 69th Annual Golden Globes

2012-01-15T22:05:00.000-08:00

Kate Winslet has usurped Cate Blanchett's place as the HBIC of playing depressed ladies from the past.

In her next picture, Winslet pays the first woman ever to receive
5 nuggets in her six-piece nugget Value-Meal.

Kelsey Grammer does three things right for me; playing Dr. Frasier Crane ( "I'm listening") in syndication, producing highly-glossed sitcoms starring beautiful black women and falling off of stages. To the best of my knowledge, Grammer's Golden Globe win this evening was for none of those things.

That ginger from Showtime's Homeland gives me a serious case of the heebie jeebies. Run for your life Claire Danes.

Dear God... he heard us!

Those Google Chrome commercials are so heartfelt and well-made. Too bad no one's checking for Google Plus... yet.

Am I missing much by not watching NBC's The Voice? If I had to guess, I'd probably say "no".

They need to give Idris Elba and award for just being Idris Elba. It seriously is a service he's doing for his friends here across the pond just being on American television. I mean the man is beyond fine. If his tears cured cancer I'd still never want to make him cry. I mean... that accent... o wow.

Wait is that Brad Pitt? Move your big face out of his shot, Angie!

The steely glare on Charlize Theron's face as she watched My Week with Marilyn's Michelle Williams accept her Golden Globe read like the following:

Chick, I acted with Marilyn Monroe (those J'Adore Dior ads are hella weird, no?) and you are no Marilyn!

Major Shade reporting for duty!

Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! Did Joan Rivers and the rest of the Fashion Police crew pay you to wear that monstrosity of a prom dress? And the matchy-matchy eyeshadow? What would Giles say?

Ew.

Dear Bradley Cooper,

Just because you're dating Zoe Saldana does not require you to tan your face to the shade of Sidney Portier. Fall back.

The Hollywood Foreign Press recognizes Morgan Freeman with a Cecil B. Demille award and we at Vanity in Peril break out into a rousing rendition of the East Side High Alma Mater.

Will you be my pop-pop?

Meryl Streep. You've been giving award-winning performances for over thirty years now. Must we really sit through you feigning surprise at winning a Golden Globe for your portrayal of Margaret Thatcher? I mean really. Did the dingo eat your dignity? But way-cool for shouting out Pariah.

Jane Fonda.

Damn Grandma. How you doin'?

And lastly, Ricky Gervais. I know the Brits don't exactly subscribe to our whiter than white and veneered to the nine line of thinking when it comes to dental care but seriously dude... your canines look like you're auditioning to play an extra in the next Twighlight movie. Cap those bad boys.

--- Vanity in Peril

Five Things People Said Out Loud (and on purpose) This Week...

2012-01-11T20:47:00.000-08:00

sigh.

1. Me: I wonder what's going on on that show Single Ladies. I never really gave it a shot.

[White male love-interest to his black lead actress~ the stripper from the Players Club whose name escapes me~ in bed as they vomitorily have chexy time while devouring a box of chocolates]

"I never get enough chocolate"

Somebody get these staff writers an Emmy... STAT!

2. From Rush Limbaugh's pearls of "wisdom" website<<<<< you'll notice I haven't linked it. My sassy black lady-ness won't allow me to do it.

"Obama's not just a nice guy who's in over his head. Obama has a plan. Obama's plan is based on his inherent belief that this country was immorally and illegitimately founded by a very small minority of white Europeans who screwed everybody else since the founding to get all the money and all the goodies, and it's about time that the scales were made even."

Cole, you stupid.

3. In my Twitter Feed...

"Elub Yvi is proof-positive that Jay-Z and Beyonce are a part of the Illuminati!"

Jigga, what?!

4. "Tim Tebow is now America's favorite active pro-athlete."

Source: Pollsters at ESPN

I'd rather hear Candyman's name three times in a row than this man's name said one more time! I'm so serious.

*gets passport and other paperwork together in attempt to relocate to a Tebow-free country.

and finally...

5. "Third place is a ticket to ride!"

----- Jon Huntsman (giving a speech after coming in 3rd in the N.H. primary)

That'll do pig.

--- Vanity in Peril

Holiday Leftovers

2012-01-03T20:05:00.000-08:00

awk·ward (ôk w rd). adj.

1. Lacking grace or ease of movement

2. That span of time between January 1 and February 13 where one or more parties attempts to break off their relationship in avoidance of Valentines Day

We've all been there before. You're in that trying relationship with ol' what'shis/herface and you don't want to be the ass that broke up with your partner during the holidays so you trek through Thanksgiving stuffing and Christmas festivities trying not to give the screw face. But by the time you watch the ball drop together, you're ready for the other shoe to go along with it. Sometimes you both know it's the end and you're both just trying to avoid being labeled the bad guy, or maybe just one of you does. One thing is for certain though, you're not spending another dime on a card and gift for this person come Singles Awareness Day.

Bad holiday relationships are like Xmas trees. Best to get rid of them
before the Easter Bunny comes.

Assuming you're not the come on out and say it-type, VIP provides you with a couple of sneaky ways to get your mate to do your dirty work for you. Come February you'll have lots of free time in your schedule (for crying in your beer about how you'll never find anybody to love you) and you can thank Vanity in Peril for getting you there...

Refer to his sports pass-times in trivial terms especially when his favorite team is on. I wrote about these female sports fails a few months ago, you can reference any of those tricks here or try this one below.

Ex. You: "Hey babe, Don't you think the Seattle Seahawks costumes are a way prettier shade of green than the Philadelphia Eagles?

Them: "No I don't, for starters. Secondly: they aren't called 'costumes' and lastly, you know Michael Vick is my favorite player. Why would you even say that?!"

You: "O I don't pay attention to silly things like that. Go back to watching your football recital pumpkin butt, smooches."

[ Approximate number of days it will take them to break up with you: As soon as the playoffs are over. Even sooner if you pull this one out while your partner has friends over.]

Walk around your place wearing nothing but an old pair of their underwear. When they question why you have them on exclaim "These are yours? Crap! I gotta make a phone call" and then quickly throw on your clothes, grab your cell and keys and tell them you're going for a walk. Return hours later with a cat that ate the canary smirk on your face and then go right to bed.*

[Approximate number of days it will take for them to give you your walking papers: 7 or even less if their ass is crazy]

Immediately following sexy time, take a knee like Tebow. If this doesn't seem to bother them, explain that you were just taking a moment to praise your lord and savior, Superman. If this still doesn't phase them, try a different touchdown dance. May we suggest Aaron Rogers and his discount double-check?

