It was a typical day at The Maxi Pad...

And all were happy about the Democratic victory, and sad about the passing of Proposition 8. And we drank wine, and we bitched about some dudes and our lack of desire to be manic pixie dreamgirls, etc. etc., and re-watched a documentary about Siamese twins on the YouTube.



I am tired now and must retreat to bed. But, you know, good times.

Help! I've been life plagiarized!

So... last night Jen and I, after watching Heroes (which we continue to watch religiously despite the fact that we cannot figure out what the hell is going on anymore), decide to watch Kath and Kim on the OnDemand, because, even though it's gotten awful reviews, Molly Shannon is kind of awesome. We actually liked it, but that's beside the point. The point is this- a line somewhere in the beginning of the show: "You dated a guy who lived in an ice cream truck!"

We nearly died. As many within my aquaintance will testify- a couple years ago, I dated a guy who lived in an ice cream truck. Seriously, ask Jen. He tried to sell her random parts of his drum kit (I know, right?). For quite some time now, this has been my big line about the whole "Robyn dates weird guys for weird reasons" thing. It's become a standard part of my shtick.

This, I imagine, cannot be a common occurance. I am convinced that someone I have told this story to moved to L.A. and is now working on that particular show. Even if that didn't happen, I feel weirdly violated and am now afraid that if I use that line in anything people are going to think I am in fact the life plagiarist, when it's just not true!

Robyn's Commercial Mystery Hour

Ok, so every time that Boost Mobile commercial comes on (you know, the one with the three guys rapping?)- which is often because apparently they sponsor the FearNet, and we watch a lot of horror movies here at The Maxi Pad- I freak out about the last guy in the commercial with the incredibly bizarre, plasticky looking face.

So, eventually (as in yesterday), I look him up. Because I need a closer look at his face. I google "'That dude' Boost Mobile commercial"- and find out that he is in fact Mickey Avalon, and he actually does stuff other than commercials for cell phone companies. Stuff which includes the "My Dick" song....

Which was the inspiration for my favorite thing ever, Margaret Cho's "My Puss" song. Which I think I've already posted here like, 50,000 times. It's that glorious.

See how everything comes full circle? Now, with that success (?) under my belt, I decided I was ready to discover the identity of my old nemesis, the "free credit report dot com" guy (I'm feeling very Nancy Drew this morning)...

I've had nightmares. I've gone four days without being able to get that "F-R-E-E that spells free, credit report dot com baby" song out of my head. I hate his smug face and his lies (truly- like, jen signed up, and it's free at first, but then they charge you 14 bucks a month and when you try to cancel it you can't get a hold of anyone, and they stick you with a virus that charges you twice). I hate the fact that nothing I can do will stop him from singing those awful songs. I think sometimes that if I just give up and go to the stupid website that it'll stop. You know, like when some drunk dude starts trying to convince you that you and he are totally soul mates, and eventually you just say "Yeah, ok, fine, we're soulmates, whatever." so he'll shut up and move on to bothering the next chick? It won't work like that! There is nothing I can do! Nothing will stop this man from torturing me with his horrid jingles! But still... I'm curious.

So I look him up. As it turns out, his name is Eric Violette, and he doesn't even sing the songs- it's dubbed over! It's like the fucking Beijing Olympics thing! Like, apparently, they thought this guy was so awesome looking/ such an awesome actor, and that the other guy was such a good singer, that they combined them. What the cock is that shit?

Also, I have found his myspace, and, unsurprisingly, he does not seem to have much to say about life, other than that which involves getting free credit reports.
http://www.myspace.com/eric_violette

Mysteries solved.

Yesterday was strange...

I guess it started getting strange when I found myself blanking out in the cheese section of Dominick's for five minutes while "To All The Girls I've Loved Before" played overhead. Which is less awkward, actually, than when they play Kelly Clarkson's "A Moment Like This" when I'm buying yogurt and box wine at 1am in pajama pants with my hair pulled into lopsided pigtails. It's happened, and it's kind of depressing.

Most of it was spent in the living room with Nicole, watching every episode of Fantasy Island available on the OnDemand, followed by every episode of The Facts of Life. Little known fact about me, I love me some Fantasy Island. Seriously, it's like, my favorite thing ever. Ricardo "Fine Corinthian Leather" Montalban and a midget fucking with people's dreams and then totally solving all their problems? Sign me up!


I want to put Ricardo Montalban in charge of my life, I feel like he knows better than I do. I have ideas about how my episode would go, but I'll save that for another time. Because by the time we got halfway through the episode of The Facts of Life where Blair's father uses her for tax evasion, the Emergency Broadcast System sounded.

I have never seen it actually used before. Like, ever. Usually it's "only a test." At first all the tornado warnings were for places that sounded far away... but when we heard Humboldt Park, we started freaking the fuck out. Jen thought it wasn't any big deal until we heard the siren go off. We scrambled to get the cats in their carriers and hauled ass down to the basement. It was totally like some ridiculous horror movie. Nicole was so freaked out that she dropped the wine on her way down the stairs. We stayed there for like, 45 minutes, watching the rain pour in, almost flooding the place, until it finally, slowly started seeping away into the drain.

