Monica is…still trying to give United States of Tara a chance.

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Before I hit work again, I decided to free up some DVR space & watch some shows that popped up. Diablo Cody is this unconventional cinderella story, of an undercover stripper turned screenwriter/journalist/oscar winner & now Steven Spielberg wingman with a new sitcom on Showtime. Granted Juno, gave her an Oscar & seeing that I thought the movie was somewhat charming because of Ellen Page & Michael Cera. I really tried to give this chick some props for accomplishing such a fluke rise. I say this only because I was genuinely excited when she won the oscar. She was this rocker-ish looking gal in a leopard dress, essentially out of place amongst all these hollywood-types. So, now this new show comes out, United States Of Tara & I’m excited to continue hearing the sarcastic blurbs & silly references that made me get excited for a hamburger phone. Yet, as I watch the first episode it’s an immediate snore fest. Nothing remarkable memorable or catchy. Nothing to quote the next day. Just bland mcblandness. Crap, crap, crap. I say to myself, “ehh, it will be better the next time”, except it really doesn’t. The characters are all cast wrong. For some odd reason, they leave me blindsided like a restaurant with good food, but with shitty service. I told myself I was done, yet I still ear-hustle the show when my boyfriend watches it, waiting for that one brilliant line to snap me up from the computer screen. Utter disappointment. Oh well, I will still non-watch to this show in hopes of hearing “foodbaby” or “homeskillet”. Ugg, Diablo don’t let me down.

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Monica is…watching The Soup.

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Joel McHale makes me blush.  Every time I watch The Soup, my heart feels fluttery. He manages to look adorable even when berating idiotic celebrities & 15 second wannabes. His suits are tailored & can still make a skinny tie look fashionable, even after the emo kids destroyed the trend long ago. The Soup, my favorite live action pop culture blog.

Monica is…wondering where vince vaughn from the 90’s went?

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My birthday vege-fest is almost to an end, yet I happened to catch a brief moment of  “old school” on TBS. I usually stay away from anything that has those god-awful Wilson brothers, but I happen to have a soft spot for Will Ferrell & Vince Vaughn, err umm, I guess. While watching the movie, I noticed that I still visually hate Luke Wilson. The Wilson Brothers have these horribly distracting noses that fuck with me on certain angles. One moment its good then its wtf? Edgy, icky, yuck. Vince appears so bloated and unrecognizable that I sigh in complete disbelief. He no longer looks sexy & reminiscent of a 50’s heartthrob, but of a drug induced has-been, who somehow nailed Jennifer Aniston during her what seems like forever “pathetic stage”. Saggy under eyes & the doom of any mans existence: a receding hairline. ugg. So here are a few shots of an old Vince I once remembered…

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Monica is…aging.

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Its Saturday. Its my birthday. I actually hate birthdays. I have death flu, still. I guess I deserve it for hating birthdays. I was supposed to go on a mini trip with my boyfriend and the band he’s in, but this plague has continued to kick my ass, & sadly I hear that RiRi & Chris Brown are back together. Why? As if Chris Brown’s career hasnt completly burned itself already, now hers too. I decided to shift the rage I had for him to her. Dumbass. Here in the ghetto, especially at the E-Z motel, I hear somebody getting their ass kicked at least 3 times a week. Its not a shock anymore. It usually involves the same people. My favorite by far is ironically a Caribbean couple. The cheating husband probably doesn’t come home & at around 3am the screaming wife drives into the parking lot, gets out of the car and calls out to him to “get your muthafuckin ass down from the whore”. He proceeds to come down the stairs, from a grime-infested sex fest with one of these women that seriously look like they’ve been run over several times. Okay a million times. Skeezy on the real. They scream & at each other for what seems like hours while my boyfriend & I lay in bed, with the motel light shining in our sleepless eyes. No I haven’t been out all night, but I have to lie to co-workers, to mask the unrelatable circumstances as to why my eyes look like shit. Yep, thats how we roll on Western avenue.