[Approximate number of days it will take for them to go Gone till November on your janky ass: 3 ]

Delete all of her DVR'd episodes of Real Househoes of Transylvania, Basketball Wives, Love and Hip Hop, Mob Wives, etc etc before she has a chance to watch any of them. When she asks you what happened to them, say you don't know. Later that night, have a fake-cell phone conversation with your mom where you recap every episode.

And then that chick Evelyn was all like... what's that? Yeah I can make it
to the strip club tonight. And every other night this week.

[Approximate number of days it will take for them to start blasting this song and packing up your duffel bag: this will happen immediately]

Create an E-harmony profile for them online and leave the page up on your laptop. Then simply walk out of the room.

--- Vanity in Peril

*Don't do this under any circumstances if you are currently partnered up with someone with rage issues. But if they have rage issues, you should probably stop dating them now anyway, huh?

It's the End of the World As We Know It... & I Feel... Meh

2012-01-01T22:32:00.001-08:00

Bluetooth? Check. Steely smug stare? Check.
Yeah... this guys gonna be just fine.

If you are reading this post on the date that I originally typed it, you know that we have approximately 353 days left until the end of the world. Or even less if you are reading the back links of our site prior to Doomsday. Or if you are reading this after the end of civilization let me first just commend your incredible selection of a Wifi connection and secondly let me congratulate you on making it to the other side. I've no doubt died in the uproar and if zombie apocalypse movies are any indication of my impending demise, I was taken out while trying to take a pee break in the woods by myself. No matter... I don't really want to live in a Mad Max society anyways. And you know what? Upon further introspection, I don't think any of us really want to live in a world that's populated with the kind of people that are able to survive the end of the world. Just think about it. The level of douchbaggery that it takes to be so pigheaded that you would try to defy the destiny of the human race and trek on is almost unimaginable. That's like a brontosaurus stubbornly deciding he'd much rather be alive and fronting a late 80's/ early 90's rock band then ... you know... extinct. The humongous balls on these guys. These survivors. In no kind of order, here goes the kinds of personalities you meet in the after-apocalypse. Maybe you'll think twice about building that fall-out shelter.

The guy/gal that knowingly gets into the 15 items or less express lane with too many items on the belt

I dunno what it is inside a person's character (or lack thereof) that makes them think it's ever ok to do this. I'm not talking about casual offenders that have two-four items too many when the regular lines are packed with elderly people with fifty-eleven coupons, trying to pay in pennies and war bonds. If you sometimes do this I'll excuse you every time (and I'll even look the other way as I roll my eyes at you... cause I'm generous like that) and pretend I don't know how to count. But for the people who habitually place 20, 25, 40 freakin items on the 15 items or less belt and then stand there as if they dare us to say something... yeah these people need to be stopped. But sadly, I've never... not even once... witnessed a cashier tell the person to pick their crap up, put it back in the cart and wheel their 17 boxes of frozen waffles and Astroglide (I don't judge) to the nearest regla shopper lane. Not never. So in a way, because so few of us speak up and put our footsies down, these kind of people think it's ok to buck the rules. This kind of dickbag will make it into the Apocalypse based purely on their sheer determination to screw over other folks and put their own selfish needs first.

And no those two packs of toilet tissue do NOT count as one item.

The parent(s) who bring their little children to R-rated movies.

I mean really? I always thought this was a myth. I couldn't wrap my head around the level of dickitude it requires to decide instead of waiting for a night that you can get a babysitter or a relative that owes you a favor to watch your bad ass Bebe's kids, to just bring little Johnny and Sally to the movies with you and hope they know well enough to play earmuffs when the dirty or violent scenes come on the screen. That was until I had the better part of 2/3rds of Saw IV ruined by some horrible 'rent and her children of the maize rag tag team of ankle biters. Even worse is the people who actually think it's ok to bring a baby into a movie. A baby!!! So now not only do we have to be robbed by Hollywood with a movie that we've already seen the best parts of in trailers and a theatre that charges us more for a box of Goobers than we make in an hour, we have to sit through the whole thing with some screaming nipple succler ruining the ending of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo all because some idiot doesn't understand MPAA ratings. These are the kind of people that will thrive in the after-civilization. And not only will they survive... their dumbass little families will be there too to ruin it for everyone.

The guy at work that heats up his leftover fish in the microwave and stinks up your entire lunch hour

Really. Who is this guy? He's always from a department you don't interact with. He's always taking his lunch break at the same time as you and he is always (ALWAYS!!!!) warming up something that smells like a combination of food garbage and morning breath. Fish really should be outlawed as an acceptable entree to bring to work. Now you have to go eat your Pad Thai in your car like a trucker and hope you don't spill any peanut sauce on your dress shirt because you know you've got that important meeting at 2. This guy sucks. Completely unaware of the comfort level of others. Never mind that you're not even sure if he works there and could just be some random guy there to get his fill of free coffee and use the copy machine. Dudes like this will run rampant in the new world. Primarily because they have gained so much experience utilizing the resources of others to their own advantages and they are unfazed by being labeled the "weird" guy. In fact, they probably already live off the grid in the woods somewhere. All the better for when society breaks down and the cities run red with the blood of hipsters. Too bad he'll probably be the guy to "accidentally" cross bow me in the back of the head as I try to go pee out in the woods by my lonesome.

--- Vanity in Peril

2011 VIP Wrap-Up

2011-12-29T21:16:00.000-08:00

And it begins.

To paraphrase my favorite hip hop group this side of the pond, Das Racist, 2011 was the combination best of times and worst of times...

Annnnnnnnd this happened.

But 2011 wasn't all Basketball Wives (and now L.A. Wives, Baseball Hoes, Girls Behaving Badly and the O.G's Real Housewives of Anywhereville) mollywhoppin' each other. Here's a look back at the things that made 2011 worthy of Tebowing...

Goons got what was coming to them

Osama Bin Ladin, Ghadafi, Kim Jong Il, Donald Trump...? I don't really think we need to elaborate much on this one if only to say 2011 was not a good year to be a jerk.

