Maybe We're all Mannequins -- By Nina

My eyes were starting to glaze over as I half watched my kid's TV show tonight. I had that far-away, vacant look in my eyes, you know, like zombies and people who work in offices. What had me in such a state? Bad apples. There's one in every bunch, and lately I've been running into bunches of them. Strangers have keyed my car, cut in line, stolen stuff from me, called me horrible names -- you get the point. Suddenly, I looked up and realized, "Hey, this is a show every adult must watch!"

It was "Strawberry Shortcake: Mind Your Manners."

In Strawberry Shortcake the sour girl of the bunch is named "Raspberry." All she did is whine and complain and make life tough for the other little food girls. I never liked raspberries, they leave a bad taste in my mouth.

I think all universities should have a mandatory class about treating people fairly, with respect and love. Screw Intro to Philosophy, let's teach people "Please" and "Thank you," and while we're at it, "Hello, Nina, you look lovely today!" A girl can dream...

"I come in peace, be nice to me and my hat"

But seriously, who's teaching adults manners? No one, that's who! I suppose they could recall whatever they were taught as children, but that's a crap shoot. There's no telling what kind of dysfunctional childhood they had. Also, you have to take into consideration that over time, most people become bitter and jaded. Life has treated them like crap, so in turn they treat other people like crap. Crap equals crap! Oh, good one, me!

If people have to take driving tests to be on the road, then they should have to take an etiquette class before they can go out in public and interact with others. It would make life so much better for everyone. I bet we'd have less crime -- or at least we'd have more polite crime.

Instead of a mugger yelling, "Give me all your money, you stupid b*tch!" you'd be greeted with a smiling fellow who says, "Good morning! Sorry to trouble you, but I'll be stealing your purse if it's not too inconvenient." In fact, it would be so pleasant you may even want to throw in a tip. "Oh, no trouble at all. Here, take my watch too."

If I stay perfectly still,
nobody will be mean to me.

Instead, I get cold, stoney faced, heartless people to deal with. We might as well all be mannequins. Can you tell I'm bitter? With the shit storm abrewin' in my life right now I've lost hope! Well, at least for the time being. It's funny, because just when things get really negative, a stranger goes and does something unexpected and sweet and I'm reminded that people really can be good to each other. And, oh yeah, there's always my family. They're a good bunch of fruit.

But I am officially boycotting raspberries! And bad-mannered apples! And mannequins too!

Lucky Ramblings -- By Nina

Spring is here.

I hear the birds, I see the baby leaves sprouting out from trees, I feel the cool air as I walk outside. I feel the peace radiating from nature. There is a spring in my step (either that or the heels I'm wearing are too high-- yep, it's the heels.) Either way I love this time of year.

WANTED: FAT BIRD

Whenever I see a red robin I know something great is about to happen.

I'm still waiting.

That damn little red bird better show up soon or I'm going to go buy a BB gun and hunt him down myself.

I need a little luck lately. Do you ever see a word and then it hits you that it almost looks foreign? "Luck" looks pretty strange right now. Maybe it's because I don't feel that I've had any lately. How ironic.

My kid has had pneumonia twice in six weeks. She was misdiagnosed with a sinus infection twice and given the wrong antibiotic so the pneumonia just stuck in her lungs. Sigh. What the hell is wrong with these doctors? Not only do they misdiagnose but they give out drugs like candy! What I'm about to tell you is not a joke: the doctor at the ER last week prescribed my daughter cough syrup with codeine! Really? A four year-old needs codeine these days? When did it become okay to give our kids narcotics?

When she fell asleep after giving it to her one night, I kept checking her to make sure she was still breathing. You laugh, but if it was you, you'd be seeing if your kid was alive every half hour too.

As I write this I am literally falling asleep. I am exhausted.

Tears of a Rapper -- By Nina

I might be pulling an "Andy Rooney" here, complaining about something nobody cares about but me. But if you've ever wondered what rappers like Ludacris, Kanye and Jay-Z are talking about in their songs then this particular blog entry is especially for you. On the other hand, if you just love the tunes and don't care about the nonsense spewing out of their mouths, then feel free to exit at any time.

Before I had a kid I never really listened to the words in what I like to call "booty music." I only started questioning the content of these songs when I heard my 4-year-old daughter repeating some of the lyrics. It's pretty sobering when your kid starts belting out, "Honey got a booty like pow, pow, pow. Honey got some boobies like wow, oh wow!" Thanks a lot, Usher.

Put on your headphones everyone, we are about to decode the lyrics (and tears) of a rapper!

