I Don't Have Blindside Money

Was it just me, or did Jane Fonda have a few nip slips at the Golden Globes Sunday night? I'm not saying it was a full-on Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction, but I'm pretty sure Jane's right nipple kept peaking out over the top of her dress. I guess it was excited to see the Glee kids. I don't mind it, but if I had had to bet on one of the "Nine to Five" ladies exposing her breasts, my money would've been on Dolly. Of course, with all that cosmetic surgery, the only way to see Dolly's nipples these days would be if she wore a backless dress.

Speaking of the Golden Globes, I'm not a fan of British comedians, but Ricky Gervais was pretty impressive as the host this year. I love how every time he came onstage, he had a different drink. There wasn't even a hint of discretion because he kept getting different glasses. Like once he came out with a wine glass, and then he came out with a high-ball, and it was something different every time. I kept expecting him to walk out from behind the curtain with a fishbowl margarita with a tiny umbrella in it. But I think if the Globes wanted a celebrity-basher, call the master: Kathy Griffin. As an homage to all the assholes who got up in arms in 2003 because the Dixie Chicks "spoke ill of our President on foreign soil," I say if we're going to have a celebrity roastmaster at the Globes, let's keep it local. Call Griffin. She's never turned down a job.

And before I move on, I just have to say to all of the professional comedians who made fun of the wonderful Temple Grandin who was at the Golden Globes: you're all horrible, horrible people, and if I end up in hell, I will blame your making me laugh at all your horrible jokes for my being there. (Alex Baze tweeted "Claire Danes sexually assaulted by rodeo clown. Details at 11." Nothing funnier than that has been said in 2011.)

I have a friend who's doing some kind of New Year's detox, which I'd LOVE to do, but I'm very put off by detoxing and cleansing and here's why: several months ago, in an out-of-character and ill-conceived maneuver, I purchased a bottle of the 14-Day Acai Berry Cleanse pills. Now, Publix also had another bottle of pills that was also a 14-day cleanse, and that one was even endorsed by that handsome fellow from The Biggest Loser: Jillian Michaels. However, Mr. Michaels' pills cost twice that of the Acai Berry Cleanse, and since Oprah likes acai berries, needless to say, the decision made itself. Well, as it turns out the Acai Berry Cleanse pills function basically as an herbal laxative, so by the second day, I got tired of playing Beat the Clock while sprinting to the restroom and I was like "I'm out!" So now whenever I hear the words "cleanse" or "detox," I have a Palov's dogs response and shit myself on the spot.

I need to expand my social life. After work Friday, I decided I wanted a drink, so being far too anti-social to go to a bar or even a restaurant, I went by the liquor store to get my drink of choice: Grey Goose. However, the store was out of the pint-size bottles of Grey Goose. They did have larger bottles, but who am I? Sandra Bullock? I don't have Blindside money! So, instead, I opted to buy something called Gentleman Jack, which I have since learned is slightly fancier Jack Daniels. Apparently, Jack Daniels is blue jeans, and Gentleman Jack is khaki pants. So, long story longer, I ended up drinking a pint of Gentleman Jack over the course of three nights--alone--over the weekend. Add to that, if I ever pass by a channel showing an Ashley Judd movie, the next 2 hours of my life are committed unless I'm on my way to a wedding or a funeral, and if it's Double Jeopardy, it had better be the wedding or funeral of a dear, dear friend, or I'm not moving. So, anyways, I stumbled across The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. And there I was. Saturday night. Sitting in my bed. Sipping Gentleman Jack and Mountain Dew. Watching The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood for the, I don't know, sixth, time. Alone. And that, ladies and gentleman, is how you know you've hit rock bottom. Except it wasn't, because a few days later, I tracked down an email address for the guy who has the Twitter username I want and then I proceeded to email him--a brilliant Navy engineer--to beg him to give up the username so I can have it.

Final thought: I love, love, love Sofia Vergara. Super sexy. Incredibly funny. But...how is it that her conversational English in interviews is worse than her intentionally bad English on Modern Family?