Crunchy Elegance. You might want to wash your hands after reading this post.

There is no one on the planet that will bring me out of my blog writing slump like Pamela Anderson. So thank you Pam for getting up off of that sticky floor of your trailer and going out there; half dazed and looking all kinds of crunchy. Nothing gets my writing juices flowin' again like a (barely) walking, talking carny ride like yourself.

GLAMOUR! SOPHISTICATION! DIGNITY!
(but on this day, she obviously left them at home.)

Seriously, what exactly is going on here? Surely the economy can't be this bad that she's succumbed to dressing herself in toddler fits? Then again I guess this is what happens when 100 years of sun beats down on an open bag of STDs. I'm impressed that her white outfit remained white for the pictures because she sincerely looks like she oozes hot burning pus uncontrollably from her flappy gash. When I think of the worst/best example of rode rough and put away moist, one particular girl comes to mind. Once upon a time I used to do ad copy for a telemarketing company and one telemarketer literally came into work one day high on coke, wearing a short silver dress with a safety pin holding one of the straps in place and heels...except one of the heels had a broke during her guest appearance on Cops that evening. She smelled of sour milk and sorrow. And yet SOMEHOW, compared to this picture of Pam, she's become Audrey Hepburn in my mind.

But don't get the wrong idea, I love a hot mess. If Pam and Courtney Love were to go on a hot mess tour, I'd be right there in the front row ......with a hazmat suit.

In other news...

* My Palm Springs trip was uneventful, relaxing and way too boring for me to write to you about. When I say nap, eat, lay out, repeat. I mean it. On Saturday night we both fell asleep while watching t.v. at the twilight hour of 6:00 p.m.! Suffice it to say we were both wide awake at 12:00 a.m. but both of us thought the other was asleep so we kept going in and out of slumber until about 6:00 a.m. the next day. It really is the best type of vacation. Like charging up our very empty batteries.

* On a low note, ever since Palm Springs, I've been eating like crap. I allowed myself to splurge a little in PS - and by 'a little' I mean I ate everything that didn't move fast enough. (KFC strips on Friday, coffee cake with cream cheese icing for breakfast on Saturday, shrimp pasta for lunch, chili cheese omelet). I got back home and all of a sudden I catch myself eating fried pop tarts dipped in chocolate. Okay, I'm kidding but wouldn't that make some great fair food??? In short, (ha) I fell off the wagon momentarily, my bloated pop tart filled belly is temporary, and ...um....Robin Williams is really hairy.

* LadyGAGA is following me on Twitter. I'm an idiot but I'm kind of flattered. And really how can she not follow LadyHAHA? (me) It was bound to happen.

* I'm slowly but surely starting to gather up our belongings preparing for the move. Most of which is going straight to the yard sale pile. You should see the crap I've accumulated over the years, I have a stack of US magazines that's about as tall as I am. A year's worth of US Magazines. Why??? Why did I keep all of them? because of their stellar journalism?

"Look! Reese Witherspoon picked out an annoying wedgie! LIKE US!"

On a positive note, I found Jessica Simpson's career underneath my pile, unfortunately, it's dusty, worn out and has her father's handprints all over it. (eww).

* I'm almost positive that if I keep digging through my crap I'll find the giant wooden spoon and fork that I was meaning to hang in my kitchen. (I'm kidding. I don't really have that and I'm trying really hard NOT to go on ebay to look for it.)

remember these??? I still remember our giant fork and spoon that we had in the Phils.

* Where can I buy a box of Count Chocula? Oh wait. I'm suppose to be getting back ON the wagon, not falling off of it, crawling into a tub of sugar and going for a swim with my mouth open.

Okay. I get it now.

Do You Smell What The Midget Is Cookin?

It was a 115 in Palm Springs, so the only thing that the midget was cooking was herself. And damn, I schmell tasty.

B and I left on Friday, fought the cluster fuck that is the 91/60/215 mash up and were checked into our hotel, The Caliente Resort and Spa, by 3:30 pm. We made a quick trip to Kentucky Fried Chicken for an early dinner (or late lunch), got into our pajamas (NO waffle textured robes?!?! Madness.), blasted the A/C, put on the t.v. and had our own private "let's see who can best imitate a comatose person" contest.

The next day we woke up around 8:30 am (that's sleeping in for me folks..), yakkidy schmackidy until around 9:30 am, took showers, ate breakfast, changed into our bikinis and proceeded to cook ourselves in the Palm Springs heat. About an hour into baking, we noticed that a few unsavory characters had begun to gather at the bar near the pool. By unsavory I mean I'm pretty sure the men and the women gathered around the bar were packing about a week's worth of crotch cheese.

Next thing we know, a bikini contest was being announced. Not just any bikini contest mind you, a "MISS WHITE TRASH" bikini contest. B and I looked at each other and smiled. Our vacation was about to get even better.

The rules were you A. obviously have to be white trash. But they never really got down to specifics of what would qualify one as "white trash." I sat there pondering if they had to go through some kind of background check to qualify as "white trash." (uses word "ain't" regularly? Check. Living in a beat down trailer? Check. Homemade tattoos? Check. Pabst Beer? Check. Been on the show Cops? Check.) and B. you had to be in a bikini and C. you had to jump into the pool at the end of your walk and walk back wet.

At this point, B and I put our lounge chairs at full upright position, ready for the show.

The first contestant was a mother of five who had a pretty decent body for someone who's had five kids. It was nothing spectacular and to be quite honest, I hardly noticed her body and her bajillion tattoos because her face resembled that of a foot suffering from jungle rot.

Fabulous. B and I were all smiles as we cheered on mother foot. Little did we know, mother foot would look like Jessica Alba compared to the next contestant that walked out.

Rotund would be the first word that came to my mind when I saw contestant number two. A solid fat who was round and tight in every corner of her body. She was the type who never turned down a meal (or a snack, or other people's leftovers or another glass of gravy.) and the words diet, exercise (and showers) were obviously not in her vocabulary. The proud white trash chunky took off her white SEE THROUGH shirt and white SHORT SHORTS (my eyes!) to reveal a black skimpy bikini that could barely contain her Fupa.

As if she wasn't already a sight to behold she then proceeded to detach her RIGHT LEG.

That's right folks. She DETACHED, REMOVED, UNSCREWED the bottom half of her right leg, placed her clothes on top of of the fake leg (multi functional!) and revealed her wiggly bottom stump that jiggled about as she hopped her way down the catwalk. Apparently, she had lost that leg to a 12 gauge shot gun during an altercation that she didn't go into detail about. I'm pretty sure the altercation involved throwing empty cans of Pabst beer at a guy sporting a fu man chu and a wife beater. She jumped into the water and created a mini tsunami at the shallow end which the little kids used to surf out of the pool, lest the one legged Orca whale decides she was hungry all of a sudden. (yes...there were KIDS at the pool and I'm pretty sure they know all need therapy now.)

...damn, I gotta get some work done...

To be continued bitches...