T.V. went all Glee-club la di da di

Fox's hit teen show Glee notwithstanding, 2011 strikes me as the year every damn network had to have a show about people who can sing, dance or do some variation of the two. No better example of this would be the much ballyhooed Simon Cowell produced X-Factor (or American Idol with grown folks and kids, for those uninitiated) , a show I committed to watch religiously upon first viewing the commercials but somehow missed every damn episode of. But even if I missed Paula Abdul make one last attempt at coherency and J-Lo give singing critiques while dodging ironic lightening bolts, I could switch the channel over to NBC and watch other people singing about love and people who are fireworks on The Voice. Bigger Genie in an XS Bottle, Christina Aguilera is on that show with the guy with the teeth and the sequined Forever Lazy and the dude that sings about having moves like Jagger ( and a voice like he went to the Creative and Performing Arts School of D-riding Stevie Wonder's Falsetto.) All this I know from commercials of course. This is another show I've yet to watch an episode of. Then of course you've got the one with the Barbershop Quartets singing songs a capella. I doubt you watch that. Myself, I pay an extra Five bucks to my cable provider a month to have that show not come on my HDTV. If anything, I owe all of these shows a huge amount of thanks for affirming my love for smart scripted programming such as AMC's The Walking Dead and the sexy, creepy American Horror Story on FX. Speaking of Television that makes me smile...

Cornholio came back to MTV!!!

And just in time it appears. Hey, if MTV refuses to dedicate any real programming time to actual music, we'll take this as a fair trade-off. Mike Judges' Beavis and Butthead came back this year after a long hiatus and they haven't missed a beat. The best part of the cartoon has always been the Mystery Science Theatre-like commentary on contemporary music videos and this time the boys even poke fun at the vapid shows that populate the rest of the MTV scheduling grid. I especially enjoy their disinterest in Jersey Shore's Deena for no apparent reason other than her very presence.

This website helped secure a solid place in all of my 2012 nightmares

btw, Jimmy... I am gonna miss the cuss outa you, man. Really.

Barbara Walters gets really real with Pizza Guy

If you didn't hear about it you must be living under a rock but Herman Cain was having the best 2/3 of a year ever until people found out he has a thing for white women and a disdain for geography. No, he's not the newest member of the Young Money label, Cain was trying to run for elected office. And he would have gotten away with it too! If not for those meddling reporters with their questions on foreign policy and where Libya was on a world map. Ah yes, Libya... that illustrious tropical locale... err I mean... Ah yes, Libya... that thing they give you before your dessert but after the appetizer at Friendly's... err, I mean... Libya... that thing all the ladies have that makes the Pizza Guy go hungry hungry hippos... ok, maybe we should just let Cain explain to the American public who, what, when, where or how Libya is. On second thought, never mind. We know he doesn't know. And no amount of vamping was gonna make us think he had the answer on the tip of his tongue. But even though your unrealistic shot at becoming the next black president of the US of A is a thing of the past, Mr. Pizza Guy (who we'd swear on a stack of bibles and a first edition copy of the graphic novel The Watchmen smells like Zest soap and Stetson, baby) we can't help but wonder if you'd do us the honor of hosting your own talk show. If only so that we can witness more moments like this.

And finally...

But the top reason 2011 rocked so much for me was my discovery of this phenomenon. Apparently, there's a large demographic of Lucille Roberts travelling, Tae-Bo VHS tape wielding, Macarena still- doing lady folks (and some men) out there that think it's cool to upload their extremely beginners versions of dance choreography for all the world to see. I like to sit home on a rainy day and waste 2- twelve hours watching video after video on YouTube. A strange thing starts to happen after a while, however. I start to feel my heart grow like the Grinch in Whoville and it becomes filled with good will toward my fellow man (I know, right?! Gross!) and suddenly it doesn't seem right to laugh at these unfortunate souls anymore. At least they have the courage to go out there and live their dreams (no matter how delusional) and at least they live their lives on their own terms with no concern about what others may think. We can learn a bunch from these people, with their Old Navy brand fitness apparel and Sketchers. if we can take just a spoonful of the courage these people have into 2012, well there's nothing we can't do.

Actually, lemme just laugh at one more.

Contrary to Gloria Estafan's belief, the rhythm doesn't get everybody.

Happy New Year!

--- Vanity in Peril

Fun with Kwanzaa

2011-12-25T23:31:00.000-08:00

So like... this happened.

By now most of the country is winding down from a week filled with holiday events... office parties where everybody gets a little too familiar with each other once the booze starts flowing (sorry accounting guy with the unfortunate bowl cut. I thought you could take a punch), jam-packed malls in the hunt for that perfect gift to show our sweetheart how much we love them (remember, every kiss begins with k and every that one weird thing you like begins with a new X-Box 360 and Call of Duty-Modern Warfare 3) and time spent with our friends and family. But before we start ramping up for the second most over-hyped holiday of the year, let's take a moment to acknowledge the lesser known holidays that must share the spotlight with Christmas, Hanukkah and College football- insert some kind of fruit or chip here- Bowls.

No, not Festivus. Though what holiday get together would be complete without
the annual Airing of Grievances?

I was thinking more along the lines of Kwanzaa. You know, that red-headed stepchild holiday not too many people know much about? Including me, sadly. My full grasp of the day involves childhood candle lighting's in school and songs about Umoja and something called Kujichagulia that used to make me giggle every year. And then as I became a somewhat grown person, I realized that this holiday was more than a little janky (imho) and that the founder, Dr. Maulana Karenga, was a little bit of a crazy wafer. While I’m certainly not against teaching the African American youth to appreciate and practice great principles such as unity (Umoja) and Self-Determination, I’d like to think of myself as more of an every day practicing black person. In other words, I get my Kuumba (creativity) on 24 to the sev and a day mo’ on the leap year! I don't feel the need to reserve it to Boxing Day. And while my lack of knowledge on Kwanzaa probably qualifies me to have my black card forfeited by the NAACP any day now, I still find it comical when others (namely, non- African American peeps) somehow know even less than I do on the subject. I love to get my holiday jollies by “educating” people on some of the lesser known practices and principles found in your annual Kwanzaa celebration. Whether you're black, brown, white or polka dot, fun can be had for all this time of year. Just don't forget these Kwanzaa essentials:

It's customary on the first night of Kwanzaa for guests to greet their host/hostess with the official Holiday Black People Secret handshake. The handshake is of course to honor the great innovator, George Washington Carver who as we all know, invented the peanut. A dab of peanut butter is smeared in the palm of the hand prior to the shaking of the hands and of course the host/hostess dictates whether said peanut butter is to be chunky or smooth. Usually, choosy mom's choose Jiff but during the high holy day Skippy is an acceptable substitution. That is as long as the secret peanut butter handshake is promptly followed up by chanting the also secret Holiday Black People mantra: No Justice, No Peanuts! If this is your first year being invited to a Kwanzaa party and your hostess seems uninitiated in the ways of the secret George Washington Carver is the original Mr. Peanut/black people looove making up secret handshake tradition, don't be discouraged. They are only testing you and will surely name you Grand Poobah of all things Kujichagulia once you remind them that you never... and I mean never half-step when it comes to all things peanut butter and peanut related. And you certainly wouldn't ever bring some pasty-ass Smart Balance peanut butter into their crib (no matter if it's a studio apartment or the White House, all AA's live in cribs) because you respect them too much.

