UNSUNG HERO OF THE WEEK

I know I'm not alone when I say that Alex Hooser (known as Alex H...you know, the one whose boyfriend wasn't charged with possession for sales of cocaine) was by far the greatest part of MTV's reality-train wreck Laguna Beach which I suffered a previous addiction to (similar to my white-out sniffing days during 7th grade health class with Ms. Grispy...how else was I supposed to get through the mircale of life video unscathed). While everyone else, bitched, moaned, whined, drank, bitched, stressed, cried, bitched, farted, sharted (shit farting to the common man), bitched (not sure about the farting and sharting, but one can assume that occurred), Alex stood by cool as an Eskimo nipple while all her friends and classmates tripped out like Kimora Lee Simmons on her period, and probably laughed her ass off at them while she dodged the drama bullets and laid back in the cut like wutttt. Homegirl was beautiful, funny as hell, and chill as fuck, and seems like the type of girl you could drink or blunt it up with anytime of day, but got not nearly enough screen time because she wasn't tripping balls over some douchebag boyfriend or having a panic attack over bad hair extensions or whatever the hell the hell they worried about (pretty sure it wasn't nuclear war, global warming or Darfur). Alex Hooser, we here at Bloggin My Log would like to crown you with our first ever UNSUNG HERO OF THE WEEK, an esteemed honor which will be stowed upon only the most deserving of pop-culture figures. We love your chill ass ways, and hope to see you back on the boob tube sooner rather than later (And hopefully not on Celebrity Rehab or Intervention, cause that would break our shallow hearts).

WHAT A FUCKIN JACK(HA, GET IT!)OFF!!!!

WELL WE KNOW NOW THAT THE ONLY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A DOUCHE BAG, AND JOE JACKSON IS THAT A DOUCHE BAG ACTUALLY HAS A CHANCE OF COMING NEAR A WOMAN'S VAGINA AGAIN.

Yes that vile, ugly sack of horse shit, who somehow managed to give birth to amazingly talented children (and Latoya) has proven he can reach a new low (which is shocking because he was already low enough to tea-bag a midget). Given the fact that for the past week we have all been grieving the loss of Michael Jackson, and celebrating his memory by busting our favorite MJ jams from "Billie Jean" to "Rock With You" to my personal favorite "Man in the Mirror," one would assume that MJ's own father would be saddened and heartbroken at the loss of his son. This of course, was not evident in the slightest while Joe "fuck-face" Jackson infested the red carpet like a bad case of crabs this Sunday in Los Angeles at the BET Awards. While being interviewed by CNN correspondent Dom Lemon, Jackson was asked questions about the loss of his late son, and how his family was dealing with said loss Jackson responded like a giant tub of shit-soaked Vagisil by saying: "They are all doing fine. But I wanted to make this statement. This is a real good statement here! Marshall (Thompson) and me own a record label called Ranch Records."
Clearly you don't own any human decency, compassion, or dignity you fucking waste of ugly (The ugly made to create Joe Jackson could've been used towards more deserving causes such as Miley Cyrus music or Bijou Phillips' personality, which is already overflowing of the ugliness as is). I think I speak for everyone who isn't a complete waste of life (so of course I won't be speaking for Bijou Phillips) when I say You're a fucking disgrace Joe Jackson. Now if you'll excuse me I'm so upset I'm gonna go watch MJ's "Remember the Time" music video on youtube starring MJ himself, Iman Bowie, Magic Johnson, and Eddie Murphy....Once again, everyone fucking hates you Joe Jackson (Didn't know you could put a filthy ass piece of feces in a suit, but you're living proof)

CONFESSIONS OF A TOTAL LAME ASS....

IN THIS EDITION, YOURS TRULY SHARES AN EMOTIONAL 4 MINUTES AND 2 SECONDS WITH AN ADULT CONTEMPORARY SOFT ROCK BALLAD...I KNOW, RIGHT? WHAT THE FUCK?

On a side not though, that's a pretty great picture of Nicky Hilton I have above in the overalls, right?

