Yes, I only ever post here if I have a new podcast. But, I think you’ll really like this podcast if you liked my blog. It’s called Les Deux You Remember This? and it’s about Hollywood in the early 2000’s. Les Deux is completely researched and written, and the first episode is about the feud of Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan.
Please subscribe on iTunes and leave a rating and review!!! Thanks, boos.
Expect to hear:
Golden Globes stories!
Us breaking down whether or not we’ve dated sociopaths!
Kathryn working through her patchy history with dead dogs!
And then more talk of people with anti-social personality disorders!
Find us on iTunes and Stitcher! Rate/Subscribe!
and follow our guest @realsosiebacon but please do not hold that Twitter handle against her, it was an accident.
Last year during Oscar season, the only nominated picture I saw was Argo. Though it was fun making Oscar predictions based on an affinity for an actor’s hair color or previous movies that they’ve made, I’ve decided to challenge myself and see each Best Picture nominee before the winners are announced, then give you a little review!
So, luckily, I had already seen one of the movies during Christmas, American Hustle. Even luckier, I did not sneak wine into the theater on this one occasion, so I can recall the beginning, middle, and end to an extent. Here is my review:
Great breasts, both male and female, throughout the film, from all parties. Special mention to Amy’s side and middle breasts. Hair. The other half of that guy’s face from Boardwalk Empire. I could have done without the entire first hour of the movie. Louie CK can just play himself in every movie if he wants, I’m fine with it. Jennifer Lawrence, who? Amy Adams is the unsung hero in my book, do you remember that she was in Drop Dead Gorgeous? Carmine’s wife was pretty legit. Nail polish. Am I the only one who is afraid of David O’Russell based on the stories the actors tell about him on late night shows? The 60’s, who? The 70’s is the unsung hero of all the decades in my book. Disco and perms and whatnot? That was the point of the film, correct?
Overall, the American Hustle was nice to look at, especially the breasts belonging to all parties, male and female.
Agree? Disagree? (Only tell me if you agree, this is my blog, don’t be rude).
Well, we had to take a week off from W&W, but now we’re back with a little shake up:
Dara is now joined by new co-host, Kathryn Gallagher!
Why did Gabi leave?
Is Dara impossible to work with?
Was she sent to live on a farm full of other podcasters she could play with?
Did Gabi decide to take a crack at a second career and is now too busy taking night classes in mortuary sciences at the local community college?
You’ll have to listen to find out!
Meanwhile, WINE: Friexenet cava WHINE: Kathryn Gallagher
Tweet us at @wineandwhinepod, @kathryng, and @daralaine and tell us what you think of Wine and Whine 2.0 (#WW2).
That goop article you’ve been slaving over can wait until Monday, so put down your hemp seed detox smoothie and pick up a cold glass of Sauv Blah because it’s the weekend, Gwyneth!
I’m excited, too!
BTW Gwyney, you fill out a snake skin bikini like a dream.
I’m working today, but I started my weekend festivities yesterday at a party celebrating the opening of a Warby Parker store in The Standard Hotel in West Hollywood. Was it worth staying out so late when I had to wake up so early for work the next day? Well, I got a free canvas tote bag containing a one-size-fits-not-me pair of slippers, so you be the judge (and duh. Of course it was worth it because all women inexplicably love free tote bags that we pack our lunch in once and then never use again).
Plus Mischa Barton was there. It was coolish to have Mischa Barton at that party, but maybe not cool to be Mischa Barton at that party. Like I said, free tote bag, but basically the event was just a bunch of hipsters in affordable glasses and skinny ties standing next to a pool. And wasn’t it just The OC’s 10 year anniversary? Surely there’s some Buzzfeed article about it floating around that might give her popularity a little resurgance granting her access to cooler parties. Or maybe she could just stay home. I’m not a fan of hers or anything so I don’t know her substance abuse history like I do Lindsay Lohan’s or Laurie Forman’s from That 70’s Show (RIP), but she definitely feels like someone who shouldn’t be drinking. Regardless, being in her presence is just cool enough to my hipper East Coast relatives that when they point out that I could be a secretary in New Hampshire too, I can counter with the lie that I live a fabulous LA lifestyle.
Plus, I can’t be a secretary in glamourous Beverly Hills in New Hampshire, can I? Uh-no.
All my life, I’ve been the kind of person who clings tightly to her principles and convictions.
I am also the kind of person whose principles and convictions can be bought with blended margaritas and movie theater style nachos.
