Drinking Game Friday. It's about god-damn time. I think the highlight of this work week came at the hands of my co-worker Mike (I emphasize co-worker, although in his mind he's my boss as he treats me like his personal assistant/rottweiler). You know how sometimes you feel so insignificant in your office that you joke around that they don't even know you're name? Well Mike literally does not know my name. I've worked here for three months. I see and interact with him every single day. Fuck me.
Mike forgot my name in the middle of giving me an offensive and patronizing lecture about graphic design which concluded with, "but why am I telling you all of this? You took graphic art classes!" First of all, I did not take graphicart classes, I took graphicdesign classes. Calling a graphic designer a graphic artist is like if I called you a professional pillow-fluffer even though your card says Interior Designer, asshole. Second of all, I didn't just take a few night classes at the local Y for shits and giggs. I have a BA in graphic design. I took more classes than "a few." There's a slight difference.
And then he forgot my name. And it wasn't in like a, "oops! I'm having a senior moment and called you Maggie! L0LZ!!!1" kind of way, but in a 100% who-the-fuck-are-you-again? kind of way. After watching him struggle for about 20 seconds I informed him that my name is Meghan. You know, the girl who sends you 50 emails a day responding to your various inane questions ranging from "where can I buy a blank canvas tote bag" to "what will get this meat sauce out of my shirt?" The girl who you recently asked to make duplicates of your house keys because your nephew is coming to stay for the weekend. The girl who's considerate enough to keep the refrigerator stocked with Mountain Dew because you're apparently a 12 year-old boy with ADD and that's all you'll drink. My name is Meghan. And you're crushing my soul.
The one thing that got me through this week was going to see BrItNeYSpeArs in concert Tuesday night. You can talk all the shit you want, but I will never feel ashamed about my love for Brit Brit. She's not Chopin, I get it, but sometimes I just want to hear a stupid, repetitive song that makes me want to get up and shake my ass on the dance floor. And it takes a lot for me to get up off my ass, nevertheless shake it. Sometimes I think if this building were burning down I would seriously be like, "meh...it's chilly in here anyway and I'm in the middle of a really crucial game of Snood. I'll stay put, thanks." So, hats off to you, Ms. Spears.
In honor of her performance, this week we'll be playing the Crossroads Drinking Game! Crossroads has to be one of the most underrated comedies of all time. Once you've accepted the fact that you'll be laughing atCrossroads, not with it, then and only then can you appreciate it's genius. How could it not be amazing with it's grab bag, shit show of an ensemble cast? A movie starring Britney Spears, Dan Aykroyd, Kim Cattrell and the chick from BoomKat sounds like the set-up to a dirty joke I'm dying to hear the punchline to. And did I mention there's a scene where Britney reads the lyrics to her song "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" as if it were poetry, all slow and meaningful like? That scene alone deserves an Oscar, Grammy, Pulitzer Prize, Tri-County Pie Eating Contest trophy and whatever other honors you've got lying around.
So without further ado, I give you the Crossroads Drinking Game! Rules! Shoot up your meth when: - Any of the girls' serious issues are addressed (i.e. pregnant, no momma, used to be a fattie) - The gang makes a stop - Anyone makes a phone call - Lucy's notebook is shown or written in - There's an argument - Ben plays his gee-tar - Anyone sings in a car - Anyone sings karaoke - Kim Catrell shows up looking like Khaki Kari on a suburban safari, because that shit is L0LZ: - Mimi loses her baby ["They said I lost my baby. Lost it. Like it was my keys or something." No? Just me? Fair enough.] - Britney triumphantly records her hit poem, "I'm not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman"
As always, thank you so much for reading (and emailing, and following me on twitter and joining the facebook page) and we'll see you back here Monday morning!
