injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

Due to an unusually busy work week here at Chateau Martin, this will be an abbreviated Recap.  However, I could not let the week go by without doing something you will rarely see me do here.  Eat my words.  In the December 20th, 2009 Sunday Recap post I called President Obama a "dickless wonder" for what I regarded as his lack of leadership on health care.   While I still maintain that his role should have been much stronger in that area, today I must give credit where it is due.   

This week's "Golden Balls Award" goes to President Obama for facing down the Republicans at their own retreat, on camera, in an unscripted one-hour Q & A session.   He came, he saw, he kicked some serious ass.   So much so that while all other networks carried the entire exchange live, upon seeing their guys getting their clocks cleaned, those cowards at Faux News tucked their tails between their legs and pulled the plug on the broadcast.   

Perhaps the best part was that after being taken to the shed for over an hour, these morally-bankrupt hypocrites still asked the Prez for autographs and then Tweeted about it.   So let's just hand out a "You Can't Make This Shit Up" Award, too.

The entire exchange can be viewed many places online for those of you who missed it.   You want "must-see TV"?  This is it.    Here I present one of my personal favorite smack downs.   Pull up a chair and grab some coffee.  It is so worth your time.



I know you've got to have a comment on this one, so bring it on.

injaynesworld we are "Baffled By Sex Tapes..."

Why oh why do people make sex tapes of themselves?    Especially celebrities.  Especially in this day and age where nothing stays private.

The revelation this week that there is a now a sex tape in the sordid mess known as the John Edwards affair elevates the “ewwww” factor to new heights for me.   Elizabeth bailed on this pretentious creep none too soon.

If you recall -- and I do --  John Edwards was one of those who expressed moral outrage over Bill Clinton and the blue dress.   Sure Clinton was the president and a higher standard is expected (although historically rarely realized) of such, but Edwards was running for the presidency when he apparently made the decision to forever immortalize his naked ass on celluloid.   

The existence of the tape was made public this week by Andrew Young, a former aide to Edwards and author of a forthcoming sleazy tell-all from which he is certain to profit due to our insatiable hunger for tales portraying the downfall of the oh-so-once-high-and-mighty.

Rielle Hunter, former mistress and mother of Edwards’ two-year-old daughter -- the only innocent in this God-forsaken mess -- wants this “very private and personal” videotape back and has obtained a court order to achieve that.  Hunter states that, in an attempt to destroy it, she pulled the tape from the cassette and stored it in a box with other personal belongings, which -- in a move that bestows upon her this week’s “You Can’t Make This Shit Up” Award -- she apparently then forgot when she moved from Young’s home where she’d been staying.   

But my question still begs an answer… Why does anyone make a tape of themselves engaged in sex?    Unless done professionally, you know the lighting is going to be bad, the camera angles undoubtedly unflattering, and no one can compete with Meg Ryan’s vocals in “When Harry Met Sally.”

Let’s face it, folks.   By and large, bare asses humping away in the air to the sounds of groans and grunts do not a pretty picture make.   

Taking the moral high ground, I will not be reading Young’s book.  

 

But please, dear God… Let Amy Poehler play Hunter in the movie.  

Comments, unlike sex, should be publicly shared…

injaynesworld every woman would have "That One Special Dress..."

My Nora Ephron contest entry...
                                                                                               

Every woman should have at least one special dress in their lifetime that makes them feel joyous about themselves.   Like that first prom dress.   Remember the excitement and anticipation you felt as you got dressed that night?  The butterflies in your stomach when your date arrived so handsome in his tux, shyly looking down as he handed you a corsage…   Or your wedding gown.  How many dresses did you try on before you found the one that was going to make this day, your day, one filled with magic and memories you would never forget?...  Yes, every woman should have that one special dress. 