Do I consider myself a feminist? Absolutely. Will I speak up and defend myself or a fellow woman when I see a sexist injustice occurring? I believe it’s my duty. Am I so poor that I will throw all of this away so I can get my buzz on foh’ free at a Beverly Hills pool party? Within reason. But mostly yes.
The dissolution of my moral compass began when my roommate and I were invited to a pool party celebrating the birthday of Jesse from that Super Bowl GoDaddy commercial:
I’ve talked about it before, but if you’ll allow me to mount this high horse again, the commercial was sexist because it perpetuated the idea that women are supposed to be beautiful and men are supposed to be smart. Also it had a fat guy making out with a hot girl. What hope do us averages have of finding a man on our level if the media keeps telling boys and Kevin James that they are entitled to a woman who is 80% boobs and legs??
So, despite my reservations, I still wanted to go to the party because the poor kid was just in a GoDaddy commercial, not a Spike TV show. And I was promised free booze.
My friends and I arrived before Jesse got there, and after being handed a free(!!!) margarita, we were informed that they were filming a documentary on Jesse. The producer wanted a very specific shot of Jesse when he entered the party. He handed my girlfriends and me an armful Hawaiian leis and told us to go up to Jesse one-by-one and ask, “can I lei you?” Okay, so obviously this dude had no idea that this group of women included one who had read Hillary Rodham Clinton’s Living History.
This request made me thoroughly uncomfortable, but it all happened so fast! I suddenly found myself doing an awkward Target Lady-esque shuffle, mumbled a “here you go” and threw the lei around his neck like I was doing a county fair horse shoe toss.
I felt like an idiot, but I just gave it to Jesus and prayed that if this documentary ever surfaced that my future moms Amy and Tina wouldn’t recognize me thanks to my giant mosquito sunglasses.
I drank another Jesse-rita and felt better.
A few minutes later, the same guy asked if we would rub Jesse down with sunblock. To this I replied, “feminism!” and moon walked on my cork wedge heels back to the margarita bar. Listen, am I being a little over sensitive? Maybe. But there would never be a pool party thrown in honor of an overweight, 25 year-old woman just because she was in one popular commercial. How about this? If any hot man reading can tell me he was once asked by a producer to rub down Nikki Blonsky with some SPF at a pool party put together by her publicist then I will just delete this post.
Anyway, as my blood blended with the Jesse-ritas, I realized what a surreal situation I had put myself in. I’m 90% sure that the house we were at is also rented out to shoot porn. I’m also 90% sure that most of the guests at the party have shot a porn in that house. Please don’t misunderstand, though, this was not a trashy party. It was an absolute who’s who of Hollywood extras. There were some big G-list stars too: the cook from 2 Broke Girls, the nerdy guy with the Jew-fro from Glee (I can say that because we have the same last name), and most exciting, Yolanda Foster’s ex-husband Mohamed.
I only ever left my spot on my beach chair to get more nachos or to go to the bathroom (if I looked a little harder I bet I would have found a cocaine dispenser next to the hand soap), but it was a real trip, and it was certainly worth going to.
Next stop, the Playboy Mansion!
I think I’m doing enough worrying for all of us, but what will become of Q. Wallis and her puppy purse?
What was in that purse, anyway? A Lip Smackers chapstick and a baggy full of dry Cheerios? Could her mother not hold on to that, or was her purse too full of her daughter’s money that she’ll hold on to until she’s 18 or legally emancipated, which ever comes first?
I apologize for all the questions, but I don’t think any of us, including that child’s mother, are looking out for this girl.
We’re all realistic about Honey Boo Boo and where that is headed, but just because Q isn’t swilling Go-Go Juice and snorting pixie sticks at her mother’s behest, that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to end up the same way (being exploited by Dr. Drew).
Have we all just forgotten Tatum O’Neal? She’s not just that awful lady who shoe-shames Carrie on that one episode of Sex and the City. She’s Tatum O’Neal, 10 year old Oscar winner for Paper Moon. By 12, she was with Melanie Griffith having hash fueled orgies in Paris. That’s a pretty quick turn around. Grant it, I’m pretty sure since Drew Barrymore left rehab you’re not allowed to give 10 year olds cocaine and a Manhattan for a job well done at the Spy Kids wrap party, but I still don’t trust Q Wallis around those Hollywood vultures.