I feel very apathetic about last night’s Britney Spears documentary, which is upsetting. I was really looking forward to it being juicier than it was. I’m so naïve, I fully expected her to be like, “Y’all I gotta tell you, I was doing meth and sniffing nail polish remover for the past year! And I fed my babies Dunk-a-Roos instead of breast-feeding! I even made a sex tape with Burt Reynolds! Let me tell you aaallll about it!” Alas, it wasn’t that interesting. But it wasn’t un-interesting. It was like when you’re craving a really good salad and then you have one and you’re like “Ok. Good.” And then life goes on.
COME ON BRITNEY! I’ve been a damn good fan to you (hi, you’re first tour? I was in the third row. All of your albums? Got ‘em. What keeps me going on the treadmill? “Toy Soldier.” Remember when you attacked an SUV with an umbrella and your publicist said you were studying for an upcoming role? I totally believed it.) so the least you could do is give me something gasp-worthy.
Ugh…I’m so bored. I’m gonna go get an online degree and a tattoo of a marijuana leaf to keep things interesting. If you missed the documentary, here are my favorite moments:
- The documentary opens with Britney’s dad cooking cheese grits while wearing a white tank top that’s so tight I fully expected him to give the camera guy a reach-around at any moment. He was also wearing like 76 pairs of sunglasses hanging at various levels from those sunglasses holders made out of beer koozie material. Frankly, the most interesting part of the documentary was getting to see up this guy’s white trash skirt. - Was I the only one who thought Britney looked like a rode hard and put away wet version of herself in the “Oops!…I did it Again” video in her long-sleeved red turtleneck interview outfit? - In reference to losing her shit and shaving off all of her hair, she actually defends herself saying that “lots of people shave their head!” That shit is LOLZ. Because they’re called cancer patients, not fading pop-stars. - Britney tries to go shopping in SoHo and gets swamped by the paparazzi in a way that totally stressed me out and seemed scary. I felt like an asshole for being a tabloid-junkie for 30-seconds. - There was a dressing room outfit montage! If you know only one thing about me, know that I love me a good dressing room outfit montage, so automatically this documentary picks up two more points. - At a store Britney picks up a hat and says, “Ooh a burr-ET!” and it’s one of those awkward moments where you’re not sure if she’s being funny and purposely mispronouncing “beret,” or if she really is that dumb, and if you were there and she was your friend, you would probably just pretend to get a phone call and walk away from her to avoid the entire situation. - About half way through the documentary, she talks about how no one really listens when she talks and doesn’t take anything she says seriously and starts to cry. That was legit. That was probably the only moment where I was really like, “Aw, I feel you boo” and felt genuinely bad for her. - Madonna: WTF? I don’t give a shit about her divorce or whether or not she’s fucking A-Rod, but I do give a shit about the fact that she looks six facelifts to the wind and is entering that dangerous territory where she’s starting to look like a cat. Gwyneth should have been a true friend and stopped her like five nip-tucks ago… - I’m offended for Britney that Madonna got so much face time in her documentary. Remember when Madonna needed a career-booster so Britney did her a solid and made out with her at the VMAs, but when Britney was going through her trashy phase and asked Madonna to be her son’s God-Mother she was like, “Uhhhh, no thanks.” Yea…I remember, you hagrid old bag of bones. - I could watch Madonna talk to Britney backstage before their joint-performance for days. My inner awkward-monster feeds off of how uncomfortable it was. Remember that scene in “The Office” when Michael is trying to prove to the diversity coach that he has diverse friends by talking to Oscar, but they’re not actually friends so they have nothing to talk about and Michael doesn’t even know his last name and it’s just extremely uncomfortable to watch? Well, it was a lot like that. - On Halloween, Britney’s dad shows up to the house dressed like a clown and her son and I have the same reaction: to burst into tears, start screaming, kick and flail about and hide our faces into the nearest set of pillows. Thanks a lot Mr. Spears for the inevitable nightmares. - The documentary concludes with Britney talking about how she’ll be more guarded in life from now on and compares herself to the Karate Kid. Aw B. Money…I’m rooting for you.
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