With his foot planted firmly in his mouth, you’d think Brad Pitt would be physically incapable of blathering on about the whole thing. Noooo-ho-ho. Dude has got to keep making it worse. Fast forward to 2:54. It’s priceless:

“It’s a shame that I can’t say something nice about Angie without Jen being drug in. You know, she (Jen) doesn’t deserve it.”

Hey Brad? Come a little closer.  Closer. Closer. Closer still…

<slap>
<smack>
<judo chop for good measure>
</slap>

I watched the Matt Lauer interview. There was no “cut-to-camera-two” editing skewing the context of your statement. If you make a comment about your boring former marriage and IN THE SAME BREATH say that the best gift you gave your kids was an amazing pouty-lipped mother, guess what? Folks are gonna read between the lines that you are inferring that Aniston was not on parr pop out your demon spawn.

Douche.

Just own it and let’s move on. I’d like to retire my ‘Team Aniston’ shirt. It’s getting threadbare.

Hopefully, not over poor John. Jeesh!

A:
Extremely important. I’ll go first.

I fantasize about the day I no longer unwittingly end up fielding random personal questions from strangers.

Dear Paul,

Thx for taking time out of your clearly fulfilling day to let me know that I am not, in fact, hot. I was unaware.

Bite,
Me
;;*D

PS- Just curious: are you the short-bald-skinny dude in the picture or the tall-fat-bulbous-nosed guy?

PPS- Bubbles was a chimp, not a monkey.

As there was no space to hide in my little sunny yellow boudoir, he would take up residence in the IKEA Poang throne by the window and read Keroauc. Forget gun permits, moody men shouldn’t be allowed to immerse themselves in a world built around it’s protagonist’s descent into madness. They’re just too impressionable.

Sometimes he’d mix it up and stand by the dresser, intently studying a travel book or map. He made a point to be sure that I saw what he was reading. The message implicit in the exaggerated gesture was that he was plotting his escape from me-and-us-and-the-rest-of-the-f’ed-up-western-world.

I’d exhale and check email, preparing to wait the tempest out. Eventually he’d slide back into bed next to me, at which time I’d ask him if he’d gotten that out of his system. I’d apologize if I was in the wrong (sometimes even when I wasn’t) and we’d laugh about what a dumb-ass he was.

Lather, rinse, repeat and so it went… until it didn’t.

It is better to have been kicked in the teeth and lost than never to have been kicked in the teeth at all.

Huh. You’re right – that’d be me.

Nowadays, “status” more likely refers whatever is typed into that little blank box at the top of one’s Facebook page ever-so-innocently asking,

“What’s on your mind?”

Thanks to social networking, reading someone’s thoughts no longer requires a spirit guide or parlor tricks. Some call it a revolution, which it may well be. I’m inclined to recognize it as the fruition of the old Chinese curse knock-off,

“May you live in interesting times.”
The subtext being that “interesting” is marked by chaos, insecurity, and strife.

This backhanded proverb is reported to be the first of three curses of increasing severity, all of which eerily speak to the conundrum we find ourselves involved in all too often in the too-much-information age.

“May you come to the attention of those in authority.”
An increase of influence may come with showing up on the radar of those in power, though the inherent trap of that increased exposure may lead to a higher level of scrutiny… and accountability.

“May you find what you are looking for.” This one reminds me of the tricky genie using etymological loopholes to manifest their master’s greatest wishes into extreme disasters.

Having access to the stream of consciousness musings of acquaintances, friends, and lovers ads an “interesting” new dimension to these connections just as the redefined notion of privacy takes a bit of the intimacy away. Just last week, I experienced this drawback in my “real” life.

No longer able to ignore the digital breadcrumbs mounting against a new boyfriend, a conversation was forced. As a result of what was begrudgingly disclosed, I lowered the boom and a nifty timestamp indicates that moments after I left his abode, his Facebook status was updated.

“another beautiful day! Almost wish I owned a motorcycle. Biking it is!”

I suppose I should have been careful what I wished for… especially regarding being clued in on what my man was really thinking.

So, uh… wow, dude. “Interesting.”

Biking it is.

Speaking of vacuums, the Dyson DC24 Ball Vacuum is known to “turn on a dime without losing suction”.

Actually, I saw one GAIN suction last week… when it showed up (FULFILLED!) on my ex-boyfriend’s bridal registry.

You might be wondering how I came to see my ex’s bride’s shopping list. It’s, uhhhh, a crazy story. Yeh- so there I was, walking down the street minding my own business. A one armed man with a laptop accosted me and dragged me to an abandoned warehouse that was totally empty except for high speed cable modem and fully functional wifi router. After a bitter struggle, I was duct taped to a cinder block and made me peruse the registries and read every section of the happy couple’s wedding website.

Well, that’s my cover story anyways. Truth is that every now and again I use the “research technique“, developed by my co-blogger, to “catch up on” the milestones of former flames. This involves looking up an ex’s name in the Registry Listing on the ever popular wedding website, theknot.com. Sure, I initially came to the site looking for floral arrangement ideas for my brother’s upcoming wedding. While I was there, i figured there was no harm in looking up Hakan’s name, right? The search always came back empty before, and that provided a certain amount of relief. Relief that his indecision was not specific to me. It’s petty, but it made me feel better…

…until I learned that he will be the groom on July 24th, 2010.

Not for nothin’, but I put in my 5 years with the same dude and didn’t score a ring or a $450 vacuum.

Now THAT sucks.

Emboldened by the desperation lingering in the crisp Winter air, Valentine’s Day has a way of drawing undesirable men from their hyperbolic hibernation long enough for their lotion covered fingers to press send.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it were a part of a conspiracy seeking to further erode the standards of lovely single women such as myself. Trust me folks: this particular limbo contest will go no lower.

For your reading pleasure, I present the email I received this week. Sure, it’s skeevy but you gotta love a guy with a crotch shot and dream.

My personal favorite?

# 21: The way your vag(hi!)na looks is perfectly normal.
And no, we don’t have to see it to know that.

27 Things Every Woman Should Know About Sex