You think you love Natalie Portman?
Check this out, it will make you love her even more.
She went to Harvard, designs vegan footwear, and will - without hesitation - give you a Cleveland steamer. If that isn't hot I don't know what is.
As Wednesday through Monday features my total babeness, I hereby declare Natalie Portman as the first featured fox of my weekly installment of TOTAL BABE TUESDAYS.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Popped My Casino Cherry
My dear friend Sam and I went for dinner tonight, and after sipping through a cloying bottle of white wine hailing from the pretentious region of Aix-en-Provence, I suggested take a trip off the island, toss the keys over to the valet and throw some bills around with someone who might bear an uncanny resemblance to Clive Owen c. 1998.
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All of my saccharine daydreams of winning big were dispelled after sharing a table with a slew of 17-year-old boys who doused their hairy backs and purple deep-V's in Axe. Among them, Sam and I played War. Like when you were six and all you had to to was get a higher card than the dealer.
I glanced over my shoulder and was divinely summoned by the flashing lights of the black jack table. A rotund woman with an electric blue-tipped French manicure facilitated my personal gain of $250.
Although Clive Owen was nowhere to be seen, I just doubled my net worth and all I had to do was tap on a felt table every now and again.
EVERYONE SHOULD GAMBLE.
And by this I mean you're better off going to the Casino than buying stock in Nortel or RIM, or any telecommunicaitons corporation for that matter.
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All of my saccharine daydreams of winning big were dispelled after sharing a table with a slew of 17-year-old boys who doused their hairy backs and purple deep-V's in Axe. Among them, Sam and I played War. Like when you were six and all you had to to was get a higher card than the dealer.
I glanced over my shoulder and was divinely summoned by the flashing lights of the black jack table. A rotund woman with an electric blue-tipped French manicure facilitated my personal gain of $250.
Although Clive Owen was nowhere to be seen, I just doubled my net worth and all I had to do was tap on a felt table every now and again.
EVERYONE SHOULD GAMBLE.
And by this I mean you're better off going to the Casino than buying stock in Nortel or RIM, or any telecommunicaitons corporation for that matter.
EMPLOYMENT!
I have a new job.
It is awesome.
I am a bartender at a bar that is FOUR BLOCKS AWAY.
There is ONLY ONE KIND OF BEER.
There is NO DEBIT MACHINE.
THERE IS A MECHANICAL BULL.
AND I GET TO DANCE ON THE BAR.
As a feminist, one might suggest that I object to having to jump up on a bar and two step during the intermission of the best game you can name, but as a ham, entertainer and exhibitionist I could not be more thrilled to Coyote-Ugly my ass to a debt-free lifestyle of nice shoes, expensive cheese and myriad air miles.
It is awesome.
I am a bartender at a bar that is FOUR BLOCKS AWAY.
There is ONLY ONE KIND OF BEER.
There is NO DEBIT MACHINE.
THERE IS A MECHANICAL BULL.
AND I GET TO DANCE ON THE BAR.
As a feminist, one might suggest that I object to having to jump up on a bar and two step during the intermission of the best game you can name, but as a ham, entertainer and exhibitionist I could not be more thrilled to Coyote-Ugly my ass to a debt-free lifestyle of nice shoes, expensive cheese and myriad air miles.
Monday, September 28, 2009
I AM A LO-FI GODDESS
I make all of my friends and acquaintances look like they just walked straight out of a Levis ad. This makes me a total fucking babe, and, naturally, a lo-fi Goddess.
I am considering starting a donation pay-pal account so I can afford one of these.
(In the event that I acquire one of these divine devices, I will willingly forfeit my reign as a lo-fi goddess and shall become an HD Harlot).
I am considering starting a donation pay-pal account so I can afford one of these.
(In the event that I acquire one of these divine devices, I will willingly forfeit my reign as a lo-fi goddess and shall become an HD Harlot).
FANDEMONIUM
It's not my greatest work, but I must credit my fans for their unconditional love, support, and vain self-interest for wanting to be on camera (oh wait, I think that's me).
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
JOB HUNTING
My new approach to getting a job entails making everyone think that I could beat them up, and turning them on by doing so.
Dressed in black, I'm off to temporarily sell my soul to a bar or two who are lauded for the plethora of underage drunken girls that frequent for the two-dollar Tuesday drink specials.
