How Much ‘Sex’ Can One Person Take?

If you haven’t heard ‘Sex and the City’ opens in theatres nationwide today.

Ask any college aged girl (or any woman on Earth for that matter) if they’re excited about the movie, they’ll squeal your ear off in a pitch only recognizable to pom-pomed poodles.

They’ll tell you they loooooooove the show and that it’s the best EVER –

(Quick Kellene poll shows Dukes of Hazzard remains the best show ever followed by Miami Vice in a close second)

EVER – and that they want to model their 30’s after the four characters. And live in New York City.

Nevermind average NYC apartment prices are around $1,000,000 and that you also have to pay a city tax on top of everything else. And mostly everything closes around 9pm.  

Samantha, Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte are still somewhat new to my apparently boring life.

I don’t have HBO so I’ve only seen the tamer versions that air on TBS and yet I still have somehow avoided turning into a cosmo-drinking fashion-loving New Yorker. I will admit I’ve gone bonkers over other shows during my lifetime: Three’s Company (I can hear my mother groan now), Hardcastle and McCormick, and now House. But never Sex and the City.

Maybe I just haven’t seen enough episodes to get sucked in. 

But I guess if men can have their Star Wars, we can have our Sex and the City.


Photo courtesy of The Associated Press


What I Look Like in the Morning

Hollywood Studios, AFTRA Agree on 3-year Contract

The American Federation of Television and Radio Artists says it has agreed to a tentative deal with Hollywood studios on a new three-year contract.

The union said early Wednesday that the deal establishes fees for content streamed and downloaded over the Internet and preserves actors’ rights of consent on the use of their voices and images in online clips.  

   (Copyright 2008 by The Associated Press.  All Rights Reserved.)

The Dark Side of the Sun

It’s referred to as the graveyard shift. And hundreds of thousands, if not, millions of Americans work that ungodly schedule everyday. I did a few years ago for three years.

And I recently revisited those long dark hours when I went to Saint Mary’s ER on Monday – Memorial Day.  

A pain in my right hip started acting up around 10pm. I assumed it was because I slept somewhat twisted with my black cat Sushi on top of me. He’s a love bug.

But then less than two hours later, I screamed and moaned in excruciating pain while trying to find a somewhat, not comfortable, but manageable position.

My boyfriend came home to see me in tears. He suggested that maybe my appendix burst.

I called my parents – “Go to the emergency room!” “Do you want us to take you?”

Soon my boyfriend and I were off to the other side of town (thanks to our insurance I refused to go to the closer hospital – sad.)

And here lies the first problem we faced: Saint Mary’s ER entrance is under construction so while I’m screaming and moaning away waiting for my migraine-targeted Vicodin to kick in, we first had to find it — and around a long bend.

Next problem: parking. All the close spaces were labeled handicap or for physicians. What about us who are gonna die any second? Don’t I get one? Apparently not.

I walked in to see many parents holding their young sleeping children.After I signed in at 1:05am, I noticed my pain started to go away – of course!

About ten minutes later I was admitted to a faraway room in bed 3. I laid down on my back and waited and waited.

My boyfriend was thoroughly entertained; we were placed next to a massive silver cabinet thing with glass doors containing numerous medical instruments and devices. Among them: bandages, gauze, splints and crutches including little kid ones, “they’re actually kinda cute,” he said.

Unfortunately he spied a button and started pushing it. “What are you doing?”

“Look there’s your name” he points with coffee in hand.

“Will you stop that?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. All the lights on the cabinet suddenly turn off.

“Oh God!”

He jumps back from the cabinet and drops his coffee onto the floor.

“I told you to stop playing.”

He then dashes off to get napkins around my privacy curtain and comes back with tongue depressors.

“God you must be so excited I’m here!”

I look over and it’s instant arts and crafts. He makes Chinese stars and throws them at me. By now we’ve (Dr. Kel, Drs. Kel’s Mom and Dad, and Dr. Kel’s boyfriend) have narrowed down my diagnosis to either my appendix or gas from the Taco Bell I ate three hours earlier.

“I could be dying and you’re playing! Stop it!”

My assigned doctor finally comes in. I pick up my boyfriend’s wood star off my chest, “here you might want these. Lord.”

He looks like he’s 12.

I explain my problem; he thinks it may be kidney or gall stones. Sweet, I just went up the medical insurance food chain!

He checks my vitals, and presses on my stomach. “Ow!”

He says they’ll do some tests and see what they come up with. Sure, I had nowhere to go.

So there I am lying on my back, topless in a hospital gown and wearing my dad’s button fly Levis.

I look over to see my boyfriend rolling around my space on the small stool he was sitting on. “Whee!” “Whee!”

