Colin Farrell's Nutrition Plan

Do you know what I love? When I can feel that I actually have muscle tissue underneath my buddha belly after I have laughed so hard I thought I would actually puke. [gina's note: isn't it fun and refreshing to use the word puke in a sentence? i so rarely see the opportunity] This was the case last evening after a yummy, South-Beach approved (yes, Gina still has fat fingers) crock-pot meal at our friend Dowan's (pronounced dough-anne) apartment.

We asked had she seen the Colin Farrell sex tape that's traveling joyfully over the information super highway. I'll say. It's information everyone adult with a videocamera should know, it's SUPER, and he must have been way high on his own cheese factor when he made it.

But good LAWD, how funny is it? Good luck finding it, which may be damn near impossible now as there are court ordered injunctions and he's prosecuting people who distribute it! But if you're interested in what he says in it, I can try my best Irish brogue and do an imitation.

I would suggest consulting with our good old friend June Allyson first, though.

The O Prah-er

Our Oprah, who art in Chi-town, hallowed be thy fame,
Thy Empire come, thy wigs be done,
on network television as it is in syndication.
Give us your Favorite Things,
And forgive us who do not Tivo you,
as we forgive you for Steadman.
Lead us not into A Million Little Lies,
but deliver us from Hermes.
For thine is the ego, the Harpo and the book club,
Girlfriend!!!!!!!

Credit: Gina Bruce

I am trying so hard to be zen and let go of my ego. Unfortunately, I work in a place with LOTS of very intelligent people. With lots of EGO. Too bad intelligence is not a 1:1 positive correlation to enlightenment. Don't get me wrong - I'm not claiming to be enlightened. I'm a poser trying to effect good habits of those who are, hoping it may make my life more tranquil and calm.

So here's an example - I just went next door to speak to a person who is senior to me but not my superior. We are working on an initiative together, and she is becoming more heavily involved in my portion, as the people running that to date have not been hot, let's say. Rather tepid and ineffectual. So I was asking her a question and also bitching a bit to her about the other two, b/c I keep giving them information and they keep processing it incorrectly or not fully and then drawing incorrect and/or bad assumptions off of which they are building MAJOR strategy recommendations. UGH! So I don't want anyone coming back to me saying - "well, this is what you said!"

I'm having a hard time peeling work ethic apart from ego in this case, but I digress. Then she got all heated about a different question. I know she was not mad at me. She is projecting her anger at having to do more work and issues with her nanny and trying to buy a house onto her interaction with me. Fine - whatever - I can arm-chair psychiatrist that shit right out.

But part of me wants to look at her and say - "WTF, you dumb bitch? Do you know who I am? You don't know me... you don't know how I roll. Go see your shrink or pay me $95 for this chat."

Zen you ask?

not so much, no.

Kill Gina vol 1

I was walking in the 'Ho... from the PATH to my condo last night. Minding my own business. And so at 3rd and Washington, a black and grey Honda Element rolled up to the curb outside that bank with the time/temperature sign.

Only because of the motion in my peripheral vision did I glance over.

Imagine my dismay when someone who looked ALOT like this stepped out:
That's right. Go-Go, y'all.

But I dont' know what freaked my freak worse - that Go-Go may well whip out some medieval looking weapons shit on my ass, or that she was not wearing her school-girl uniform.

btw - it was not her. Go-Go figure...

on the red carpet

Just some observations from the red carpet coverage of the Golden Globes last evening. I was put their pics next to my comments, but I can't seem to figure out how to make it work because I'm an idiot. I may have to rip them from my Tivo - b/c stock photos don't do them proper justice.

Your Hosts on E!:
Ryan Seacrest = gay host

Isaac Mizrahi = super humanly gay co-host, but GREAT off-color comments/questions. His predominant theme was asking people their underwear choice for the evening!

Debbie Matenopoulos = Useless add-on host w/ Seacrest.

Some of the stars:

Alannis Morrisette = hot blonde!

Jessica Alba = slutty

Kevin Breakfastmeat = scary

Mariah Carey = sweaty cleavage

Scarlett Johansson = boobs fondled by Isaac

Peter Falk = senile

Johnny Depp = greasy

Voting

OK - so I'm no whiz with this damn html-for-dummies format - so I couldn't get this text into the post below...

For those of you not on blogspot, you can post a comment at the bottom of any post...by clicking the comment link... I seriously want to know who you think is more gay.

Vote: Who's more gay?

So, today, I was flipping around the internet and re-visiting some of the blogs I have referenced previously. I'm sore for a phyllis update and sorry that she lost her uncle. Space girl finally posted (thank god).

Other than these two that I read/check regularly...I went back to read this other site. I still can't figure out if this person is truly just hateful and miserable, or if he thinks acting hateful and miserable is comedic. But reading his blog makes me sad and reject the self-loather in me...maybe because that's what his rants feel like to me. So I have delinked it in the earlier post. I feel dirty after reading it, just like it's 4:51am at the Bijou and I'm getting up off my knees to stumble home. God, it's been a LOOOOOONG time since those days. Proudly, it's been over 4 years! ahhh... good times!

that's hot...

new inductee

this is how I feel my mood has been during the first week of no carbs:



If it's this bad, I can't wait to see my fingers in a week...

But this is how I'm going to feel when I'm thin and gorgeous!

gina's fingers go on south beach diet

so I was typing a post and I have fat fingers...ok, well, maybe they're not fat. I guess they could be called full-figured. I type fast. It's uncanny. Did you go look this word up? I did. Who knew? My gross WPM is around 85. Now that I know the definition of uncanny (thanks m-w! I love ya like my fat fingers love cake!), perhaps 85 is not so uncanny. Maybe 120 is?

so I was typing a post and I have full-figured fingers...I have a history of while typing during the work day of not being mindful of my full-figured phalanges. so I'm typing and my phalanges go off like Ludacris in a Missy Elliott track, and then my word document or email is showing all kinda crazy formatting marks.

what have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this?