I'd say wish me luck, but I'm such a fucking babe that I don't need it.
Good luck to you, then.
Dressed in black, I'm off to temporarily sell my soul to a bar or two who are lauded for the plethora of underage drunken girls that frequent for the two-dollar Tuesday drink specials.
I'd say wish me luck, but I'm such a fucking babe that I don't need it.
Good luck to you, then.
Monday, September 21, 2009
YOU CAN'T BE ME, I'M A ROCK STAR
I look like Billy Idol. But like, hotter.
I was positively ALARMED by all of the young and impressionable, long and blonde-haired female heads that turned my way today. I'm thinking that this is the beginning of a good thing.
This is how it all went down:
I was positively ALARMED by all of the young and impressionable, long and blonde-haired female heads that turned my way today. I'm thinking that this is the beginning of a good thing.
This is how it all went down:
Friday, September 18, 2009
Lobster Fest, Part II
Yesterday evening my dear friend Mike and I went on a crustacean killing spree.
Behold thy brilliance:
Behold thy brilliance:
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Like lookbook, but like, not lookbook
My friend Maddy (see Mexican Fiesta) harassed me on facebook chat today, urging me to open an account on trendmill.com.
The conversation went like this:
5:02 Madeleine: make yourself a catalogue and upload some saucy pics of yourself
5:04 Judicious: i'm pretty vain, babe, but not THAT vain... not about my wardrobe. I make too many mistakes.
But then she bribed me with flattery that will enhance my vanity and internet superstardom:
5:05 Madeleine: jacq if u wont make a catalogue on trendmill for me, at least put on a spicy fall outfit and let alison take your pic this weekend. it could be in a magazine
Naturally, I caved. If I'm going to make myself into a youtube celebrity and queen of the blogosphere, I must pose at every opportunity. You think Chris Crocker got to where she is without a little Tyra training?
I was going to upload a picture of my trendy outfit but, as always, I'm blogging in the buff.
(me on trendmill)
The conversation went like this:
5:02 Madeleine: make yourself a catalogue and upload some saucy pics of yourself
5:04 Judicious: i'm pretty vain, babe, but not THAT vain... not about my wardrobe. I make too many mistakes.
But then she bribed me with flattery that will enhance my vanity and internet superstardom:
5:05 Madeleine: jacq if u wont make a catalogue on trendmill for me, at least put on a spicy fall outfit and let alison take your pic this weekend. it could be in a magazine
Naturally, I caved. If I'm going to make myself into a youtube celebrity and queen of the blogosphere, I must pose at every opportunity. You think Chris Crocker got to where she is without a little Tyra training?
I was going to upload a picture of my trendy outfit but, as always, I'm blogging in the buff.
(me on trendmill)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Frosh pollutants
I would like to preface this rant by revealing to you that this September marks the first September since 1990 when I do not get a back-to-school haircut, buy a new pencil case and plan my first-day-of-school outfit, because-- THANK FUCKING GOD-- I am not going back to school. I am a Graduate of the Arts with a fistful of dreams, bound for success.
You may, then, feel compelled to peg the complaint that follows as resentment towards those who do get to go to Staples to buy a bunch of shit they already have but are too lazy to find. I assure you, however, that this is not the case.
The problem is this:
MY POOL IS INFESTED WITH COLLEGE BOYS.
WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED?!?!
My darling, tiny, retiree-populated public pool that offers classical music alongside its free swim was brimming with chattering boys who treated the ends of the lanes as though they were the benches of an Estonian steam room.
For those of you who don't know, this place is my sanctuary. I live BESIDE the YMCA and I bike TWELVE WHOLE MINUTES to get to this secret pool to avoid these bulky masses who can barely float.
Yet, on this momentous it's-September-I-need-to-get-back-in-shape-after-my-summer-internship-at-my-dady's-law-firm day, getting through my 30-minute was torturous, as each lap was book-ended by "Yeah I used to do Triathlons back at Camp," and "Yo, Stu, bro, if you wanna go on that pub crawl tomorrow lemme know, K?"
THEY DON'T EVEN SWIM.
THEY JUST SIT THERE.
FLOATING.
...AND THEY DO NOT KNOW POOL ETIQUETTE!
NO CAPS ARE BIG ENOUGH FOR THE RAGE I AM FEELING!