So I found myself last Wednesday having one of those days where you just wanna pull your hair out, shit bricks, and then take said bricks and throw them at pedestrians who walk too slow at the crosswalk. I was literally doing everything I could not to walk around the city screaming fuck you while having a bitch fit on the sidewalk reminiscent of Linda Blair in The Exorcist (Or Lindsay Lohan on any given morning, afternoon, evening, etc.). Of course I found myself returning home from work, stuck in the typical Los Angeles traffic, which is about as cool as Herpes and Steve Urkel combined, when I found myself all of a sudden being serenaded by the one-hit-wonder angel herself, Ms. Anna Nalick. Remember that "Just Breathe (2am song)" which was pretty much used as generic filler for any emotional scene in a shitty one-hour drama tv program or two star Anne Hathaway romantic comedy flick bewteen 2005 and 2008. My immediate concern should have been "why the fuck am I listening to a station that would play Anna Nalick??? What is this, the mildly to moderately depressed college girl station???? Or more importantly, why do I know who Anna Nalick is (God, my reality is sad when I really stand back and look at it). Anyways, I actually found myself there, like a giant retard taking the advice of Anna Nalick, the simple yet genius advice of "just breathe." There I am at a red light on Fountain and La Brea breathing in and out like a 30-something soccer mom named Nadine at a Suburban Lamaze class, while my husband the insurance claims adjustor Clay coaches me (Nadine and Clay...sounds like a fuckin match made in Heaven, right...Very Jon and Kate...except not fat and miserable). Anyways, four minutes and two seconds later the song is over, and there I am, feeling as if I've just been through an express therapy session. Funny what a generic soft pop anthem will do to lift your spirits. Give it a week and I'm sure I'll have some fuckin ridiculous out of body experience while listening to "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera.

This tender lesbian moment brought to you by Saved By The Bell: Wedding in Las Vegas... a film that brought together the long-awaited union of Zack Morris and Kelly Kapowski...Arguably the hottest couple on TV since Mike Seaver and Boner on Growing Pains (And don't even say they weren't cause you know damn well they were!) Anyways, I seriously don't remember this Lilith Fair-esque moment, but clearly Zack isn't where Kelly's passion really lies. Instead her heart clearly belongs to America's favorite Caffeine pill popping/Honor's Student/Feminist High-schooler/Heinous headband enthusiast Jessie Spano. You can almost hear "Come to My Window" by Melissa Etheridge flowing in the distance.

P.S. Did Elizabeth Berkley literally come running from the set of Showgirls to make it their for this appearance?

P.S. Part 2: So gonna rent Showgirls tonight and blast Indigo girls the whole way home from the office

I've crossed over to the dark side...

...Or at least I've finally registered as a resident, seeing as I've been on the outside looking in for quite some time now. The dark side of course not referring to the Republican party (which of course would require a nickname much worse than the dark side). I'm referring to the world of bloggers which has long been synonymous in my mind as a world for star trek obsessed 30-something virgins, living in their parent's basements in New Jersey wearing an oversize T-shirt with some sort of lame-ass video game slogan such as "Touch my Joy stick" or "Push My Buttons" with a picture of a playstation controller below it. Hilarious to some (Maybe); Pathetic to the socially capable masses (Abso-fuckin-lutely). Luckily I hate star trek, haven't been a virgin for quite some time, am only in my mid-20s and I haven't lived with my folks since leaving for college, and haven't picked up a video game controller since Sonic the Hedgehog was the head bitch in charge (H.B.I.C. to all the "I Love New York" fans out there). However this blog will be a blatant display of my one unhealthy addiction (And I'm not referring to the black tar heroin, that's merely a hobby, not an addiction). That unhealthy addiction, which will no doubt land me on an upcoming installment of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew or at the very least Intervention (seeing as Im not a celebrity), is reality television and pop-culture mania. I work full-time everyday and am successful and hard-working (usually not an attribute one can associate with blogging), I have a great social life and am out nearly every night of the week (Just ask anyone from Sunset and Gower to Santa Monica and Robertson), yet my DVR is chock full of "the hot-ness." Said hot-ness is the America's Next Top Model, Real World, Charm School, Real Housewives of everywhere from Orange County, to New Jersey, to Back woods Kentucky (Where marrying family still flies...so if you're still into your brother Ms. Jolie-Pitt...well let's just say Southwest can take you round trip). Then there's the Rock of Loves, Flavor of Loves, Real Chance of Loves, I Love Money, Tough Love, oh my God someone get me a fresh pair I've bumped a crap shipment in the diesels...and yeah I said crap shipment (Get Jealous!). I've spent many a sunday afternoon recouping from a weekend saturated in more bacardi and tequila than Paris Hilton's prom dress, in front of the television catching up on all of my favorites from Bay Bay Bay, to Big Rig, to crazy-eyed Vicki...I understand these pseudo-names may seem as insignificant as Ali Lohan (I kno, right? What is that?) to you at the moment, but stick with me and they'll seem equally as important as the global economy, foreign policy and gonorrhea (Which I mention cause somehow it still holds relevency in everyday conversation...who knew?).
Outside of the reality television arena, which let's face it, is the greatest venue since The Hollywood Bowl, I am engulfed endlessly in the celebrity-gossip world, the entire pop-culture epidemic, and all of the random, faces, figures, and events that come with it, both entertainment and political as well. So that being said, stick with me as I waste your time (and mine) as we tear the giant ass that is the blogosphere a new one, but unlike all those loser ass dicks that get lost in the shuffle we're gonna make this asshole count (wow, that final statement could be interpreted in some unpleasant ways).