"Did I do that?!"

SONG #1 "E.T." By Katy Perry with rapper Kanye West
(a.k.a. Outer space song written by a 'tard)

Hear the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5Sd5c4o9UM

"I got a dirty mind (I'm gross)

I got filthy ways (Seriously, I'm really gross)

I'm tryna bathe my ape in your milky way (I'd like to have sexual relations with you but I have the maturity of a 7 year old)

I'm a legend, I'm irreverent (I'm full of myself)

"I'm insulted by that comparison."

I be reverend (I'm thinking of joining the clergy)

I be so far up (Now I'm high)

We don't give a f-f-f-f-k (I so do)

Welcome to the danger zone (Be careful)

Step into the fantasy (But really you should run away fast as you can)

You are not invited to the other side of sanity (You're invited to this side of sanity)

They callin me a alien (Because I am an alien)

A big-headed astronaut (WTF?)

Maybe it's because your boy Yeezy get ass a lot" (Yeezy likes mules. A lot)


Moving on to the next gem.

SONG #2 "Apple Bottom Jeans" By T-Pain 

Sad in gwaped pants

Hear the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHUTKy4OXfY

"Hey (Hi)

Shawty what I gotta do to get you home (Short person, will you be my hooker? Circle yes or no)

My jeans full of gwap (I gwaped my pants)

And they ready for Shones (It's OK, Shones is going to clean it up)

Cadillacs Maybachs for the sexy grown (I got a fancy car. So hopefully you'll let the gwaped pants thing slide)

It kind of reminds me of living with younger brothers. They're gross, self-centered, and yet funny. Now this next song takes it to another level. A level down. It compares a woman to take-out food. 

"I like IHop!"

SONG #3 "Carryout" By Timbaland Featuring: Justin Timberlake


Hear the song: http://youtu.be/NRdHsuuXxfk


Baby, you're looking fine (You look nice)


I have you open all night like an iHop (I could go for a Rooty Tooty Fresh 'n Fruity)


I take you home baby let you keep me company (I would enjoy some intellectually stimulating conversation)


You gimme some of you, I give you some of me (Sharing is caring!)

"What? Who's  Jerry Curl?"

You look good, baby must taste heavenly (You're attractive. Also, I like to lick stuff)

I'm pretty sure that you got your own recipe (You're a good cook)


So pick it up, pick it up, yeah I like you (Pick something up. Two times)

I just can't get enough, I got to drive through (I like fast food)


Cause it's me, you, you, me, me, you all night (It's you and me. No, seriously, it's just us)


Have it your, way, foreplay (Let's go to Burger King, but we should do something before that)


Has anyone noticed what all three of these songs have in common? Sex. The content always seems to be about jiggly booties and lady bits. Surely there's something else they can write about.

The annoying part is I actually like the melody and beats of these songs. That's why in my head, I hear my version of the lyrics.

L.A. Therapy 101 -- By Nina

Pretty much everyone has a therapist in L.A. It's like you go to the DMV and they give you a California drivers license and then hand you a therapist's card along with it.

It doesn't surprise me though -- in a tough city like this you really need a shrink. And it's not at all taboo. You could casually bring it up at a dinner party and no one would give it a second thought. Heck, you might even share the same therapist with one of the party-goers! That would make for some interesting conversation, "So, how's Dr. Weinstein working out for you?" "Excellent! We're going through childhood abandonment issues. I'm on my third box of Kleenex!"

My nightmare.

If you've never been to a therapist to divulge your deepest darkest secrets, I should warn you, the offices really do look like how they're portrayed in the movies. There's always a nice, long comfy couch (to lie in the fetal position and cry), throw pillows (to punch while releasing your aggression), and of course a box of tissues. Sometimes there's even a blank pad and pen next to the couch. This is my least favorite aspect of therapy. "Nina, I want you to write all the things you hate about yourself so we can painfully dissect each one," or "Write all the reasons mannequins scare you. We need to dig deeper." Nooo!!!

My other nightmare.

Sometimes I see my fellow patients leaving the office, balling their eyes out, barely able to schedule the next appointment. Geez, I wonder, is that going to be me next? For a process that's supposed to alleviate anxiety, it sure seems to create plenty of it. As I stare at the door waiting my turn, I get more and more anxious. I actually jump nervously when the door opens and they call my name.

As if paying them through the nose isn't enough, therapists have the gall to give you homework that's due the next time you go in. A few months ago my therapist asked me to write a pretend letter to my ex-boyfriend. "Let me get this straight, you want me to write a pretend letter stating why I hate him -- and I'll never send it to him? Ever?" Sure seems like a waste of time if the asshole never gets it. I mean, I really would like to tell him that choosing video games over me, telling me my arms looked like chicken legs, and being stalked by him after I broke it off were definitely not cool.