I have NO clue. And my big-girl digits aren't making a peep. But they know. I know they know. And they know I know they know. Oh snap - ITS ON NOW. I pick up the phone to our help desk. Sometimes I get lucky and they know the answer right away and sometimes not so much. I envision the call centers having pictures of their Most Wanted up on the wall for all to see. They've dubbed me Fat Finger Phil. That name is SO obvious, but it also fits, unlike my obese distal phalanges on the keys of my laptop.

OK WAIT!

how fucking funny is that? No not the post. I'm not THAT self-serving. Close, but no skinny finger. I so wish I could do a webcam and capture some of the dumb shit that goes on in my life. I'll have to retell it and you just be creative and laugh some.

I was thinking I should rename the title of this post. It was "gina has fat fingers". So I clicked in the box (how's the pH in your box?) to edit the title. No sooner had a I deleted to the point where the title was just "gina" did these unruly fat fucks revolt and all of a sudden, I think I'm typing " 's " after gina, and I see the progress notice that my post is processing! You can't let your guard down for a second. They are ruthless.

so I was typing a post and I have doughy digits...but this was my first attempt at a post today, way back earlier, almost an hour ago. I had been surfing off PhyllisMGabor's blog over to other blogs she finds noteworthy. I'm learning she's one classy lady. I trust her as much as I trust EPT. When it said I was pregnant, I snubbed out the butt I was nursing and stopped smoking immediately, all together. All because I read in a tiny pamphlet inside the cigarette pack that smoking is dangerous to pregnant women. But that's another suitcase in another hall.

so I was typing my original post and I have pudgy pfingers, but it got too deep and philosophical... not hot. Again, these fat fucks revolt and all of a sudden my entire post is gone. And for those of you who live for Ctrl-Z as the shortcut for undo... it don't work so good in the posting window for blogger. DEVIL! But now that I reflect a moment - I'm gonna give that one to the relentless bastards.

so I've figured out how to solve all of this. It will take a whole lot of patience and time.

to do it
to do it
to do it
to do it
to do it
to do it right
my fingers will not touch carbs
my fingers will not touch carbs
my fingers will not touch carbs
my fingers will not touch carbs
(all sung to the tune of "I've Got My Mind Set On You" by Sir Paul McCartney) I'll come back to this whole ridiculous Sir business some other post, I just really haven't got the time today, as I'm so busy! I don't know how to say this, but... I'm kind of a big deal. People KNOW me.)

my fingers are going on south beach diet. Hence forth, I can't put these fat fucks in contact with any carbs. So any carbs that I eat will be consumed directly from the plate into my mouth. If you ever watched A Christmas Story, think of Ralphie's little brother eating his mashed potatoes like a good little piggy.

so my original point was to visit this blog: iprobablyhateyou. I have no clue who he is, but he's a clever observationist, if not a little cruel. hot.

addendum: 1.7.2006 17:42 - after a day of intermittently surfing all over the web, I found several other blogs that comment on and feud with iprobablyhateyou. One was cleverly named iprobablyoutweighyou, but don't think it's been posted to in a while. It's like reading scripts for Passions! It got a little depressing for me after a while though, be forewarned. But maybe they are all friends and are just totes Judy!

are you there, God? It's me, Nancy Drew.

Urethra - I think that did the trick. Hmmph.

bloggers tell all?

have any of you who might use blogspot (spacegirl, Phyllis, this means you!) ever had trouble making a template change that won't "take" and update? It's happened twice to me now.

Posting something new seems to trigger the template post to take effect.

picks, pipes and metronomes

I had an impromptu accoustic guitar lesson with Esteban, the famed classical guitarist, last evening. I had to go on a small scavenger hunt to find where I had put my picks. I had them in a bag, the contents of which included spare strings, my bag of picks, my old crack pipe, an electronic tuner and a metronome.

I was stuck in that bag for a minute. What gauge pick should I learn on? Is that residue smokeable? The only thing I knew for sure is that the metronome wouldn't click slow enough to guide me in my chromatic scales.

And then I remembered something clever an old acquaintance once said: "those who live in glass pipes should not smoke houses".

have a wonderful next 365 days

So you know the old superstition: "however you spend new year's day is indicative of how you'll spend the coming year"? 2006 is going to be hot: sex, cleaning, organization, decorating and clean doggie beds. Oh, and looking rather cunty in my new pair of black Aspen Crocs. If you don't know what these are, I highly suggest that you find out, like right now. Stop what you're doing and click that link. No, I'm not being paid for a testimonial, and no, I'm not drinking. Imagine wearing shoes that weigh no more than a tiny zip-loc bag full of fluff. Fact: Croc's weigh, on average, less than 6 ounces. INCREDIBLE, no? Dog-walking has never been so full of fun, fashion and flair.

The highest spots of my day were:

1. Allegedly: Now had you asked me yesterday, "how do you feel about Kathy Griffin?", I could have launched on a lengthy rant about how I HATE her. No, maybe hate is not the right word. Loathe? Despise? Who the hell knows. At any rate and at the urging of my rather funny and wonderful other brother (the other gay), I Tivo'd it and got around to watching it today. If you've not seen it, you really should invest two hours, and laugh as hard as I did when she covers Terry Shields at Brooke's wedding, a tense exchange with B.W. on The View and a bucket full of clits.
2. Reorganization of a bookcase: my mancandy finally made use of two new cd books and liberated a few more shelves in our bookcases. I gleefully sat in the floor amidst piles of books and dust, and rearranged and decorated those shelves.