What seemed like an eternity later, a woman came in to take my blood. “What? Can’t my cats scratch me and I can give you that instead?”

“Sure, if they draw a lot.”

“How many pokes?”

“One, but we need to do five vials.”

“Ah!” (Can you tell I love needles?) “Ok, fine….but I have to sit up for this.”

I close my eyes as she pokes my arm and draws all five. Actually pretty quick, I was impressed.

As she left another nurse came in, “I’m here for your ultrasound.”

“You be good,” I tell my boyfriend. “I don’t trust you.” He wheels me off through the ER construction zone into a small room where my stomach is slathered with warm jelly. The technician tells me he needs to get 30-40 different slices of me for the doc.

The warbled audio freaked me out the most, although I didn’t show it.

Afterwards I’m wheeled back through the winding construction maze back into my room.

I am then immediately asked for a urine sample.

My pain starts to act up and I start writhing in pain again as my boyfriend explores the room on his new set of wheels.

“You want some pain medication?” my nurse asks with two needles in hand.

“Let me see how much pain I can take first.”

My genius idea worked for three minutes. “Ah!” (On the bright side, at least I was already in the hospital.)

Once again my boyfriend had to help me turn on my side, then on my stomach, sit up, my other side, my back – nothing worked.

Ten minutes later – now up 4:30am – my nurse comes back needles in hand. “Ok, I need you drop your pants.”

“I can’t move.”

She shot me first with some nauseous concoction then morphine. And now not only my side, my stomach and I have a throbbing migraine, now my butt hurts. In two different areas!

My doc comes back in to tell me my diagnosis (it’s not deathly, but I kind of am embarrassed to reveal it) and gives me medication to treat it. Tells me it’s normal if my urine turns red or orange.  

I re-button my fly and put my shirt back and then walk the required 3,000 miles back to my car to sit down on a hard seat. Oddly, I never noticed that before.

Two days later, I still have pain in my side, my butt is still a little tender and my boyfriend thinks my orange pee is the coolest thing in the world.

Yeah, maybe it is, but I also haven’t seen the bill yet.

Remembering a Hollywood Legend

From the Associated Press:

Oscar-winning director Sydney Pollack died of cancer yesterday at his home in Los Angeles. He was 73.
Though previously nominated for directing “They Shoot Horses Don’t They” and directing and producing “Tootsie,” Pollack finally won Oscars for directing and producing “Out of Africa” with Meryl Streep and Robert Redford.
Pollack got an Oscar nomination this year for producing “Michael Clayton,” where he was on screen as George Clooney’s boss. Among many other roles, Sydney Pollack acted opposite Tom Cruise in “Eyes Wide Shut.”

On TV, he played Eric McCormack’s father in “Will and Grace.”

Pollack’s latest movie, “Made of Honor,” where he plays Patrick Dempsey’s father, is in theaters now.


Photo courtesy of Getty Images


You Know You’re Old..: Indy 500 Edition


If you read the article on how much I love car magazines, then it should come as no surprise that I also adore car racing.

But I’m picky. I don’t like super car, funny car, stock car, or NASCAR. Granted NASCAR is the current race du jour, I still prefer the Indianapolis 500.

Every Memorial Day my father and I watched the 200-lap race. Although this year the stakes were upped when my MOTHER, of all people joined us. Why? Because she loves Helio – from Dancing with the Stars!

Who knew ballroom dancing would lead her to this?

Recently I’ve noticed that I don’t really recognize names anymore. Some drivers jumped ship to the ‘Other Race’ held the same holiday weekend so rookies came in by the dozens in the late 90’s to Indy.

I grew up with Rick Mears, Michael Andretti, Emerson Fittipaldi, Al Unser and Al Unser, Jr., Buddy Lazier, Bobby Rahal, A.J. Foyt, Danny Sullivan, and my favorite – Arie Luyendyk.

So what’s happened to them? Now their sons and grandsons are racing IN THE SAME RACE!

You know you’re old when A.J. Foyt IV is racing and you still remember the ‘original’ A.J.!

There are a few moments that stand out over the years: the 360 spin Danny Sullivan made in the last laps in ’85 (and still won!), Michael Andretti running out of gas and coming to a dead stop on lap 189 as cars pass him, and in ’93 when 33 cars started and only 11 finished.

Things have changed also TV-wise: ABC now pushes back the live picture as commercials run on the left, David Letterman now is part owner with (Bobby) Rahal and ESPN now litters the screen with their logo.

The only thing that hasn’t changed? The number of Andrettis that race every year, my God where do they all come from?

Happy Memorial Day!


picture courtesy of

Star Gazing at Cannes

click on the photo to view the full photo – sorry