I baked a nail file inside this cake for when you go to visit your
cousin Pookie, who I'm assuming is in prison. Ujamaa!

Now that you've made it through your first Kwanzaa dinner, it's time to ingratiate yourself to some of your colorful coworkers. Don't bother asking them if they celebrate or not. If we have a tan darker than Snookie, we looove Kwanzaa. And we just loove it when people bring us in presents to celebrate this American-made holiday that kind of treats the over 53 countries of Africa like one big monolithic mother ship that we can all identify with in only the most general and stereotypical of ways. Show us how much you understand this by surprising us with small trinkets that signify the motherland. Such as; a handful of acorns picked from the parking lot. Go ahead and leave those right on our desk while we're out for lunch. No need to sign a card, we'll know it's from you. Or how about a nice kente cloth covered seat cushion to rest our bootyliscious bottoms on? Hey, now we're collating and hitting our Kwanzaa dougie all at the same time. Thanks for helping us multi-task! We're sure to get that promotion now. Almost forgot... Don't forget the holiday treats to get us in the mood for the season. My coworker brought me in a handful of Jordan Almonds and circus peanuts to celebrate the eloquent poetry of Langston Hughes and now we've never been closer. Also, it's a well know fact that Harriet Tubman sustained the run-away slaves escaping the US South to Canada with a corn based casserole dish consisting of mashed potatoes, gravy, fried chicken and cheddar cheese. In fact, to honor our ancestors, you can find one of these casseroles in single-serving form at your neighborhood KFC... I think they call them Famous Bowls now. Make sure to bring enough in for all the black guys down in the warehouse.

Mmmm... Ujima!

Note: This post is obviously an end of year stab at sarcasm but just in case you were planning on actually doing any of these things may we suggest you click on the Kwanzaa links throughout the article before you embarrass yourself, your family and your country.

--- Vanity in Peril

A Priest, a Blonde and a Mexican Walk Into a Bar... And I'm Not Really Tryna Hear the Punchline...

2011-12-14T20:02:00.000-08:00

I had a brief FB conversation with a friend the other day about a mutual friend of ours and the fact that I was upset by some of the subject matter in their status updates and posts. I was upset because I found them to be racist, homophobic and sexist more often than not. My friend kind of knew where I was coming from but at the same time felt the need to play Devil's Advocate and kind of made me feel like I was taking things too seriously. And that's how I felt all of yesterday afternoon and evening. Like a wet blanket, race-baiting, super-sensitive bleeding-heart liberal that can't take a joke.

My sad emo state literally turned my world sideways...
kinda like Drake.

It made me sad, sad to the point of tears I could not control and then very very angry because it seems like we're always telling the victim or someone who's been disenfranchised that they have to "lighten up", have a thicker skin or don't make waves. So now not only are we responsible for teaching those who don't have to suffer from racism, discrimination, sexism, homophobia or any of the other "isms" how not to be a racist, discriminator, sexist or homophobic j-hole we have to pretend like their attacks don't hurt us so it doesn't hurt their feelings or kill the mood?! It is not 1950 and my birth certificate does not say Step and Freakin' Fetch It last time I checked. In fact, it's people like the Cab Calloways and Moms Mableys,the Toussaint L'Ouvertures and Desi Arnaz, the "suffragettes" and Betty Friedans, the Emma Goldmans and Harvey Milks of the world that mostly suffered in silence and paved the way so that we can live in a world where all feel equal to voice our opinions and speak freely. Which includes the right to tell an off-color joke and the right to cuss somebody out because of it.

Besides, without racial humor his set would only consist of the words; the,
to, from and Lassie. The dude in the back, too.

And after all that civil rights fighting, and all that marching and law-changing what do we have? Where is our utopia? If you think we live in a "post-racial" or "post-anything" society you should try reading the comments section on any article online about any topic, ever. You must not be paying attention because what we have now is a mess. But not because we have freedom like some uneducated people would like for you to believe. It's not because of "uppity Negroes" or "illegals" or who our hateful asses think is "running the entertainment industry". It's because we can change the laws but the laws can't change the hearts of people. It was never going to be that easy. And when you (as a country, as a culture, as a person) don't ever have to sit down and purge those deep-seated feelings of superiority that have been subliminally brainwashing you (and the rest of us btw) since birth you can tell a racist joke or take the good , hard-earned money from a patron and call them "dot-head" behind their back without the weight that I feel when I hear of garbage like that. You can eat your waffle fries and chicken with the Polynesian sauce and not wonder how much of your proceeds are going into the pockets of anti-gay lobbyists nor will you care (apparently) because you can marry who you want to and nobody's calling your love a desecration. Yes you... you can be willfully ignorant and spout out or believe LIES such as the new racism/sexism is reverse affirmative action or now that we have a black president, there should be no reason POC shouldn't be able to get good jobs, keep their noses clean and stay out of jail or (my personal favorite) they took rrrrrr jobs!

After graduating summa cum laude from Stanford, Peter was devastated to
find out Pedro here had stolen his internship, selling oranges off the on- ramp.
And also his cup o' noodles.

My point? I know I had one somewhere in here... o yes! My point is: some stupid joke from one of my non-minority FB friends isn't cause for me to sound the alarms and I don't feel like my temporary discomfort upon seeing them is equal to the too-real realities of inequality that we face every day. After all, I know what it's like to be called the "n-word", I know what it feels like when somebody thinks they're complimenting you by telling you you're so pretty for a black girl oryou don't really need to know this (Algebra!!!!), just worry about finding a husband. Most of us have to try and make it through our day knowing haters gonna hate. I certainly know the difference between mild annoyance and outright discrimination and for most of my life have given people the benefit of the doubt even to my own demise. But the connection from point A to point B isn't that far in our hearts sometimes. I certainly don't intend to cut ties to my other friend for failing to see the reality that this particular person may be "just playing around" but it doesn't mean they don't also think that way for real, hidden deep within the grey matter, maybe even hidden from themselves. Bigots don't all wear the Big Bad Wolf costume and identify themselves. Oftentimes they don't even see that they're part of the problem. They look like our family, our police officers, our bosses and politicians and sometimes even our friends. How in the hell can we expect for people's perspectives to change and for people to see things for what they truly are if we all think we're the good guy? We can't all have home field advantage, I need to know who's playing shirts and who's playing skins?! These are the things that (no lie) keep me up at night. And I feel God-smacked when I realize others don't really think of it at all. What a luxury! But the battle to end "isms" must forge onward to a destination, I don't really know where. And if I excommunicate every person that offends me instead of helping them see the lesson, I do so not only to my own detriment but to theirs as well. I just wish we could all get our heads out of the sand... like if we just all ignore it and play nice that racism, discrimination, sexism and all the other isms are going to go away. They won't. It just doesn't work like that.