I was fucking terrified. It seems like everyone we know had like, no problem with the whole thing. We were the only ones in the basement. But, fuck, at the end of the day, I don't give a shit. Something on my TV beeps at me and tells me to get to the basement, I go. I haul ass. I have no illusions about weather being my friend.

We had planned to go to Evil Olive last night with Kris, my best friend from High School, who came up from Florida to go to Lollapalooza. Instead, after the rain died down, we just picked her up at her hotel and spent the evening with The Golden Girls and some box wine. Having Nicole, and Jen and Kris all together in one car, or apartment or whatever is like my own personal episode of This is Your Life, because it's like- all my closest friends from various points on the Robyn timeline. And it's kind of awesomely weird, and shit, if I'm going to ride out a tornado, there aren't any other bitches I'd rather be with.

I like Mondays (when I have the day off, at least)

Today was glorious. I spent the first half writing, and the second half watching fantastic movies with Nicole via the OnDemand and cleaning pores and plucking eyebrows and eating pistachios. In case you were wondering, pistachios are in fact my favorite nut. Almonds come in at second. A really close second if it's the cinnamon sugar kind. Oh, so anyway- about the movies!

1. The Omen IV (always glorious. You probably haven't seen it because it was actually a made for TV movie... but I recommend it. As you may or may not know, I am especially fond of any movie involving demon spawn.)

2. JD's Revenge!


How can one not love the classic story of um... some guy who undergoes hypnosis and then becomes possessed by a zoot-suited hustler looking for revenge? Especially when it also stars Louis Gossett Jr? Amazing.

3. Videodrome! How in god's name is this the first time I have ever heard of this movie existing??? One would think that someone, at some point in my life would have mentioned to me that there is some unbelievably bizarre film in which James Woods gets it on with Debbie Harry while piercing her ears! And then tries to save the world from brainwashy snuff films that cause tumors, makes people hallucinate, and um... have a lot of kinky sex? To be honest, I was a bit confused by what the plot was supposed to be. But there is a dude in it named Dr. O'blivion! How amazing is that? Seriously, I don't know how this flew under my radar! Seriously, if you've got the FearNet OnDemand thingy, you must watch this- if you haven't already. If you have, then why did you not mention this to me? Jerk.

Oh, and according to the Wikipedia, Dr. O'blivion was based on Marshall McLuhan. Who, amongst- duh, many accomplishments, has a line in Annie Hall that I have been, for many years now, been dying to say in real life: "You know nothing of my work!" Don't ask me why, I just feel like it would be a really satisfying thing to say. I also really find it weirdly satisfying to say "They call me Mister Tibbs!" and to yell "NEELY O'HARA!" but as neither of those are in fact my name, I can't figure a way to work them in. Although, perhaps I could start a new trend of yelling "NEELY O'HARA!" in a "Serenity Now!" kind of way, or as a minced oath? I bet it could work. You know, like how people say "Heavens to Betsy!" or "for Pete's sake!" or, according to a Google search I just did "For the love of Mike!" I was not aware that this was a saying. I think I'll start saying that as well.

Ok. Clearly I'm losing my damn mind and should consider sleep.

Oh! But also! I found a copy of my favorite Amy Vanderbilt book ever on Amazon! My original copy was tragically lost in a roommate moving out debacle. (Psst. Amy Vanderbilt= crazy etiquette book writing lady who defenestrated herself. Who I happen to be mildly obsessed with. Did you know that if you eat corn on the cob properly it should take you about three days to do so? I do, because I read Amy Vanderbilt. I also know how to deal with my servants, and when and where I should wear a hat and gloves.)

Ok, ok. Bed.

Trainwreck!

This was just voted the world's most horrible cover version of any song ever:



And I must second that emotion. I would not have even posted it, due to it's stultifying nature, but hey, I suffered, so why shouldn't you? Celine Dion on air guitar? With pelvic thrusts? Lord help us all.

Best cover version ever? Jen, Nicole and I doing "Smell Yo Dick" in the kitchen. With ukulele! It must be seen to be believed.

Antidote.

I just wrote a bunch of crap about a bunch of crap. Then I got on the phone with my dear friend Nicole, and I erased it all. Why?

See, Nicole is moving here in a few days. Which means Chicago is going to be like, 80,000 times more awesome. Anyway, she starts telling me how the guys in Rochester suck. I tell her, eh- just to warn you, they're not any better here- let me tell you some stories...

Nicole says: Eh, whatever. We're just going to do it and burn it down!

Which makes complete sense if you know her, and totally made my night. And thank god she's going to be living in the same city as me again, as she's the only known antidote to my complusive jaded-ness. I need someone who calls me at 11pm to say she's picking me up in ten minutes to go play slot machines in Canada. I need someone who shows up at my door in Chicago with her five suitcases, two dogs and a bottle of Raspberry Stoli. Because that's what friends are for.