Having never gone to my prom or gotten married, and with the arrival of my 60^th birthday this year, I realized I had lived my entire life without ever getting to experience that belle-of-the-ball feeling which only a truly magnificent dress can give you.   Turning 60 can be unnerving.   Thoughts of your own mortality start rearing their ugly heads with alarming frequency.   But except for my arms, which that bastard Father Time has seen fit to replace with chicken skin, I still look great.  In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that on good day, and with proper lighting, I might actually be considered hot by some.   So going with that, I decided that the theme of the birthday party my friends were giving me would be “60 is the new 40” and it was about damn time I bought myself the dress.

I’m not wealthy by any means, but I knew that only a designer frock would do and after trying on dress after dress, reducing more than one sales lady to tears, and hours spent on the Internet comparison shopping, of course, there it was.  And it couldn’t have been more  perfect.   A lovely Nicole Miller gold sheath with a gold lace and sequined overlay  that had ever-so-subtle specks of garnet red in it.  The little lace cap sleeves did nothing to hide my chicken arms, but my bust was prominently featured and, as it turned out, provided a much-appreciated diversion.  I accessorized with gold and garnet jewelry, a garnet satin clutch, and obsessed over just the right shade of garnet nail polish.  For shoes, I found elegant gold heels that could have been made for the dress and, as a bonus, made my size nine feet look positively dainty.  I justified the cost of the ensemble by prorating it over the 60 years of my lifetime, something I’d highly recommend to anyone considering such a purchase. 

The night of the party finally arrived.  I’d asked all my friends to dress in their very best black tie attire and we would have been welcomed on any red carpet anywhere.   The champagne flowed.  Cameras flashed.  We danced till we dropped.    And me...?   I was finally the belle of the ball.

What was your one special dress?

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

In a move sure to make him a contender for “Father of the Year,” John Edwards admits that the daughter he’d sworn up and down for over two years was not his is, in fact, the spawn of his wandering sperm.  

With his perfectly coifed $400 hair and oozing southern boy contrition, he said:  "It was wrong for me ever to deny she was my daughter and hopefully one day, when she understands, she will forgive me.”    When she understands what?   That her father is a liar, a coward, and let’s see… what else… a dickwad?!

If little Quinn is as smart as her mother, she’ll recognize leverage when she sees it.  

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The Democrats, proving once again that their incompetency knows no bounds, managed to lose their long-held Senate seat in Massachusetts to a Republican who, until about a month ago, was best known for his “stimulus package.”   Voted Cosmopolitan Magazine’s Sexiest Man in June of 1982, winner Scott Brown put an end to the Democrats super majority in the Senate – something they’ve managed to squander over and over again anyway.   Now the Dems only have an 18-vote majority which, to quote the always astute Jon Stewart, “was more than George W. Bush ever had in the Senate when he did whatever the fuck he wanted to do.” 

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Certain to solidify this nation’s status as the United States of Corporate America, the right-leaning Supreme Court this week struck down a law limiting the amount of campaign contributions corporations are allowed to make.  Citing the First Amendment, they bestowed upon corporations the same free speech rights formerly recognized as only belonging to individuals, ruling that corporate money equals free speech and essentially telling the Founding Fathers to suck it.  

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In today’s “You Can’t Make This Shit Up” file…

International hotel chain Holiday Inn is offering a trial human bed-warming service at three hotels in Britain this month.  If requested, a willing staff-member will dress in an all-in-one fleece sleeper suit before slipping between the sheets.  The bed-warmer is equipped with a thermometer to measure the bed's required temperature of 68º Fahrenheit.

Holiday Inn said the warmer would be fully dressed and leave the bed before the guest occupied it.  They could not confirm if the warmer would shower first, but said hair would be covered.

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This week’s WTF Award goes to a German TV program for demonstrating that those intrusive body scan security devices proposed for airports may be able to make out such intimate details as breast implants, but can fail to detect bomb-making components.

Wonderful… I can’t tell you how  relieved I am to know that the cutie across the aisle won’t be detonating her double-D’s.

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Finally, our “Golden Balls” of the week award goes to Conan O’Brien for signing off his last Tonight Show with the type of class and dignity that NBC president,  Jeffrey Zuckerman, only wishes he had.