#endrant

--- Vanity in Peril

The Funniest Elephant in the Room...

2011-11-30T10:44:00.000-08:00

By now everyone knows that Patrice O'Neal passed away this week from complications of a stroke he suffered last month. This is of course sad news to everyone. He was one of my favorite comedians and ranked as my top five favorite comedians of the new generation. I loved his act. I loved his personality and the way he took serious subjects such as racial profiling and America's insistence that we are the best country in the world and reflected on them in such a way that the message was well received with a hearty belly laugh. He was only 41. As an overweight black male he lived to just about his life expectancy but the news of his death still stings like the dickens. Maybe you knew of him from his many appearances on various Comedy Central Roasts. Or maybe his guest spots on the Opie and Anthony show. Maybe you were familiar with his work on the first season of the Chappelle Show. One of my favorite Patrice moments can be found here from one of his many sharp and sardonic stand-up routines. The thing that I enjoyed most about him was his ability to be at the same time well informed and funny. It's hard to strike that balance without going too far in either direction and coming off as either aloof of the world's problems or condescending. O'Neal walked this tightrope very well and for that he reached the top echelon of new generation comedic legends in the like of Mitch Hedberg and Greg Giraldo. It's no surprise to me that at this level their work was mostly (and sadly) appreciated post-mortem.

Only one of these dudes was selling out stadiums. Yeah... you read that right.

I don't even have the words to explain just how rotten the above picture makes me feel. I'll let O'Neal's own words tell the truth for us here...

He makes a great point about comedians... those that have reached a certain level of stardom that probably don't deserve it. I swear every time Whitney Cummings appears on NBC or CBS while truly funny female comedians such as Maria Bamford and Amy Sedaris are relegated to playing weird moms in Christmas commercials an angel gets it's wings ripped off by some tattooed dude named Jesus Ramirez. Ever since Leno beat out Letterman for Carson's gig (and probably way before then) the less witty, watered down funny folks of the world have been given the red carpet treatment and with guys like Mitch Hedberg and Greg Giraldo gone while Dane Cook and Carlos Mencia (who has the balls to have a new comedy special chocked with ~~stolen~~ new material.) continue to stomp the earth with a funky air of self satisfaction it seems that all the good acts are gone. If CK or Chappelle punch out early I don't think I'll be able to live in America anymore. Maybe I can make a new start in Greece somehow?

--- Vanity in Peril

The Rudest Peeps We Know

2011-11-25T21:47:00.000-08:00

My bad, I totally thought you were Blake Griffin when I agreed to marry you.

The other day while trying to pick out cheese in my local Wegmans another shopper made the common mistake of overshooting just how much space she had to get her cart (and her rather large badonkatrunk) through the aisle space without hitting another person. Now, admittedly, I was a bit dramatic about the wheel running over the back of my heel. Very rarely do I get to unleash my inner sassy black woman and make good christian tax-payers uneasy with my human beatbox impersonation. I didn't need to go to the emergency room or anything drastic like that. It still ticked me off though because her apology did not cut the mustard. Instead of her tending to me immediately and making good with the common American use of the words "I'm sorry" little (big) Miss bla bla decided to keep on rolling by and turned back only once to utter the two words that I'm sure are what caused Bruce Banner to go all grrr arghhh in the first place: my bad

What's that? This is your house? Well, my bad... that's
pretty much obvs.

my bad

(n.) A combination of an apology and a dismissal. Basically, saying "oh yeah, I did that, but I don't care".

Persons of an older generation can find this quite annoying to hear when expecting an actual apology.

"Hey, you spilled my Coke all over me!"

"Oh. My bad."

"#@%$!"

Sourse: Urbandictionary.com

My bad: the simultaneously greatest and rudest two words in the English language. They don't even mean anything, really. Let's break it down, shall we? We have "my" meaning ownership, personal responsibility, etc. And then to that ownership you add the word "bad" which I guess when you put it together is supposed to replicate the inculpable excuses of a four year old. Why don't we just say "uh-oh, spaghettios" while we're shirking responsibility and breaking the office fax machine? What does saying "my bad" have to do with a person's acknowledgement of wrong-doing, anyway? O nothing? Well, my bad. See?! You feel at the same time vindicated and spat upon, am I right? My bad has this magical ability to make the person using it absolved from all wrong-doing in just about the laziest way imaginable. It's kind of like paying for a million-dollar celebrity guest, New Orleans-style funeral for a buddy and then getting pissy at the left-behind family members for accusing you of being the dude that actually murdered him in the first place. My bad gets my vote to replace actual apologies in this still young, extra sarcastic, kinda- douchy decade. Here are just a couple of places you can try using my bad to replace actual heartfelt apologies:

The DMV:

This one works in two ways. You can either use it as the over-worked and always pleasant DMV worker (because aren't they all?) who failed to advise the patron that they filled out the wrong form and need to get out of line and get the correct form and take a new number and wait in line all over again even though they asked you two hours ago if they had the correct form to get their motorcycle license with and you told them yes... yeah you can just simply say "my bad" as you shoo them back to the end of the line and away from your two by four square of cubicle. And as the patron you can try using "my bad" for the reason you didn't know it wasn't cool to beat a state employee to a state of unconsciousness with your left shoe. I think the police will go for it. Try it out, see how it works for you. *

Or you could just go back to the end of the line like the push-over that you are.

Or let's say you've suddenly found yourself in the midst of some kind of national scandal... like you're being accused of getting too handy-grabby with the female staff of your company. Or maybe you took the street-term "stop snitching" a wee bit personal and now the country (minus what seems to be an entire college campus of morons) is way ticked off at you for not doing the right thing. Or let's say you've been caught in the throws of passion with a pre-op prostitute by your wife in some seedy hotel room and you're trying to find just the right words to say to smooth things over and possibly turn this awkward moment into a potential threesome...

I can't believe that really worked.

*Don't try this.

--- Vanity in Peril

Vanity in Peril Gets You Through Another Stay with the Inlaws...

2011-11-17T10:10:00.000-08:00

And it begins.

Survive Thanksgiving in One Piece Holiday Coquito

Prep Time:

10 Min

Ready In:
However long it takes you to watch Season One of The Walking Dead while you daydream of different ways to dispose of your zombified in-laws during the zombie apocalypse.

