If you live in LA, you should come to this:

Wildride Robert Roy called my ice tray bluff. And he looked damn good doing it.

The Worst Episode# 3

Watch my radio show, guys! We count down the 10 worst pop culture stories of the week. And this week one of my guests was "a little baked." In fact, until we made it to the second to last story of the show, he didn't know that we were counting down stories at all. Nice effort, Jon Huck.

For past & future eps, go here and click episodes.

Right now my apartment is 105 more degrees than anyone is separated from Kevin Bacon.

If you're a total asshole, that means it's 111 degrees today.

Sick Kitty

Today I woke up not feeling so hot because, well, it’s Wednesday. I start most days slightly dehydrated so I can give other people an edge. In my groggy, hungover state I saw my cat looking at me like, “I’ve been there, girlfriend.” (I adopted my cat from an urban rescue place, so she says “girlfriend” a lot.) And I was thinking, “No you haven’t. You’re a cat.”

And just then her body began convulsing. My mind raced. Hairball? Vomit? Hairball? Vomit? Please don’t get anything on my new J Brand –

Boy, did she let it all out. I don’t know if you’ve ever smelled cat vomit before, but I’m sure you’ve smelled cat food. So just imagine what cat food smells like partially digested. I turn on the bedroom lights and try to clean it up before the scent wakes up my boyfriend, Sleeping Beauty. Armed with a wad of paper towels and my own upset stomach, I scoop up the first lump of warm mass and start gagging. I think it was more the soft yet chunky consistency than the odor itself that got me. I ran to the bathroom to vomit in the tub because toilets make me want to throw up.

As I’m dry heaving, Sleeping Beauty says, “Turn off the fucking lights. I’m trying to sleep.”

Aren’t. We. All.