Does Debbie

Monday, July 31, 2006

Questions for the Afternoon

1) Why do I get annoyed when someone tells me they are proud of me? Does anyone else find the word "proud" condescending?

2) Why does hair grow on our toes, but not really on the tops of our feet?

3) Did anyone else see Little Miss Sunshine this weekend? If not, go see it tonight, it's great.

4) Who is my anonymous male commenter?

5) Where is a great place to live in the city besides the East 20's/30's, where I've been for over 10 years. And while I'm asking questions, does anyone know of any apartments?

6) How can Tori Spelling only get .16% inheritance?


I didn't realize that I hated a month until today. For some reason, with the approach of August in less than 14 hours, I feel a pit in my stomach (true, it could be yesterday's Shake Shack remnants still telling me to f* off.) But more likely, it is because tomorrow is August 1st.

You're obviously wondering why I hate August, like perhaps someone close to me passed away in that month, or something like that. Nope, I hate it for other reasons.

First, my birthday is in early September, so August is the pressure month. All that I set out to accomplish the prior year, and have yet to accomplish, gets squeezed into August. Plus, I have the realization that I am turning another year older.

Also, August is damn hot. And humid. And smelly. And long. By August, the green puddles are in full force, and all the flash flood thunderstorms do nothing to alleviate the stench. All of the summer blockbusters have already hit the theaters by August, and the movie selection thins. My hair in August? Let's not go there. Frankly, August stinks.

Friday, July 28, 2006

I Couldn't Refuse

Not that I have forgotten about The Man, but I need to get back out there again (hopefully it's like riding a horse, I mean, a bike.) Enter: jdate. Ironically, for all my vicarously jdating for my friends and family, I hate the site. But regardless, it is another way to meet people, and I can't spend my Saturday nights blogging.

So, three days in and no one has caught my eye. Except for this guy. This one was too funny not to share with you. These are the guys two pictures. Notice anything?

On My Mind

Two quick things:

1) Could it be ANY more annoying when you are in the middle of typing and an IM pops up, and your sentence accidentally ends up in the IM? Like when a friend is telling you about her sick grandfather, and your response comes up as "return on investment."

2) Also wanted to send a shout out to those of you that have posted such kind words the past week or so. Most of you have been anonymous, which is actually more uplifting. I especially like the secret men that post. Are you cute?

Thursday, July 27, 2006


My nickname in college was Lips. Not because I was blessed with Angelina Jolie's amazing pout, but rather because I always wanted Angelina's lips. In college, my lips were thin, stemming from a combination of too much alcohol, and too much food. My face was fat, which pushed my lips inward more, or drew attention to my cheeks, or some other bullshit like that.

I compensated through make-up. I was the queen of lip liner. I perfected the skill. In fact, to this day, I can still flawlessly apply lip stick and lip liner without a mirror.

After college, I lost some weight, and my lips returned to normal size. In fact, many a man have commented on just how soft they are. But still, they are on the thin side.

With the onset of LipFusion and LipPlump, I have actually slightly increased the size of my lips. Or so I tell myself. I have been happy with myself, lips included.

However, last weekend at the wedding in LA, I ran into an old high school friend, who is now a cosmetic dermatologist. She praised Botox. She even recommended its use preventively. I told her about my life long desire for a lip injection and she practically begged me to come to her office. For just $600 every 6 months, she will perfectly inject Restalyne into my lips, turning them into two pink cottonballs. I gotta admit, I'm tempted.

Now these are what I want my lips to look like:

And this would be plastic surgery gone awry:

I think I'll stick to my good ole' Does Debbie lips for now. Or at least for this week.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

My Stuff

Another shitty part about a break up: giving the stuff back. Fortunately, the inventory I had at The Man's consisted of:

1 pair of sexy black pajamas
1 Alabama T-shirt
1 pair of navy blue sweatpants
1 book
1 pair of spare eyeglasses
1 set of furry hand cuffs (although my memory is failing me if they were ever used)
1 toothbrush

When it came time for the retrieval, I honestly only wanted my eyeglasses back. I didn't want the clothes, as they would have that familiar smell of his laundry detergent and apartment musk. The book was read (and a good one, FYI. Early Bird.) The toothbrush was tossed (that would have been very creepy had that been returned.)

I was not ready to see The Man in person, so I was hoping he would leave the items with his doorman. He offered lunch. I declined. He went one step further and messengered everything to my office. Everything. Including the handcuffs.

Which left me in an uncomfortable situation. I know he didn't want them in his apartment, but I didn't want them in mine. And leaving them in my office was a major HR no-no. I could have snuck them into the ladies room and throw them out. Or left them on my bosses desk, hehe.

Monday, July 24, 2006

The Legal System

I don't get it. Our legal system, that is. More specifically, how I could have gotten the $30 parking ticket in LA last week. I was shopping on Robertson, buying the cutest turquoise blue shirt to wear out. The sun was shining, I was driving a red Mustang convertible, and I was with my 16 year-old sister. It was a good day.

I parked the car in front of an invalid meter, and was advised to move it by a pleasant salesperson wearing leggings. It was 4pm, and the cops were in full force. A Toureg was pulling out as I entered my car, so I was able to just move back 25 feet or so into the new spot. I put $1.75 in the meter, and back to Nanette Laporre I went.