Serves one (or five if you’re feeling particularly giving)

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup water

• 1 (14 ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

• 1 1/2 cup dark rum

• 2 (15 ounce) cans coconut milk

• 2 cinnamon sticks

• 1 pinch salt

• ½ cup of Columbian coffee

• 1 teaspoon of Robitussin (Or the store-brand. Hey, we’re in a recession)

Directions

1. Pour the water, milk, rum, coffee and coconut milk into a blender. Add the cinnamon and salt. Blend until well combined, then refrigerate overnight. Serve chilled at 4am hunched over your kitchen sink in your bathrobe as you sob aimlessly.

Happy Holidays!

--- Vanity in Peril

Would You Rather Wednesdays

2011-10-26T21:44:00.000-07:00

Fall marks a new weekly blog feature. Every Wednesday through the rest of the season we'll post questions from every one's favorite drinking game (no, not FUBAR); Would You Rather. This week's post asks the very important question of...

Would you rather be the lone human left on a planet full of flesh-eating zombies or the only old person left in a world full of beautiful young supermodels?

Hol' up hol' up hol' up... whoa 'der...pump your brakes! Before you go rushing to answer. Let's zoom in and find out what's really what with either scenario.

Zombie -Land Option

You may be thinking to yourself, Self, there is no way I could make it in a land of post-apocalyptic zombified brain-gans. You're probably right, if movies have taught us anything about surviving zombies you know that you will be in a non-stop bid to stay alive. Every waking moment of your life must be dedicated to being on the look out for, running from and protecting yourself against the walking dead. And you probably don't want to catch too many z's what with the constant threat of death or worse at any given moment. I certainly wouldn't blame you if you decided to cower in fear. I know I would. Yeah, probably best to shy away from this option. BUT WAIT! Has I Am Legend taught you nothing? If you choose this option, you get to pretty much live in whatever condo, mansion or villa you like... it's not like they are currently occupado (well, except for the occasional swarm of maddened zombies that is) and the best part is you can live there completely free. Talk about your rent-control! Have your eye on the new Aston Martin DB9 but not sure if the dealership will accept your 2001 Kia Rio as a trade-in? Fret not, homey-san... you can get that ride today because you are the last man standing. In fact, you can get that ride and every other ride on the planet.

But good luck trying to source the petrol.

Every and any material item you want can be yours in this scenario. You can live like Richie Rich. The only caveat (well, other then again... the flesh-eating zombies) is that every one you love, every one who makes life worth living is gone baby gone. Just you, that guy with the gaping head wound who's chasing after you and your Madden 2012 for the rest of eternity. But if that doesn't sound like a blasty-blast, you can always go with scenario two.

Old Man River Option

So they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder... and if you don't believe that hogwash, they also say beauty is only skin-deep. Well, we'll see about that one. With option number two, everyone in the world has somehow found the fountain of youth (turns out it was in Cleveland this whole time) with the exception of you. Just like that not only is everyone transformed into youthful vivacious versions of their former selves, they are all as beautiful as can be. And I don't mean everybody's beautiful like as depicted in that one Christina Aguilera song, I mean every single person is too sexy for their shirt (so sexy it hurts) and sadly you are left looking just barely average. O and did I forget to mention with every passing day you continue to grow older and older? How much older you ask? Well, we'll just say you get as old as a person can possibly be without like completely falling apart. You have all of your faculties. You can see and hear just fine. You're just old as dirt, dude. And boy are you average. So very very average.

Kind of like Ke$ha

That zombie nation aint looking too bad right about now is it? Well, I'll sweeten this pot. Let's say, yes you are old and yes you are homely but even the meek inherit the earth in some ways. Everyone knows with age comes wisdom so let's say while everyone else on the planet is vapid, gullible and inexperienced you get to be wise, cunning and witty. No one else on the planet can ever outsmart you. With this advantage you could seemingly run the world. Hell, maybe you can become President and outlaw people bringing sexy back. Speaking of SexyBack, this scenario has the potential to play out like that new Justin Timberlake movie where everybody is young and buys time on credit called In Time (clever). You can watch the trailer over at Jezebel here. Based solely on the commercials, this movie is either going to kick off the fall movie season with a bang or with a massive bag of toddler farts.

So the choice is yours, black sheep. What's it gonna be? Do you wanna try and survive among the world's largest organized Thriller flash mob or would you like all of your friends to refer to you as their boy, Blue? Happy Hump Day!

--- Vanity in Peril

The Secret Life of B's.

2011-10-24T05:26:00.000-07:00

There is a little known fact I want to share with you, something I may get in trouble for divulging but my heart is heavy with the guilt of knowledge. 98% of the female population is comprised of those suffering with, recovering from or being newly diagnosed with the emotional, mental and (yes) physical ailment known as Being a Bitch. If you just so happen to be reading this right now in company with your mother and daughter, chances are that at least one of you is currently battling with this crippling affliction. If neither of them are, well kiddo, it is highly likely that you are in fact the bitch. Sorry to break it to you like that, I know that was a little heartless. In 2010 Being a Bitch accounted for 74% of the domestic homicides in North America, 40% of all automobile collisions and 100% of the arguments on VH1's Basketball Wives. In fact, this ailment is so widespread, males are now beginning to be diagnosed with Bitch. In record numbers, even. And of course because of this fact, scientists are already making great headway in isolating the Bitch gene for inoculation. Patents are already pending for a vaccination of the disease in its viral form. By the year 2018, scientists are predicting that one in two people (and the entire population of France) will have been exposed to a variant strain of the Bitch virus. By 2025, "Catching Bitch" will be as prevalent as the common cold.

Yeah, Peterson's just gonna have to do the presentation. I caught a crazy case
of bitch pudding over the weekend.

It's not easy being a bitch. Actually let me retract that. it's pretty freaking easy. Completely breathtakingly easy. Being a bitch is just about the most easy breezy way to be in the world when it comes right down to it. And I have to admit, being a bitch has been my default setting some days. I don't walk into it intentionally however. I go into each day with what I believe to be an optimistic open heart and a desire to treat each person with the dignity and respect that I would hope someone would give me in return.

Yeah, Psychic Hot- line? I figured it all out on my own, thanks. We're good.