Usually, the old lady who only does back stroke whilst wearing her bi-focals pisses me right off because even the designated 'frolicking' lane is too speedy for her. Today, however, she was greatly missed.
Bi-focal babe, come back...
Froshies, go have drunken, protected* sex.
You may, then, feel compelled to peg the complaint that follows as resentment towards those who do get to go to Staples to buy a bunch of shit they already have but are too lazy to find. I assure you, however, that this is not the case.
The problem is this:
MY POOL IS INFESTED WITH COLLEGE BOYS.
WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED?!?!
My darling, tiny, retiree-populated public pool that offers classical music alongside its free swim was brimming with chattering boys who treated the ends of the lanes as though they were the benches of an Estonian steam room.
For those of you who don't know, this place is my sanctuary. I live BESIDE the YMCA and I bike TWELVE WHOLE MINUTES to get to this secret pool to avoid these bulky masses who can barely float.
Yet, on this momentous it's-September-I-need-to-get-back-in-shape-after-my-summer-internship-at-my-dady's-law-firm day, getting through my 30-minute was torturous, as each lap was book-ended by "Yeah I used to do Triathlons back at Camp," and "Yo, Stu, bro, if you wanna go on that pub crawl tomorrow lemme know, K?"
THEY DON'T EVEN SWIM.
THEY JUST SIT THERE.
FLOATING.
...AND THEY DO NOT KNOW POOL ETIQUETTE!
NO CAPS ARE BIG ENOUGH FOR THE RAGE I AM FEELING!
Usually, the old lady who only does back stroke whilst wearing her bi-focals pisses me right off because even the designated 'frolicking' lane is too speedy for her. Today, however, she was greatly missed.
Bi-focal babe, come back...
Froshies, go have drunken, protected* sex.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Day Zero
Today I sought yet another job as a bartender. Luck I had not, but I DID manage to get a new library membership! Now I sit and wait as the hour nears 9, at which point I will saunter up the street to see the 70's Gothic tale, The Stepford Wives. I am trying to contain my excitement but cannot.
First, if you have seen the contemporary Nicole Kidman re-make and it induced dry-heaving, know that you are not alone. That film is an abomination.
HOWEVER- 90 minutes of Katharine Ross is worth your while. Have I mentioned how much I love her? Perhaps not, considering this is only my second post. In part, I think it's because she looks a lot like my mother. I like to imagine my mom in her total babe days ripping it up as a bra burner and aspiring photographer... I'm not sure if this reassures me that all yuppies were once hippies, or if it is merely a reminder of the inevitability of my personal fate as a sell-out with a fucking amazing shoe and handbag collection. Regardless, look at how cute she is:
She is making instant coffee. The only person in the world from whom I would accept a cup of instant coffee is Katharine Ross circa 1975.
First, if you have seen the contemporary Nicole Kidman re-make and it induced dry-heaving, know that you are not alone. That film is an abomination.
HOWEVER- 90 minutes of Katharine Ross is worth your while. Have I mentioned how much I love her? Perhaps not, considering this is only my second post. In part, I think it's because she looks a lot like my mother. I like to imagine my mom in her total babe days ripping it up as a bra burner and aspiring photographer... I'm not sure if this reassures me that all yuppies were once hippies, or if it is merely a reminder of the inevitability of my personal fate as a sell-out with a fucking amazing shoe and handbag collection. Regardless, look at how cute she is:
She is making instant coffee. The only person in the world from whom I would accept a cup of instant coffee is Katharine Ross circa 1975.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
WELCOME!
I've come to realize that there aren't enough women in media. Here I stand, making my new media footprint as big as I possibly can using only my ten fingers.
Yes, I do use all fingers when I type. You should too.
Although I will cease to profess my love for stage moms, I am still a total babe and will hereby do my best to remind you dear readers every day.
Today I am unemployed with a somewhat elusive career trajectory that I am determined to set out on tomorrow (Monday) morning. I will let you know what comes of it.
Yes, I do use all fingers when I type. You should too.
Although I will cease to profess my love for stage moms, I am still a total babe and will hereby do my best to remind you dear readers every day.
Today I am unemployed with a somewhat elusive career trajectory that I am determined to set out on tomorrow (Monday) morning. I will let you know what comes of it.
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