Even if she never touched a bottle of Go-Go Juice her entire life, I still don’t have high hopes for her as an adult. You can’t nominate a 9 year old for an Oscar and not expect her to be the kind of person who throws Quinoa salad at her assistant because she forgot to ask for chickpeas on the side. By 9, you’re beginning to enter your character building years where you develop a sense of humor or other pleasing personality traits that distract from how crooked your teeth are. Q has an Oscar nomination. That’s her compensatory personality trait. She can basically just stop developing and maturing as a human being right now. She probably has already dropped those “please” and “thank you’s” from her vocabulary all together. She can just say “HUNGRY” and bang her Austin Film Critics Association Award on the table until some PA magically appears with a Happy Meal. Someone should have told her that making muscle arms when they say your name at the Oscars is unseemly and doesn’t display a lot of humility. Instead, Giuliana Rancic goes on and on about how adorable it was sealing her fate as a future high maintenance, disagreeable grown-up child actor.
Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Or maybe Elle Fanning is offering Q her first frozen pina colada at The Rainforest Cafe while we sit idly by thinking nothing’s wrong.
I have some fun news to share with you all today (just as a warning, it really only affects me, so feel free to just start skimming at this point). I’m moving to LA next month with my friend, Jillian from college!
Q: Do you have a job lined-up yet?
A: You are aware that I want to be a comedian, right? So, no, I do not have anything lined-up yet. I’ll be sure to let you know when I land a job scanning membership cards at the front desk of a 24-Hour Fitness.
Q: Where will you be living?
A: This must be your first time here – I would never post that. The hallmark of this blog is my paranoid stance that everyone is stalking me. It’s what gives it such a strong sense of narcissistic charm.
Q: What are you going to do once you get there?
A: First, I’m going to start taking classes at an improv theater. I guess from there I’ll just do my best to hold on to my morals and identity in a town where friends wouldn’t hesitate to betray you for the chance to star in a Kotex commercial.
Q: How are you getting there?
A: My mom and I will be roadtripping there, stopping in Nashville, Oklahoma City, and Phoenix. Along the way, I’ll be blogging here and on my tumblr in case you’re interested in pictures of me eating regional fast food. If you know of any places I should see in those cities or along Route 40, let me know in the comments, and please keep in mind how much I appreciate quirky, Americana ambiance and biscuits. Most importantly, if you have any leads on jobs in LA please keep me in mind. The only thing I love more than biscuits is money to pay for biscuits.
before a night out?
READ ON FOR THE SCOOP!
4 Hours Prior to Leaving the House: Get a craving for some kind of take-out food for dinner. I will generally rationalize the fact that I’m about to eat some sort of heavy meal before wearing some sort of spandex/cotton blend dress by telling myself that eating a huge meal before drinking is the responsible thing to do.
3.5 Hours Prior to Leaving the House: Curse myself for eating Indian or Greek food before going out. No amount of Listerine Total Care Mouthwash will hide this smell because now the chicken tikka masala is just seeping out of my pores. I make peace with myself and God and the fact that I’ll be talking with my hand discreetly in front of my mouth for the night.
2 Hours and 15 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Remember that time exists and who I am as a person and realize that 2 hours and 15 minutes is cutting it close if I want to be ready on time.
2 Hours Prior to Leaving the House: Stop watching a 10 year-old episode of Law and Order: SVU on TBS and get in the shower (unless it’s the episode where Olivia goes undercover at the women’s prison, in which case, all is lost).
1 Hour and 15 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Start in on a glass of wine while I dry my hair. Drinking while getting ready to go out and drinking while cooking are my two favorite hobbies besides drinking outside during the day.
45 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Realize that drinking before putting my eye make up on was a bad idea. Go through 8 Q-tips trying to clean up the mess I’ve made with my Urban Decay Naked Palette.
30 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Take a break because make up is tiring. Walk around the house. Pick at whatever food I didn’t finish from earlier. Pour myself more wine. Decide it’s too late to cancel now. Consider canceling, again. No, I’m going, I have to go.
15 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Look at my phone and see that I’m supposed to be at my destination in 5 minutes. Apply mascara and curl my eyelashes.
10 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Put on the outfit I decided on earlier.
5 Minutes Prior to Leaving the House: Put on a different outfit.
1 Minute Prior to Leaving the House: Curl my eyelashes.
30 Seconds Prior to Leaving the House: Text friends that I’m on the road.
5 Seconds Prior to Leaving the House: Curl my eyelashes and tease my hair.
1 Second Prior to Leaving the House: Look longingly at the couch.
As you can see, there’s so much more to getting ready for a night out than most men realize.