But then I take one step out of my front door and it's all down hill from there ladies, gentlemen and ignorant folk. Without fail, my shiny happy people holding hands outlook on life goes from hippie-style to Bruce Banner under duress in t-minus ten... nine... eight... I can't even remember not being like this. I think it probably started (much the same for most girls, I presume) when I became a pre-teen. Hormones and shit, God's gift-wrapped turd of a Valentines gift to woman. It always starts the same. I foolishly tell myself that today is going to be the day that I let things slide off my back but then cut to me by mid-morning, sweating the small stuff yet again. Today's offense: the slow-moving elderly person that decided that he wanted to ride the escalator at the mall and stand right in the middle of the stairs, preventing others from stepping around him to the left or the right. As I stood there, contemplating if I was going to testify on the stand for my own case or just let the defense attorney speak on my behalf (after I pushed him down the flight of stairs and tried unsuccessfully to flee to Barbados with a duffel bag of twenties and all the shoes I could carry) it dawned on me that it doesn't have to always be like this. Life isn't a race to the finish line and you don't get extra points for finishing first. I needed to calm down and enjoy the ride. Problem is I just don't know how. Remember what I said before about being a bitch being the easiest stance to take in life? There's a reason for that. It's much easier to take the cowards way out and allow your emotions to rule your world instead of... you know... sanity. So i continue to work on my attitude and my behavior. Some days I am triumphant. Some days I fail triumphantly. Most days I fall somewhere in between and for the time being that will just have to be good enough. At least until they come out with that vaccine.

--- Vanity in Peril

Would You Rather Wednesdays...

2011-10-18T21:40:00.000-07:00

Fall marks a new weekly blog feature. Every Wednesday through the rest of the season we'll post questions from every one's favorite drinking game (no, not FUBAR); Would You Rather. This week's post asks the very important question of...

Would you rather have one tooth in your mouth or smell like a homeless person?

Now wait a tick, folks. before you answer, take a few minutes to contemplate the details of either option.

One tooth option

You may be saying to yourself 'Hey self, I think I could get by with one tooth for a while. After all, I have a winning personality." All that may very well be true but before you select, keep in mind that you would not be allowed to replace any of the other gum-spaces in your mouth with any kind of prosthetic dental implants. No dentures, no veneers, no nothing. Just the one tooth... anywhere you want it placed in your mouth. One tooth. You against the world. Could you handle that?

Kinda like this except way worse... and no Heather Graham to
make you feel better about essentially 'date raping' yourself.

Sounds pretty tough so we'll sweeten the pot for you. Physically speaking you are a ten in every other way. You can have a body to die for (whatever your ideal may be), stunning bone structure, intellect and a winning personality. Everything about you can be a ten with the exception of for the rest of your life you will be referred to in passing conversations as "That chick/dude with only one tooth." Can you get with that? or would you like to take a gander at option numero dos?

Smell like a homeless person option

If the nickname toothless wonder is not your cup of tea you could always pick option number two. You could elect to smell like a homeless person. Now before the hate emails start pouring in, let me just preface this by saying, there is nothing even remotely funny about the homeless epidemic in this country. Especially in this uncertain economic time where a few missed paychecks could be the difference between having a roof over your head and having to panhandle on the streets. I am not trying to make fun of the homeless or their situation. Buuuut.... we all know what that homeless smell smells like. The smell of dirt, sweat and the inability to get to a shower on a daily basis. It's a smell you can't even really fully describe but to say you know it when you smell it. Now picture that being your smell. Eau de toilette for reals! If having to eat all your food in puree form makes you want to run to this option just note the following; you will have to smell like this for the rest of your life. Now, it's not all bad. You don't have to actually be a homeless person. You just have to smell like one. Meaning you can go on with your regular (or extraordinary) life and take as many showers or baths that you like... you just can't ever not smell like a bum on the streets. Would you pick this option, knowing that your very presence could be enough to clear out full rooms of people?

So there you have it... what's it gonna be? Will you be a stunning 10 (or more like 9.5) with one hell of a tiny toothpaste budget or will you opt to put on the one-woman/man version of Bring in da Funk, Bring out the Febreeze? Happy Hump Day!

--- Vanity in Peril

Three Things You (Should) Stop Doing Now That You've Turned 25...

2011-10-18T21:03:00.000-07:00

It's probably cool to just celebrate with the one candle now.

There are certain things that you do when you're younger that you can really only get away with when you're in your early twenties. Things like, binge drinking to the point of blacking out. It's funny when you're twenty-two and don't have the responsibility of kids and/or a full time gig to keep you home at night. Not so much when you're twenty seven, crouched down in the corner of your office with a wicked case of the whiskey shakes. Blacking out at thirty-five? Yeah dude... you're an alcoholic. Schedule that AA meeting up with your secretary like real quick. This is not a drill. Just take a look at this week's episode of Workaholics for further proof that some things are better left in the past. But taking a harsh look at one's Jesus juice consumption is only one of the things someone who's been staring at the wrong side of a quarter-life crisis needs to do before they can truly move forward into adulthood and start teaching the younger generation life lessons other than 'how to do the dougie'. In no particular order (because all of them are of equal importance) here's the VIP list of three things to cut out of your life before you go into early retirement:

Stop deflecting compliments with self-deprecating humor!

One night last month while out for drinks with a group of old friends a group of girls came up to my group and we all struck up a conversation about the DJ's choice of music. One of the girls in the group complimented me on the dress I was wearing and asked me where I had purchased it. Instead of just accepting the compliment and saying 'thank you', I decided to downplay any attention I was receiving and did what most women do in this moment... I pretended as if the dress was nothing special, I waved off the compliment and made a stupid joke about me probably spilling wine on it later that evening. WHY DO WE DO THIS???? It doesn't make us look more gracious or humble... in fact it serves the purpose of making us look unsure and rude. If a person goes to the trouble to stop what they are doing to uplift us, who the hell are we to stomp all over it? I still do this from time to time and I can't act like it isn't a struggle to nip this self-defeating habit in the bud. I am naturally a very self-deprecating person but I can say I try really hard nowadays to accept the moment for what it is, show my gratitude for being recognized and moving on.

Stop pretending to be ignorant just to make the dummy you're speaking with feel adequate.

This happens all the time. You're having a conversation with someone. You assume that you are all on the same page. You assume they know just as much as you on a subject... otherwise, why would they be speaking about it so confidently... and then suddenly... BAM... they say something so idiotic that reveals them to be the antithesis of the brain trust you originally took them for. What's your reaction? Well, if you're like most people, it would be to immediately down-shift into a level of remedial intelligence as to not make them appear too dumb. If they are really slow to the catch they may not even notice that you are doing so. So then why are we 'doing so?' This is an odd one here and I have had alot of difficulty in my own life in mastering this without coming across as some kind of arse. When you realize that your conversational opponent came equipped for a food fight with a handful of grapes most of us (and I am really pointing the finger at my fellow all-nurturing fairer sex out there) will attempt to not make the other person look bad by downplaying our own intelligence. I guess we also do it so that we do not come off as a know it all but is it really that terrible of a thing for others to see how learned we are on a topic? Especially if it is something that is important to us.