My ex-boyfriend.

That particular therapy session was the strangest I've ever had. I wrote a 7-page letter to a guy I hadn't spoken to in 10 years, and was then forced to read it out loud -- how embarrassing. When I finished reading it she looked at me, confused that I had not cried or sobbed over it. No tissues necessary this time, ma'am. Unfortunately, because I hadn't shed a tear, she took it to the next level, determined to wring out emotion. She grabbed a chair, stuck it in front of me and said, "Nina, John's here. I want you to tell John how you feel."

Oh. My. God.

I'm talking to a chair. Fantastic. "Uh, hey, John," I said. "How are things going? You're lame." This didn't satisfy her. She needed more. What am I, a puppet? I decided that now was as good a time as any to develop my acting skills. With passion I blurted out, "John, you're a stupid, lying freak of nature and you treated me like sh*t! I hate you, you freaking freak!" I even got a little teary-eyed. Wow, maybe I can make it in Hollywood! I could get a recurring role on "One Life to Live!" Emmy, here I come.

A couple of weeks ago my therapist told me even she has a therapist. Good gawd, have things really gotten that bad? I thought these people were trained to handle this stuff. All those years of education, hospital residency, psychology seminars, and they can't even solve their own problems? We're doomed!

I squirreled away my 401(k)

There are still some people who don't believe in therapy, who think it's "sissy stuff, and afraid they'll be labeled as crazy. But therapy and/or medication can really make a difference if done correctly. Don't we all know someone who could use a little help? Like paranoid Aunt Pearl, who swears the Post Office is secretly reading all her letters and then glueing them back together. And grumpy Grandpa Jack, who constantly argues with squirrels -- "You need to get a job, squirrel! You loaf around all day, and I'm sick of carrying the load for you!"

But more likely, it's the over-worked mom who tries to be everything to everyone who could use a little help. She has a full-time job, battles traffic every day, goes to PTA meetings, and by evening has to be a short-order cook for a finicky daughter. That sounds like it could be a lot of people. That sounds like it could be me.

Are You Hollywood Material? -- By Tom

Ever wonder if you have what it takes to be a Hollywood screenwriter? To find out, take this quick test, made with science!

1. Do you have any other marketable skills – computer programming, accounting, horseshoe making?

If so – do that. If not, maybe screenwriting is your only option. Many famous screenwriters got their start in the business because they were literally unemployable outside of Hollywood. You’ll often read interviews where they say things like, “I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else.” You know why that is, William Goldman, writer of “The Princess Bride”? Because your horseshoes aren’t worth a damn, that’s why.

It's a hard life. But at least I didn't write "Burlesque."

2. Are you willing to work for free?

If Yes – Congratulations! You’re halfway to being a screenwriter already. Everyone from Hollywood studios to powerful producers to your broke neighbor (who has a great idea for a movie, he just needs someone to write it because he’s too busy) will want you to write for them. But not for actual pay.

If No – Consider a career in plumbing. You’d better believe someone’s gonna pay top dollar to keep an overflowing toilet from flooding their home before they spend a dime on your script.

3. Can you make sense of studio notes?

“We love everything you did. We’d just like to make a few minor changes.” 

(Translation: We want a page-1 rewrite.) (Translation to the translation: Start over and rewrite everything.)

“We feel you need to raise the stakes.”

(Translation: Blow up more crap.)

“We don’t get the talking dog’s character arc.” 

(Translation: Kill the dog.)

I promise to keep quiet!

If you can’t decipher studio notes, don’t sweat it. Executives usually forget about anything they said to you in a couple of weeks. They’ll forget about you not long after that.

4. Can you handle rejection? Can you, loser?!!!

The default setting for all Hollywood types is to just say “No.” It’s easier to keep their jobs that way. But  they're not the only ones who will try to crush your dream of being a screenwriter. Everyone will. Your mother by constantly trying to guilt you into getting a “real job.” Your dick friends by getting things like steady incomes, homes, and families. Your landlord by demanding the rent.

The only way keep going is an iron determination to follow your dream. Also helpful is blind ignorance of just how badly the odds are stacked against you. 

5. Finally, can you create fascinating characters, memorable dialogue, captivating plots, and moving stories?

Ha-ha! Trick question. You don’t actually need any of that for a Hollywood movie.

Does Mars also need good writers?