Twenty minutes and empty-handed later, I returned to the car, to see a piece of paper folded into the windshield. What was this? A flyer for the closest strip club? Half-off chicken wings? Oh no. This was a $30 parking ticket for parking outside the white lines next to the meter. Yup. Jodie Sweeten in pumping herself up with Meth, and the cops are focused on my inability to park too far behind the meter.

On the other end of the spectrum, there was my flight home. Some man's ass exploded about 2 hours into the flight, and the entire plan smelled like colon cleansing. The stink reached 7 seats across, 10 rows back.

And yet, this ass man gets off empty handed. As the saying goes, there should be a law....

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Will You?

Will you keep less water in your fridge?
Will you think of me when you get a bad beat on the river?
Will you watch more Pink Panther movies since I hated them?
Will you still eat the "better than sex" sushi roll?
Will you remember us as TomKat?
Will you laugh at survival of the fittest email stories?
Will you beat someone else at chess?
Will you practice your Baltimore accent?
Will you still make fish faces?
Will you miss me?

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Let's Meet in LA

To know me is to know that I love Matthew McConoughey. Yes, I know. Gay, Gay Matthew McConaughey if you read between the lines in Page Six or on the gossip blogs. You also might know that I love Eric Bana. Gorgeous Israeli Secret Agent Eric Bana (I am aware that was only a role, but don't ruin this one for me.) The problem with both of these men: not available. Matthew- not available to women. Eric- not available to anyone.

Which means it is time for someone new. And there is no perfect time to embark on my latest celebrity crush than the day before I fly to LA for a friend's wedding. It so happens that while I have rehearsal dinner Friday and the wedding Saturday, I am as wide open as Paris Hilton on Thursday. Perfect for a blind date!

Luke Wilson immediately comes to mind: southern values, funny, a royal tenenbaum. He's in my age range. I know, he's not Jewish, but I can see him fitting in at my family's Passover Seder. I bet he would make finding the Afikoman fun!

Now, I just need to find someone who knows him. Any thoughts?

Middle East Vacation?

It's all over the news: 25,000 Americans are currently in Lebanon, and the United States is trying to help them evacuate. It seems like a ferry to Cyprus is the way to go. However, I can't get past the obvious here: there are 25,000 Americans IN Lebanon, and a good portion of these people are VACATIONING. How in the world does that happen?

"Honey, we haven't picked our summer vacation this year."

"I know, dear. What do you think about Spain or Greece? Or, what about Lebanon?"a

"Yes, Lebanon it is. There is something so magical about that Middle East country."

Anyway, I wish safe travels to all.

More to come later on a completely unrelated topic.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Mr. T

I saw this in the paper this morning and had to share...

PASADENA, Calif. (July 14) - Mr. T has given himself a makeover.
The former television action star shed the piles of gold chains that were his signature look after witnessing the destruction from Hurricane Katrina.

"As a spiritual man, I felt it would be a sin against my God for me to wear all that gold again because I spent a lot of time with the less fortunate," the actor said Thursday at the Television Critics Association's summer meeting. "I saw some, I call it 'sorry celebrities.' They'll go down there and hook up with the people to take a photo-op. I said, `How disgusting.' If you're not going to go down there with a check and a hammer and a nail to help the people, don't go down there."

Mr. T, whose real name is Lawrence Tero, stars in "I Pity the Fool" debuting in October on TV Land. He dispenses advice to viewers who are struggling with life's problems.
The former star of "The A-Team" said he's about more than his rough-and-tough image.
"Yes, I am qualified to beat people up. But I am pretty intelligent," he said. "That's what throws people off. If you've been through something, that gives you an authority that you can speak on certain things. That's why people relate to me. I pull no punches."

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Margaritas for One

I have always been a fairly independent person. I have no problem going to the movies alone (and in case you're wondering, I saw Best in Show, The Family Stone, and Brokeback Mountain solo,) I live alone, and I pick out my clothes all by myself every morning.

I even dine alone. Breakfast at Starbucks, lunch at Rice while reading their free copy of The Post, and the occasional slice of pizza at Pizza 33. But I have never gotten drunk alone outside my apartment. That is, until Monday night.

After a jam packed weekend of beach days, bbq nights, and movies with freinds, I wanted a night alone. And I wanted a burrito. I happened to walk by my favorite joint, Baby Bo's, and popped in for my standard take-out of a chicken burrito with whole wheat tortilla, brown rice, and black beans. However, while I was waiting for my order, I noticed a delicious margarita sitting on the bar, next to a woman reading a book. And now I swear that inanimate objects talk, as this margarita begged me to join him.

Next thing I know, I changed my order to "stay," plopped down at the bar, and ordered a margarita on the rocks, no salt. Then I ordered another. I felt so liberated. I felt like such a New Yorker. I felt drunk. I started talking to the girl sitting next to me, a "regular" at the restaurant who eats there every Sunday, and takes pride in texting the waitresses the Yankee scores while they are working. Next thing you know we went back to my apartment and started (come on, do you really think I would throw you that bone? I went home and drunk dialed everyone.)