Stop blaming your childhood (or lack thereof) for your shortcomings as an adult.

So your mom used to make you sleep under the Christmas tree every year and refused to let you open any of your presents until Boxing Day? And your dad's favorite way of showing he loved you was to scream obscenities in your face at three in the morning when he came home staggering drunk smelling of cheap Bourbon? Tough tacos, kiddie-bears! Yes our parents are messed up. Yes they probably messed us up. Guess what? They are still human. As you get to the age range where you start to build your own family you should realize that you don't have it all figured out either. You make mistakes everyday. I make a mistake multiple times in an hour and I am four years older than my mother was when she had me. So that tells us one thing. It's not what's in our past anymore that will determine our future. All we have is the now and spending our present rehashing old ghosts and family skeletons gets us nowhere fast. Stop it now and move on.

So that's all I've got for now. Did I leave anything out? What are some other behavioral patterns that we need to let die in our youth? The floor is yours.

--- Vanity in Peril

A Women's Right to Choose... to Fall for the Okie Doke.

2011-10-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, wanna share an appetizer at TGI Fridays?

That's pretty much how that climactic scene from The Princess Bride would have gone down if all females had been in the writing room. Just saying. We can be so non-confrontational when it counts. And don't even get me started on that damn Princess Buttercup. I know throughout history princesses haven't exactly been the benchmark of the feminist movement but damn lady... could you have been more helpless? First, the handsome and brave Westley carries you through the dark forest and not only does he protect you (not to mention almost loses his life) against those big rat-like things, he almost dies in the process. Then he makes a speedy recovery and infiltrates the castle walls to come rescue you from the evil Prince Humperdinck. How do you repay him for his bravery? By sitting there helpless and doe-eyed as the rat-like thingy attacks him and then deciding instead of fighting against the darkness or going out to find your true love, to just go kill yourself and say fughetaboudeet to the whole ruling over the enchanted kingdom game. You suck Buttercup! Obviously this is still somewhat of a sore spot for me... it's only been like, I dunno... twenty-five years since this movie first came out so I think I should get an A for effort and maybe like a B-minus for staying current. What does any of this have to do with anything, you say? Just more proof positive that women in the media are still portrayed as helpless ingenues who can barely manage our own lives. And that even when we should have it all put together, the entertainment industry still manages a way to make us look weak. Still need more proof? Okay let's roll up our sleeves and get down to the what what:

For crying out loud.

We can't talk women's lib in the aughts without bringing up this wildly popular series. It's not just for tweens and teens either. I know full-grown women with children and mortgage payments that have come to blows over Team Jacob v. Team Edward. It's like Roe versus Wade only with stupid people. After much hype about the movies I decided to sit down and watch them... back to back to back to... o boy, I'm feeling a little woozy. Should not have gone all in like that without a spotter. Okay... back now. These movies are entertaining I guess if you like that type of thing and it's nice to see a female protagonist that breaks the mold of pouty-lipped super model disguised as your girl next door for a change but I'm not here to debate their merit at the box office. Instead, I would like to speak to the influence they have over the lives of the tweens, the teens and the young adult women who should know better as it pertains to the opposite sex and what love looks like in the flesh and bone. I want to be fair, this isn't the first movie to play on the female-male dynamic myth that women should pursue dangerous men. It just does a really really good job at it. I know close up what the dangers of an abusive relationship can look like but after watching a couple of hours of this series, I was ready to get all crazy sexy cool with a vampire of my own. This isn't the message I think we are intending to send to our daughters and kid sisters but here we are... yet again. And guess what? The adult ladies out there aren't really fairing any better. If it pleases the court, I present to you the biggest upset this side of Super Bowl XLII. That's right... the Holy Grail of chick fiction: "Seks ja linn" as they say in Estonia--- or as we call it back here in the states, Sex and the City. (gasp!)

Laugh it up big boy, 'cause I'm about to mess this up BIG TIME.

Sex and the City debuted on HBO in 1998. I was in high school at the time so many of the concepts were too mature for me to grasp but I got the gist of what they were saying. Even back then I knew that I was destined to be a Carrie. Miranda was way too cynical for me. Charlotte was too far flung in the opposite direction. As far as Samantha, well back then she scared me. The 2011 I can't believe it's not menopause version of Samantha Jones scares me even more however. So there you have it, I was always going to be a Carrie. And I am fine with that. She was always the perfect balance of the other three gals. I even debated with friends that the others were all just facets of her personality and in fact were not real (to take it a step further one could debate that all four ladies were in fact the imagined personas of one extremely chic gay man with too much time on his hands and the complete Golden Girls series on Blue Ray.) But even as smart and witty and good-natured as Ms. Bradshaw was, she still fell prey to the trappings of the dangerous male ego that was Mr. Big. Which sucks more than I care to think about because Aidan was beyond perfect for her. But like most of us out there, Carrie didn't want perfect. She wanted difficult. I hear the CW is coming out with a prequel to the series which will follow a young Carrie as she navigates high school and her first experiences with boys. I wonder if the show will also provide us with some background into her home life and the guidance her (never before seen/mentioned) parents gave her or any opportunities they may have missed to shape a highly impressionable young ladies self esteem. Maybe then I can wrap my head around why she would let go of the loving, well adjusted Aidan in favor of performing what can only be described as Mortification of the Soul with the always elusive Mr. Big. Maybe if I can figure out why Carrie went down that road, I can figure out what it is that makes me and my friends do the same damn foolish thing. See, it's getting kind of hard to define reality versus entertainment. Nah, life and love doesn't exactly play out like the Notebook... but why does it seem that women fall for the same tired one-two defeat whether it be in a movie, the small screen or real life. The line just keeps getting blurrier and blurrier and the farther that I think we have come, the more it irks my soul when we fall for it again.

confabulate (kənˈfæbjʊˌleɪt) psychiatry See also paramnesia to replace the gaps left by a disorder of the memory with imaginary remembered experiences consistently believed to be true [Source: Dictionary.com]

Something about him, I dunno... I just feel like I can trust him.

Which just goes to show you that if we aren't learning that boys that knock us down in the sandbox are only doing it because they like us or that guys that want to bite us on the neck at every waking moment make great boyfriends it doesn't really matter because they'll double back around for the rest of us who haven't learned that lesson later in life and teach us that men who are unavailable, emotionally bankrupt and manipulating will one day turn around and do a 180 and become our dear dear Westley. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a fairy tale our younger sisters and daughters can't afford to hear again.

--- Vanity in Peril