Comments are my drug of choice…

injaynesworld we "Don't Look Good In Gray..."

The sun peeked out for a moment this morning just to taunt me.   This past week here in California it has been unrelentingly gray, wet, cold and my personal Satan, windy… and you know how I feel about the wind.

I realize my displeasure at the weather is not garnering me a lot of sympathy.  Don’t think I can’t hear those of you in parts of the country frequently buried by snow for months at a time shouting with glee,  “Hah!  Take that, California!  You big weather weenie...”   And you would be justified.  We are weather weenies.

We’ve grown accustomed to sunshine nearly year ‘round .  It’s not that we attribute this to God liking us better.  He does extract a steep price for this privilege.   Pretty much every year the whole state goes up in flames.   Mud slides are known to bury entire  communities.   And, of course, we’re famous for our earthquakes.

Still, it does do the soul good to wake up most mornings to sunny skies and the feeling that anything’s possible.    Vitamin D is our drug of choice.   We are nothing if not a vain people, but when you can go out every day and run, bike, or swim, you damn well better look good.

I’ve heard that suicide rates go up in areas where there are long periods of gray skies and rain.   I can see why.  If  I had a gas oven, the temptation to stick my head in it would be mighty inviting right about now. 

Crap, I hear thunder… and, yes, that would be yet more rain I see.  

As a child I was terrified of thunder and lightning.  Then one day my mother told me that thunder was the sound of God farting, which sent me into endless giggles.   Maybe soon, when dementia sets in, it will do so again, but now – not so much.

My name is Jayne… and I am a weather weenie. 

Comments are like sunshine.  They do the heart good…

injaynesworld we would be "Thrilled To Have Your Vote..."

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Studio Thirty Plus is having a Blogger Awards competition and somebody has gone and nominated moi for Best Newbie Blog.   I had no idea until I just stumbled across it, but I'm flattered as all hell.  Of course now, being the uber competitive gal that I am, I'd actually like to win.   So if you'd be so kind as to mosey on over there and vote for me, you could be the lucky recipient of big ol' sloppy kiss.

Do it for me... because I want to make my Chihuahua proud.

http://studiothirtyplus.ning.com/page/vote-here
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injaynesworld our "Private Parts" are private...

The vagina would like to have a word with you.   Not my vagina, in particular, although she’s pretty worked up about this, too, but the “royal” vagina – as in the royal “we.”

She’s more than a little disturbed about the way her name is being flaunted about these days.   The blogosphere can’t seem to get enough of her and frankly, she’s a little tired of reading about herself.   She recalls the days when, if she was referred to at all, it was in hushed tones and reverential terms like “private parts” or the always appropriate “down there.”  She was considered mysterious and held in high regard. 

Then came the “Vagina Monologues” and suddenly she found herself thrust into a very public spotlight.    She had become cool and it seemed everyone wanted a part of her.   Women who’d always respected her space were now insisting on having a look – with a mirror, no less!   TV shows referred to her as a “va-jay-jay,” a nickname she despised the instant she heard it. 

Vagina feels especially cheapened by her recent appearances on Twitter, the bathroom wall of the Internet.   Do you people have no shame?

While she realizes that her name has the power to titillate, she fears being overexposed – becoming the Paris Hilton of the lower regions.  Her neighbors, Labia and Clitoris, are apprehensive about being seen with her lest they, too, become exploited for the cheap amusement of the general public. 

Labia has already been the target of a recent article suggesting that women should be concerned with her paleness and consider a dye job.  The very thought of her precious pink petals being chemically altered has her enraged.  As if women don’t have enough body issues, now they should be worried about the color of their labia?!   Labia would like these women to know that men wouldn’t care if she was peacock blue.  They would still fall all over themselves for a passing glance.  

And so dear readers, Vagina would like to appeal to you -- the blogosphere -- to show a little restraint when tempted to bandy her name about… because vaginas have feelings, too. 

Sunday Recap will return next week.

Comments are like a box of chocolates…you never know what you’re going to get.  (With apologies to “Forrest Gump.”